Sowerbutt's Watch

Sowerbutt and Spaghetti were sitting in the Ford A Model parked near the airfield, smoking coronas. “What time did you say our visitor is due to drop in tonight?” Spaghetti asked.

“Approaching midnight. John is camped upstairs in the Bull with an army wireless, ready to receive messages from the aeroplane. The radio operator has run an aerial up on the roof.
“I brought young Percy up with me, he’s going to run messages up here from the Bull if anything changes or goes wrong. The landlord said he had an old bike Percy can use.”
Spaghetti grinned: “Who’s the VIP then, guv? Must be somebody important to go to all this fuss."
“They won’t say even though we have to collect them from the aeroplane and take them down to Luton Hoo. They said there would be one or two people, they weren’t sure. After the VIP leaves, we have to tow the plane into the hangar with the tractor and guard it. No-one, repeat no-one, is to enter. Use your shooters.
“It’s got to be somebody flying in from across the Channel. You would not fly here in secret on an internal flight, would you? Must be a neutral or even a Jerry. Hopefully, for peace talks. I’m sick of all this bombing.”
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Sowerbutt's Blade

Sowerbutt ran the needle-sharp point of the blade gently across the teacher’s exposed throat, leaving a thin red line in its wake. It was a trademark he left on selected victims.

“You make me very angry, big mouth,” he shouted at the teacher who was sweating heavily. “Nobody touches my Family. Nobody.”
He nodded at One-Line who swung his fist at the teacher’s stomach. Spluttering, the teacher sagged forward against his ropes.
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Sowerbutt's Shave

The hawk-faced man, known among the membership of the Stepney Communist Party for his long-winded speeches, spat out: “You’ve broken the truce, Sorbay, you bastard. We’ll be after you ten-fold, we’ll sweep you Blackshirt bastards from the streets of Poplar like horse dung. Clear the place of you traitor Fascists, once and for all.”

Sowerbutt leant down towards the teacher, bound securely to a chair in the blackened ruins of an East India Dock Road warehouse.
He slowly opened his razor-sharp clasp-knife and began shaving stubble from the shaking teacher’s face. His icy voice said: “Traitors, are we? Haven’t seen you Reds do much for the war effort so far. Uncle Joe and Adolf kissing and cuddling together."
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Sowerbutt's Rules

“You know the rules, son. I’m always ready to talk business with anyone. But no-one comes onto the Family’s patch without permission. If you are too young to know that, you shouldn’t be out alone on the street.”

Sowerbutt nodded to Nero and Tipper. In seconds, the youngsters’ cheap black shoes were off and tossed out onto the road, one landing in a pile left behind by the horse-drawn cart delivering bags of flour to the bakery. Next came the suit trousers and the baggy underpants. Without a second glance, the young street-sellers were racing westwards along East India Dock Road, suddenly swerving down a side street to avoid Poplar Police Station and the elderly reservist standing guard on the steps.
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Sowerbutt's Bombs

Polly smiled: “I’ll be glad of some decent food. The rations are hopeless, that is if you can find anything. Everybody is saying the same. It is alright those politicians talking about fighting the Jerries on the beaches. Meanwhile we’re wasting away. Talk about slim figures, walking skeletons more like. Thank goodness for those tins of steak you got hold of.”

Sowerbutt took a mouthful of tea. “The fact remains we are in danger of getting killed if we stay here. Look at the fight the Brylcreem Boys are putting up to stop the Jerries. Day after day and planes dropping like flies everywhere. I heard they downed tools at Manston the other day, had enough of it.
“The Jerry bombers are going to come for London and the Docks soon and the RAF can’t stop them. We will get it in the neck. What about that raid last weekend, the City and Millwall copped it. I saw it all at Guernica, death and destruction.”
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Sowerbutt's Dublin

"Dublin was disappointing, I admit,” Sowerbutt said, thinking it best to push on and not invite more criticism from Polly. “With the Church there threatening eternal damnation, there’s just not the business. I checked the books, as you know, for that half-share of the brothel we were offered, but there wasn’t the turnover. Plenty of red-blooded lads living in Dublin, but it is a small town, too strait-laced, not like the Smoke. Not much business on the side either. The port is tiny and nothing much is coming in there.

“Still it was good to catch up with some of the Blueshirts I knew in Spain and we’ll be getting some deliveries soon of Irish beef and butter. Make a pretty penny.”
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Sowerbutt's Lessons

Slumping into a green leather chair in Coach’s office, Sowerbutt exclaimed: “I’m looking forward to this cuppa, Coach, old friend. That is some tough lady, I’m exhausted. What on earth gave you the idea of ballet lessons?”

“Something you mentioned, Jimmy. Remember you talked about employing Madame Komarovski to change One-Line’s walk? I got to thinking she might help the way the lads move about in the ring. Give them a bit of an edge.”

“She has done a brilliant job with One-Line," Sowerbutt said. "The big oaf still worries about someone from his old battalion recognising him as a deserter. But I tell him his own mother, God rest her soul, would not recognise him. Different man. The glasses and hair colouring as well.”

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