Sowerbutt's Rhyme

The five-mile trip to Mumbles slipped by very quickly. Hand in hand, Sowerbutt and Polly headed to the wooden café, the nearby Victorian pier nearby looking sad with large sections missing from it. “In case some evil Jerries row all the way up the Bristol Channel and are looking for somewhere to secretly land and have their wicked way with us,” Sowerbutt said.
“You are a crazy man,” laughed Polly, pulling a face.
“How about this?” said Sowerbutt, enjoying his carefree day.
“Mumbles is a funny place,
A church without a steeple,
Houses made of old ships wrecked
And most peculiar people.” http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Holiday

“Up the stairs,” Sowerbutt said to Polly as they climbed on board the red Mumbles tramcar at the Rutland Street terminus in Swansea. “The views across Swansea Bay from up top are something special.”
Polly looked at her man quizzically. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you, Jimmy? The views and you know about the fish and chips in Mumbles. You never tell me anything.”
She elbowed him in the stomach as they walked along the upper gangway. “Left-hand side for the views across the bay,” he gasped.
“I was here for a couple of days some years ago on a bit of business, that’s all. Nothing to tell you about. I was by myself if that is what’s worrying you.”
“Don’t flatter yourself, Jimmy,” Polly smiled as she sat down next to the open window.
He first visited the bleak industrial Welsh town in autumn 1936 to recruit Madog ap Llywelyn as an assassin for the well-paying Renovacion Espanola in the Spanish war. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Offer

Nodding at the Home Guard's museum pieces, Sowerbutt smiled: “You’re waiting for some new equipment to arrive, Dai?”
“If only, Mr Sorbay,” the lance-corporal smiled. “The army boys are equipped with whatever’s available. We only get the left-overs. I haven’t fired the musket and I’d be scared to if the truth be known. Barrel would probably blow up. There are no musket balls, anyway, it’s just for show. As for poor Ivor walking around the place with that spear thing, they all laugh at him, don’t they? I don’t think we will hold the Jerry tanks for very long when they come.”
“I should be able to get your squad some newer shooters with plenty of ammunition shortly,” Sowerbutt said. “Not free mind, but a good price to you. You will be able to put up more of a showing and protect yourselves better." http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Payback

Can’t be too careful these days with all these government snoopers sniffing around the marketplace. Can you believe it? This bastard, dressed in his factory finery, dropped into one of the shops I supply the other week and was begging for under-the-counter cigarettes. Some cock-and-bull story about being short of money before pay day and wanting some cigarettes on the cheap. Stood out like a dog’s proverbial. Of course, my lass told him to shove it. She’s good, she shouted at him, accusing him of being an economic saboteur and said she’d call the stoppers.
Left it a few days, then we gave him and his mate a good beating outside the pub where they drank. Don’t think he’ll be annoying anyone else in a hurry, his voice is a bit high. We also lifted his wallet and tipped off the stoppers that he was dodging the call-up. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Temptation

The large suite was elegantly and expensively furnished, reminding Sowerbutt of some of the upmarket West London hotels he had dropped into over the years as an uninvited guest or burglar as the Metropolitan Police incident sheets recorded his nocturnal visits.
He noticed several large expensively-furnished rooms opening off from the lounge as well as some interesting pieces of artwork. One was a genuine French Impressionist, he was sure, recalling an enthusiastic art collector in Mayfair with whom he had enjoyed some profitable business dealings over the years. He felt his hands twitching, it was a temptation. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Escapade

“Blackouts are a burglar’s best friend. And none of the sandbags in London town getting in the way, ” Sowerbutt whispered. Tipper grinned. The two men, both burglars of long experience, had slipped through the first-floor window at the back of the small terrace in the centre of Swansea. Nero remained in the street, straddling a nearby low wall and acting drunk for the benefit of any passers-by. They had arranged for him to sing a drunken chorus of There's an old mill by the stream, Nellie Dean as a danger signal.
“I’ll do my best, Mr Sorbay, I promise. But I’m not much of a singer,” Nero announced, hopping from foot to foot.
Sowerbutt grinned: “As long as we don’t get a cats’ chorus with the local strays joining in.”
He was not sure what to expect in the house where the stocky Spaniard and his friends were staying. The house had been in darkness since the trio arrived earlier in the evening. With the last smudges of dusk fading, much of the Welsh town was cast in darkness including the police station across the road. Occasional glimmers of light could be seen where blackout curtains moved or were badly fitted. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Opportunity

Nero said: “I had a half in the Adelphi and got talking to an old bloke who’s a caretaker at Weavers Flour Mills down at the Docks.
“Fed him a few drinks once he started rabbiting on. It’s a big concrete place, six storeys, and the local Food Committee has just moved into the storage areas. The flour mill is working flat out as the supplies come in, he said. But the warehouse area has been designated an emergency supplies centre to stock enough food to feed the locals for a while if Swansea is cut off in the invasion.”
Sowerbutt grinned. “Like the sound of this, I’ll join you in a whiskey, Nero.”
“Like Aladdin’s Cave, the old geezer said, stacked full of cans, packets, bags, everything - just been delivered by army trucks. Dropped and disappeared. Bags of sugar, tinned bacon, corned beef, the lot. No controls organised yet, he said, the mill workers could just walk in and collect whatever they wanted if only they knew about it. He’s keeping quiet to stay out of trouble, he said.
“Taffy, that’s his name, was in the first war, like; said the food committee people couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery.”
“Sounds a promising business opportunity, don’t you think, Nero? We should be kind-hearted and help them out with storing the stuff. That’s one of our specialities.” Sowerbutt smiled. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Mistake

“What sort of holiday is this, you miserable bastard?” shouted Polly as Sowerbutt ducked the thankfully thin telephone directory thrown in his direction as he opened the door to their hotel room. “Out for an hour’s stroll, you said, to get some fresh air and exercise and see the sights of Swansea, you said, and it’s now midday. Of course, you forgot to look at the watch I stupidly bought you, didn’t you? Or are you going to tell me that we are on some damned Welsh time and it’s only 10 o’clock? Is that what it is, James, we’ve gone back in time in this lost corner of the country?”
Before he had a chance to try an excuse, she snapped: “And you’ve been drinking somewhere, I can always tell.
“I’ve been stuck here in this room, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for you to return so we can spend some time together, while you have been out swanning around somewhere and pouring booze down your miserable throat. You promised me that we’d enjoy our holiday in Swansea together. Together. You are such a bad bastard.” http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Restraint

Sowerbutt looked up at the sound of whistles and jeers. He was wearing his new leather jacket and snowy-white shirt; the elderly bell-hop at the Mackworth had put a mirror shine on his hand-made boots.
The man sitting next to him in the wooden hut on 4 Quay in King’s Dock, Swansea put his large hand on Sowerbutt’s arm, a broad smile breaking out across his battered face. “Your long hair, James. Short back and sides is the order of the day in traditional Swansea, man. They are not used to such high London fashion out here on the docks.”
Sowerbutt grinned. “Rarely use a shooter these days, Mad Dog, too noisy, too messy in the Smoke. If I did, the pipe that your mate over there is puffing on would make good target practice and I could turn your other mate’s trilby into a colander. Then again, I’m right out of practice and you never know what I might shoot at." http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Prediction

Sowerbutt squeezed his lady’s hand and whispered: “It will be all over with the Jerries in a few weeks one way or the other, then we can get back to normal. I just want us to avoid any fighting in the streets of London or if the Jerries bomb the place to oblivion. I don’t want you in any danger.
"The end can’t be far away, the army boys have hardly got a shooter between them after the Dunkirk lot." http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Mate

WO, as the former Irish Guards warrant officer was known, said: “I was there in the crowds at the funeral, you did Shiny real proud, son. Real proud. I never thought I’d see the like again of old Charlie Brown’s funeral in ’32, but the crowds to see off Shiny wouldn’t have been much smaller. Never seen East India Dock Road so packed.
“I must tell you some stories about old Charlie Brown one of these days, Jimmy. Would you believe the Spanish king himself, incognito like, popped into the pub one night to see some of those weird exhibits Charlie had? Two-headed this and three-legged that. All gone now, of course.”
Sowerbutt smiled and walked away along the rundown Shadwell street, waving to his old mate as he turned the corner. The night of the Spanish king’s unofficial visit to the Railway Tavern to see the uncrowned king of Limehouse and his collection of unusual trophies from around the world was when Sowerbutt first met the man who recruited him for the bloody Civil War. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Protection

Some of the Jewish premises in Whitechapel were targeted during the chaotic 1936 Battle of Cable Street. The I Squad, which Oswald Mosley had set up to protect Blackshirt meetings, was assigned marshalling duties during the march.
Sowerbutt persuaded his I Squad section to cordon off and protect Jack Shakes' tailor shop which survived without so much as a broken window. Neither of the two sides swirling across Whitechapel Road screaming abuse at each other, swapping punches and hurling bricks and sticks were prepared to take on Sowerbutt’s fierce cosh and fists. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Tailor

The dapper little man with brilliantined black hair nodded. “Just as I thought,” he said, checking the tape-measure in his slender hands. “You still haven’t changed a centimetre. Not since I first measured you all those years ago. You keep yourself very fit, Mr Sowerbutt. Not like many of my clients who put on a centimetre a year, then blame me for getting my accurate measurements wrong. Me, who has been measuring bodies, thick and thin, for 30 years or more.”
Sowerbutt smiled. “You are such a flatterer, Jack. That’s why you are doing so well, and your competitors elsewhere in Whitechapel are hanging up their scissors. I know your secret, you’ve got different tape-measures for different waistlines. And you confuse your poor clients with science as well. Centimetres, who knows what centimetres are? They weren’t taught at school in my day.” amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Friend

He knew One-Line worried about being spotted in the street and shopped as an army deserter. But his papers and his disguise were good. Twice a week after the blinds were pulled down on the little shop in Poplar, Bernie the barber made sure One-Line’s hair and his old-fashioned moustache stayed black and his stubble stayed the right length to obscure his face. His plain horn-rim glasses were another prop, if not  popular with their new owner.
Sowerbutt organised weekly lessons with Madame Komarovski, who once ran an exclusive dance studio in Kensington, to change One-Line’s gait, knowing people were often recognised by the way they move. “You think of everything, guv,” the big man said after his first lesson. But Sowerbutt knew the best protection for One-Line was the loyalty of the streets. Few of the thousands of deserters and call-up dodgers in wartime Britain were ever caught and punished. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Agony

Sowerbutt recalled: "I was there for Guernica in Spain. It was my side that did it, but the suddenness. I’ve seen a few bodies in my time, but it was all over in a few minutes. Hundreds dead, buildings destroyed, flattened, much of the town gone.
"Choking dust, smoke, burning and the stench of heat. You couldn’t breathe the air, Polly, it was so hot. Here and there in the piles of rubble, women and children screaming and begging for help.”  http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Plan

"The time is approaching fast for us to pick up sticks and head for Ireland. These increasing bombing raids on our convoys in the Channel and the ports are just practice runs for the Jerries. They are working out their tactics and organisation. The attacks are almost every day, according to the papers, and there will have been plenty of casualties, not that they say what’s going on. Censorship.
“London will be next on the list, no doubt about it. And with the docks here, I can’t see much of Poplar and surrounds surviving. If Winnie doesn’t surrender soon, we’ll be bombed out of existence.” http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Sport

Sowerbutt, his long hair tied in a ponytail and his lean body glistening under the hall lights, landed two more lethal blows on the punching bag.
“If that bag had two legs, he’d be dead,” Coach Marigold said, shaking his bald head. “I always said you would have been a champion, one of the greats, if you’d stayed in the ring, Jimmy. Up there with Terry Baldock, Kid Lewis, Jack Berg and the rest of them, bit heavier perhaps. Trouble with that punch of yours, you don’t just KO, you kill them. Your fists need licensing, Jimmy, and that’s a fact.” amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Business 2

Young Johnny Brakespeare who lives with his mum near the Rec. He’s got a genuine condition with his ticker, poor little bugger, and they gave him a proper exemption from the call-up.
We could wheel him out to the army medicals for a fee instead of the fit lads, his mum could do with some cash. The army doctors wouldn’t know the difference, wouldn’t know who’s who and probably couldn’t care less anyway. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Business

"We’re expanding our activities to another site, guv?” asked Tipper, nodding upstairs.
“Storing, not whoring,” Sowerbutt smiled. “I need to store a load of cigarettes in a hurry. Bit on the hot side in more ways than one.
"Remember that bombing by the Jerries up north last month, Middlesbrough or some place. Among other things, the Jerry flyers scored a direct hit on a small warehouse. The owner managed to rescue most of the cases, not that he remembered to tell the insurance people. The smokes are fine, few scorch marks on some of the packets.
"I thought the new owner  in Whitechapel couldn’t really complain if the smokes disappeared again.  Spaghetti and some of the boys paid a visit last night. This blackout business makes night-time thieving so much easier." amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA  

Sowerbutt's Mercy

“The stupid bastard’s a practised liar,” Sowerbutt said quietly. “We either kill him or not,” Their faces expressionless, One-Line and Tipper waited for the guv’s orders.
Sowerbutt shook his head. “I am probably going soft, but it is just not worth the trouble of disposing of his body. I don’t like taking risks, but this one isn’t worth a light. Even if he did it, I want the organ-grinder, not the monkey.”
Returning his revolver to its holster, he kept his eyes on the haggard Spaniard’s face. Releasing his hand from around his throat, Sowerbutt drove another heavy blow into his stomach. His eyes wide open, the man slumped to the hard shop floor. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Ploy

Sowerbutt nodded at One-Line who drew his Webley revolver and pointed it straight at the Spaniard’s head.
Keeping his left hand firmly around the Spaniard’s throat, Sowerbutt broke open his revolver and spun the cylinder in front of the terrified man’s eyes. It contained one .38 bullet. He snapped it shut and returned the end of the barrel to the Spaniard’s clammy forehead.
Nero translated the slow count into Spanish. “Tres, dos, uno …”
The empty click of the hammer resounded around the deserted shop like a clap of thunder; Nero pushing his shaking hand against the peeling wall to keep his balance.
The words began pouring out. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Youth

Perez stopped, it was a cool night for the time of year. As he lit up a Player's, his two assailants struck. Thrust violently through the open door of a boarded-up shop by a giant of a man, his waiting accomplice broke Perez’s fall, then yanked his suit jacket down his back. His arms trapped, the giant rammed Perez against a wall.
A firm voice in the background said: “Wait, wait, wait. Let me talk to our guest.” As a boy, a theatrical agent at the Poplar Hippodrome had suggested an acrobatic career for Sowerbutt. It would have meant financial security for the street urchin who never knew his father and whose mother had disappeared with a boyfriend. In three smooth moves, he stood in front of One-Line, replacing his huge forearm across the Spaniard’s throat, delivered an impressive punch into the imprisoned man’s stomach and neatly side-stepped the spurt of gin and beer from Perez’s sagging mouth.
Hauling the unhappy Spaniard back to his feet, Sowerbutt gently pressed the barrel of his revolver on the Spaniard’s forehead. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Charm

“I would love a slice of your home-made cake with my tea. Did you bake it specially?” Sowerbutt beamed, putting on the charm that endeared him to Polly. He never knew what to call Mrs Dipper as he thought of her. He did not even know Dipper’s surname, he was just Dipper.

“Don’t have much call for big operations, Mr Sorbay,” Dipper, a long sausage of a man, said. “The FA Cup Finals, Christmas crowds in Oxford Street, big events in Trafalgar Square - that sort of thing.”Placing a wooden side table besides his chair, Mrs Dipper smiled at Sowerbutt and poured some tea into his Wedgewood cup. She placed a side plate next to it with a white paper serviette and two thick slices of home-made tea cake, all on top of a lace doily.“You say the mark is coming in on the Weymouth train?”  http://amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Insurance

Relaxing with a welcome pint of mild in The Grapes, a short walk away along Narrow Street in Limehouse, Sowerbutt slowly shook the contents of the large envelope onto his lap. He always thought of the busy pub as the Bunch, it had only recently shortened its name. He had chosen a small corner table right at the back of the large bar where the raucous regulars at the counter could not see what the envelope contained.
Two current passports - one British in the name of William Briskey who died in the Spanish fighting in 1937 without leaving behind any record of his demise and one Spanish issued by his good friends in the Francoist Government. Five thousand US dollars in a mix of small greenbacks and the Smith & Wesson revolver, carefully wrapped in oilcloth, that had been one of his most valued work tools in Spain. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Trip

He had been meaning to talk to her about the future. “Polly, if this lot gets nasty and it probably will, I was thinking of us closing up shop for a while and disappearing across the Irish Sea to a bit of peace and quiet in the Emerald Isle. Dublin or somewhere. I’ve a few contacts there - some Blueshirts from Spain. It will be safe enough over the water until all this nonsense blows over. The Irish will stay out of the fighting or come over to the Jerries once Britain goes down.”

Polly beamed: “You mean you would take me to Ireland with you, Jimmy?” As much as she felt for her good-looking man, Polly was never sure about Sowerbutt and their future. Cold bastard, she had always called him. He was kind enough and generous, but he kept his emotions tightly under control. “
Of course, I will. Can’t leave you here alone with all that’s going on, can I? Don’t know what mischief you would get up to.”She poked him in the arm, feeling the hard muscle under his snowy-white shirt. “I mean when it gets nasty, fighting in the streets of London or heavy bombing. There’s talk they’ll try and bomb Churchill into submission. We’ll pay our girls off temporarily and slip away smartly." amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Song

What was the phrase in the government booklet pushed through the letterbox the other day, Sowerbutt tried to remember? Dig For Victory. Some hope, he thought, more like Dig In Desperation.If he heard that Potato Pete jingle on the wireless one more time, he would throw up.“Here’s the man who ploughs the fields.
Here’s the girl who lifts up the yield.
Here’s the man who deals with the clamp,
so that millions of jaws can chew and champ.
That’s the story and here’s the star,
Potato Pete
eat up,
ta ta!”
Enough griping, the young singer Betty Driver was a real dish from the photographs he had admired in the newspapers. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Warning

“A pleasure to see you, Mr Sorbay,” the dark-haired man in a white coat said, ushering his customer to the leather chair facing a large mirror.
“I bet you say that to all the marks, Bernie,” smiled Sowerbutt, hanging his leather coat on a brass hook near the door in the barber shop in Poplar High Street. The street name had proved controversial in recent years since the borough council decided to change it for no particular reason from High Street Poplar. Not surprisingly, the locals paid little attention to officialdom, calling the long thoroughfare High Bob and its eastern rump Little High Bob.
“But it’s true, Mr Sorbay, it’s true,” Bernie said as he tucked the starched white cape around his customer’s shoulders. “What do I have to do most of the time? Short back and sides, a No 1, a No 2, a quick trim. I, who trained with the world’s best hairdressers in Milan, rarely have a fine head of hair to work on.”
“Bernie, Bernie,” whispered Sowerbutt. “Keep the past private, you never know who is listening. Between us, yes? No-one else or you are off for a long holiday on the Isle of Man. We don’t want any bricks or petrol through your window. The street kids won’t hesitate if they suspect anything.”
“A thousand apologies, Mr Sorbay, you have told me before. I am Bernie White from Clacton-on-Sea. I actually caught a train there and had a walk up and down the front in case anybody asks me about the godforsaken place,” the barber smiled as he began combing and trimming Sowerbutt’s long brown hair.
Benedetti Bianchi was born in Milan a couple of years before the Kingdom of Italy joined the Allies in the Great War. He had jumped ship from MS Augustus, Italy’s famous floating cruise palace, in Gibraltar in early 1933 to escape the clutches of an angry husband. Ending up at the East India Docks some weeks later, he took on a new British identity with the help of Sowerbutt and the Scribe. After Spaghetti’s father died, Bernie was installed in the barber’s shop. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Freedom

With thousands of members of the British Union of Fascists or the Blackshirts detained under the Emergency Powers regulations since the outbreak of war, Poplar, the beating heart of London’s East End, was a promising posting with plenty of political action for an ambitious Special Branch officer. The notorious Battle of Cable Street in nearby Whitechapel when 7,000 or more Blackshirts marched and then fought a vicious running street battle with their political opponents had only taken place four years earlier. Many other Blackshirt meetings held across the poverty-stricken East End suburbs had also ended in violence. What puzzled the bald-headed sergeant, who carefully cultivated his large mutton-chop sideboards, was how Sowerbutt and his dubious Blackshirt cronies managed to avoid the long trip to the Isle of Man and the other emergency internment camps hurriedly set up to detain enemy aliens and sympathisers. But that was the superintendent’s call, not his. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Anger

Tiny beads of blood stood out as milestones along the hair’s-breadth trail across the white throat. A feather’s-weight more pressure on the sharp blade and a red gush would herald the severing of the windpipe and the carotid artery and the rapid demise of the scrawny East Ender imprisoned in Sowerbutt’s strong arms.
Sowerbutt  watched the progression of the honed length of steel from left to right. He had jettisoned many things and many people in his life of thirty-something years, but he was never without his trusty girl guide clasp-knife. The knife had escaped countless searches to the fatal cost of some of the searchers. Sowerbutt had palmed it, hidden it, secreted it and pocketed it, but his faithful servant of steel had never once been accused of murder and mayhem.
“Nero, Nero,” the voice whispered into the ear of the trembling man. “We’re the Family, one big happy Family. We all look after, trust and protect each other. You look after Shiny, you watch his back. Shiny looks after you. That’s why we are successful and that’s why we all stay safe and sound and sleep easy at night. Out of trouble and away from the long crooked arm of what passes for the law.
“You took your eyes off dear Shiny, didn’t you? You allowed a risk to raise its big ugly head. What do I always say about risks? We never take risks, we eliminate them.
“Now Shiny’s dead, stretched out like a prize side of meat from Smithfield, and we’re up to our necks in the proverbial.”
The thin red line drawn with surgical precision across Nero’s throat smarted but little more. But the small-time thief, scared out of his wits, suddenly collapsed as a dead weight. Sowerbutt prided himself on his lightning reactions, his right hand flashing out the way to avoid a second fatality.
A long sigh escaped from the scrawny man’s His face was whiter than the streets of French surrender flags that welcomed the Blitzkrieg on its relentless progression across northern France in recent weeks.
“I’ll change, Mr Sorbay, I promise. I’m gutted about poor Shiny, I thought he was safe going back to his room and I could take a quick break,” Nero wheezed. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Deal

"By the way, sir, I have recently acquired a substantial supply of Pol Roger that may interest you - stored safely well away from the bombing. I can let you have a note of the years. I also have some cases of Armenian cognac you may wish to sample.”
The Prime Minister stared hard at the tall, tough-looking man, a beam breaking across his animated face. “Splendid man, simply splendid to hear. With France gone, my greatest fear was not the contemptuous Nazis, but that my Pol Roger would eventually run out. Rest assured somebody will be in touch. In defeat I need it, in victory I deserve it. I’m also warming to your suggestion of the bounties of little Armenia - straight from the table of Uncle Joe, no doubt.”
Turning back towards his car, Churchill grunted: “I shall remember your kind offers of assistance, Mr Sorbay, I shall remember them. We have a long and hard road ahead of us to final victory. I cannot foretell the future, however, your country may well require your special talents again. I, however, most certainly will.”
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Friend

His blue eyes twinkling, the Prime Minister strode across to where Sowerbutt was standing outside the blackened ruins of a still burning shop. His white face streaked with dust and grime, Sowerbutt had not slept for 24 hours, working through the terrible night protecting some of the Family’s larders and rescuing bewildered tenants from nearby bombed houses that the Family owned. One of their important larders, an empty shop near Queens Theatre in Poplar, had taken a direct hit.
Gripping Sowerbutt’s hand and shaking it vigorously, Churchill barked: “I see you are back from Ireland and that dreadful de Valera fellow, Mr Sorbay. What do they call him, Taoiseach or some such? I call him something quite different, monster of a man. Never trusted him an inch, took up arms against our honest British soldiers and then blew up half of his own Irish compatriots.”
The Prime Minister chuckled: “But I do like to get my own way, Mr Sorbay. Brendan told me I was not allowed to meet you and now I have at last here in Poplar. I shall look forward to telling him all about our meeting, such a spoilsport.
“I like you, Mr Sorbay, and I like the way you get things done. I wish you had a seat in my Cabinet. But now I can say I have met the man who saved the British Empire." http://amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Attack

Counting down from five, he pulled the pin on one of his Mills grenades and tossed it through the flapping blanket covering the hut window, then another and another. The grenades’ time delay had been shortened to four seconds. The blasts shuddered into one, an overpowering wave of heat and noise sweeping across the wharf, rocking the stack of bricks next to Sowerbutt like an invisible giant hand. Sowerbutt thought he heard muffled shouts amid the explosions, something like “Morrigan” and “Mein Gott”.
Another huge blast followed, shaking the wharf for what seemed like minutes, large waves speeding across the water below before splashing up against the moored ships and over the edge of the wharf. Even the towering cranes swayed. Then a white flash of light mushroomed skywards through the dark, turning twilight into bright day-time across No 4 Quay for a couple of seconds; Sowerbutt watching the heavy showers of debris raining down. Shreds of blanket and clothing dancing in the air, large lumps of timber and pieces of twisted metal and what looked like the remains of a smoking boot.  http://amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA

Sowerbutt's Punch

No 4 Quay was as quiet as any part of the busy Swansea Docks could be. Loaded merchant ships groaned and strained against their steel hawsers as the oily water lapped below, the long row of towering cranes creaked in the breeze and from somewhere across the Docks came the low hum of machinery. A small truck, badly in need of a service and belching thick exhaust fumes, accelerated noisily along the nearby access road and a shrill alarm bell rang from the direction of the Docks’ entrance, only to be quickly silenced.
Nobody was around to hear the swift dispatch of the burly sentry standing guard next to a large stack of bricks. A sledgehammer punch to the right kidney, left hand clamped tightly over the open mouth, the juddering head jerked back, and the razor-sharp girl guide knife across the throat. An ugly gurgling noise and Sowerbutt slowly lowered the large shaking body to the dusty ground. He was less than 20 feet away from the union hut, a faint light flickering through the covered windows, open in the warm evening. Nothing stirred, but he thought he could hear snoring, then what sounded like a bottle being banged down on a table. http://amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Revenge

Sowerbutt moved his knee sharply upwards again. As the groaning Spaniard slumped to the carriage floor, Sowerbutt stretched across, unlocked the carriage door and pushed hard. It slammed open with a bang as the train edged around a bend.
Sowerbutt put his weight against the carriage wall and kicked hard. Screaming, the Spaniard slid backwards out of the carriage door, his arms grabbing desperately at Sowerbutt’s leg. Bending down, he slammed his lethal right fist into Garcia’s face, the force of the blow breaking the Spaniard’s panic-stricken hold. The semi-conscious man disappeared from sight through the opening, the body slamming twice against the outside of the carriage as it fell. Echoing through the first-class carriage, a second louder scream quickly faded away as the train sped closer to the town of Newport.
“Nothing personal,” said Sowerbutt quietly. Stretching out to heave the banging carriage door closed, he could see Garcia’s body was just a smudge on the side of the track, already many yards behind.  http://amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt In Spain

The longest nights he had spent in Casa de Campo Park and the dirty streets of Carabanchel waiting to slip unseen through the badly-guarded Republican lines. Plenty of Socialist and union dignitaries to eliminate in the crowded Republican-held city. The never-ending night he had spent frozen against the wall of a deserted building in Carabanchel while three young idiots from the infamous Anarchist Brigade sat on the dusty road alongside and drank themselves silly with a liberated case of strong Russian vodka. When the final chorus was sung and they passed out, he had been sorely tempted to make their sleep eternal with his trusty girl guide knife.
But they were so young and where was the benefit? The Renovacion Espanola only paid, and paid well, for the scalps of important Republicans or as his paymaster, a former priest, always recited, “blood enemies of His Imperial Majesty Alfonso León Fernando María Jaime Isidro Pascual Antonio de Borbón y Austria-Lorena”. Sowerbutt’s view of the self-exiled Spanish king, which he kept strictly to himself, was different, “a whoring bastard”. Apart from the several illegitimate children the king acknowledged, numerous waitresses, domestics and, his particular favourite, actresses were paid handsomely from the royal coffers to keep quiet about bedroom dalliances - and pregnancies - with the merry monarch. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Lady

Polly, who took over the busy East India Dock Road brothel from her mother when she retired to a small cottage on the picturesque North Downs in Kent, had seen her fill of men of all shapes and sizes over the years. She wanted to believe what Sowerbutt told her, but she had heard so much sweet talk from so many plausible men in her time.
Her grey eyes blazed as she looked up at her lover, who stood over six-foot tall. He did not blink as she kicked him in the shins and then painfully jabbed her fingers into his ribcage. The fiery redhead felt safe with the tall, powerful man despite her occasional jibes. “I’m going to spend a lot of your money this lunchtime, you bad bastard. And you have a lot of catching up to do before you’re back in my good books. Anywhere near my good books.
“But let’s get one thing perfectly straight, James, shall we? We’re partners or so you always sweet-talk me. You tell me everything that’s going on, good and bad, yes? I’m not sure what you are up to, sneaking out first thing in the morning and going drinking by yourself. Hopefully by yourself. Are we clear on the partnership?”
A thin smile stretched across Polly’s soft features. It was the look that sent icy shivers up Sowerbutt’s spine. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA 

Sowerbutt's Past

Sowerbutt and Madog ap Llywelyn spent 18 well-paid months together in Spain during the civil war, working for the royalist Renovacion Espanola, dispatching selected opponents of the absent Spanish monarch, King Alfonso XIII, to pave the way for his return.
But like so many well-laid wartime plans, the royal comeback to Spain never eventuated. Despite his royalist leanings, Generalissimo Franco was not enthusiastic about sharing power with anyone, not even his anointed king or his successor. amazon.co.uk/Colour-Lemon-Surrender-1940-ebook/dp/B008USR7FA