Sowerbutt's File

The file’s former occupants, including the vital index page, were separately stamped with the classification “Never To Be Released”, placed in an acid-free archival storage box and driven under close escort to a tightly-guarded anonymous storage facility, designated under the Official Secrets Act of 1989. 
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Sowerbutt's Women

The Professor pecked at the last honey cake. “You ladies are natural business people. So many of my male contemporaries are foolish for ignoring the female genius and aptitude. A waste of talent if I may say and I do so dislike waste."
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Sowerbutt's Cash

The professor pecked at another honey cake. “My message to Mr Sorbay has been that money is hard to accumulate but easy to lose. We must record what we have, put as much as possible out of harm’s way and protect as best we can any cash at risk from Jerry bombs.”

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Sowerbutt's Contract

“I approve of this contract, Miss Polly. One thousand wooden bumper bars for Bedford lorries. The material from Mr Sorbay’s contacts in the timber trade, simple for our apprentices to make and a reliable payer. Vauxhall has been part of Luton since I was a boy,” the Professor said, giving a rare smile.

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Sowerbutt's Fingers

Sowerbutt grinned: “You might also mention that I’ve got a consignment of Pol Roger for Mr Churchill.” Bracken shook his head. “Sticky fingers, Sorbay. Is that what you call it?”

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Sowerbutt's Coupons

“Don’t you tell me what to do, you little pipsqueak,” snapped the woman. “I’m a food inspector and this woman was going to sell me a quarter of chuck steak without a ration coupon. That’s a criminal offence and she’s going up before the magistrate. We’ve got to stamp out the black market, set an example.”

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Sowerbutt's Butcher

The huge hand slammed down on the bench in Wicks Butcher’s, One-Line towering over the middle-aged woman clad in a grey mac.  “We treat ladies with great respect in this manor, ma’am,” Panda smiled, standing alongside. “But my friend doesn’t like accusations being made against our Mrs Wicks.”

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