Sowerbutt's Plan

Dean Matthews sighed: “This terrible war, what does it make people do? We must all reflect on our Primate’s call to support the Pope’s peace plan.”

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Sowerbutt's Search

“We are searching the Cathedral as best we can and I have what is called a timer that has been made safe and an amount of explosive material on my desk here.  I am told it is enough to bring down one of the pillars in the nave where it was discovered."

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Sowerbutt's Fire

Sowerbutt snapped: “Those bags he was carrying, they’ll be full of gelignite. The only way to bring the Cathedral down is to blow the supporting pillars and get a fire going."
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Sowerbutt's Cathedral

Sowerbutt suddenly stopped. “Dear God, Spaghetti. They are after St Paul’s. Remember what Vershinin’s mate said before he was shot.”

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Sowerbutt's Blitz

Sowerbutt glanced around – bomb sites, blackened ruins, heaps of bricks and charred timber, a burnt-out car  beginning to rust with the recent rain. The aftermath of the terrible Sunday a couple of weeks ago.

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Sowerbutt's Secret

Churchill said. “The die is cast, dear boy. Your Argies in Edinburgh know about our visitor.” “Yes, sir,” Bracken smiled. “We’ve recorded two telephone conversations with the Embassy and the Foreign Office has been notified a diplomatic bag is going out on the next Lisbon clipper. We’ll check it.”

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Sowerbutt's Photograph

"Yes, Prime Minister, I so love that look,” the photographer said, glancing through his camera. “A little more powder, a little more light and we are ready.” Churchill growled: “You see what I have to put up with, dear Brendan, for your publicity photographs. Mr Beaton powdering my nose.” “A fellow Harrovian, sir, as well as  an inspired photographer,” Bracken smiled. 

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Sowerbutt's Lady

Sowerbutt gulped his whiskey. He could deal with the worst of the East End thugs or a fight-to-the-finish with the Reds, but he was never sure about Polly’s reactions. He felt familiar shivers up his spine.

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Sowerbutt's Diamonds

The King’s Messenger had handed the letter from the Ankara Embassy to the Brigadier while still on board the Lodestar. He made no mention of the bags of uncut industrial diamonds, worth about £5,000, strapped to his legs.

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Sowerbutt's Uncle

As the motorcade pulled out of the RAF station’s gates, a RAF Regiment guard standing rigidly to attention whispered to his mate: “Cor blimey, I’m going to tell my grandchildren I was feet away from Uncle Joe.”

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Sowerbutt's Landing

The dot in the sky grew steadily bigger, the large twin-engine aeroplane making a slow glide down towards the River Eden and a perfect landing at RAF Leuchars on the Fife coast.
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Sowerbutt's Barber

“Know a bloke called Pietro Chipolina?” “Of course, I do, Pop,” Bernie nodded. “My brother-in-law,  a caporalmaggiore with the Italian lot in Libya.” “Dark hair, brown eyes, scar on the back of his left hand?” The barber looked gobsmacked. “You’ve seen him, Pop. Where is he?” “Done better than that, lad. I bought him.”

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Sowerbutt's Agony

Churchill growled: "The little corporal, his red eyes glinting with greed, wants to break us on this island. He will not. Goering’s minions bomb us when the Thames is at its lowest to worsen our pain. We will endure it. With God’s good grace, we will see through the agony of losing our beloved city. We will never surrender.”

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Sowerbutt's Call

Churchill stood up, his chin jutting forward in his bulldog pose. “This war will be won by America’s industrial might. Give us the tools and with God’s grace we will finish the job. Arm us with words alone and we will sink into an abyss of evil and corruption, the like of which the world has never seen before."
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Sowerbutt's Worry

“Amid the death and destruction, St Paul’s survives and I have ordered men and machinery to defend it to the last.  The magnificent dome is a symbol of our Empire, I pray that it survives," Churchill growled.

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Sowerbutt's Fire

“We must brace ourselves,” the Prime Minister said. “The heart of the Empire, the ancient City of London, will be no more by daybreak. A wasteland of rubble. A firestorm, the like of which has never been seen before, rages through the narrow streets. It is the Great Fire of London, almost three centuries later but ten times the ferocity."

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Sowerbutt's Incendiary

The fireman said: “An incendiary lodged up in the dome. Dry old timber up there, would have gone up in a flash. One of the Cathedral fire watchers – a clergyman, young bloke – got hold of it and pushed it out, bold as brass. Tumbled down to the street and was dealt with. He’d have been burnt to a cinder if the beams had caught. Deserves a medal.”

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Sowerbutt's Cathedral

Sowerbutt looked around, the great Cathedral was ringed by fire; buildings in Canon Street were well alight. It  stood above the flames; the dome surrounded by a pinky-red haze and swirls of black smoke.
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Sowerbutt's Cuppa

As they sipped hot sweet tea, a yellowy-white flash burst behind the Cathedral. “Paternoster Row,” said the fireman. “Fires are out of control. That’ll be another stock of books going up. Terrible.”

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Sowerbutt's Gelignite

“Well done lads,” the auxiliary fireman shouted. “You took a chance, didn’t you? The REs have been here a couple of times tonight for a cuppa. They press-ganged the VIP vehicle earlier on to carry the gelignite. Blowing fire breaks through the City to stop the flames spreading out of control. The lads here call it the Curtains Car."
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Sowerbutt's Test

“Back it up, boy,” bellowed a Sapper sergeant, standing in the turret of a Lanchester armoured car.  Gears screeched and the engine revved but the seven-ton vehicle stayed motionless. “God preserve me,” the sergeant said. “I’ve got Winnie’s official armoured car and a conscript driver who hasn’t passed his bleeding test."
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Sowerbutt's Battle

Sowerbutt pulled off his jacket and beat the flames, kicking over a wooden fence that ran alongside the burning hedge. Spaghetti grabbed a spade and began throwing soil onto the fires.
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Sowerbutt's Warning

The fireman sighed: “It’s the cracking that gets to you, eerie like a warning from the grave. The walls so hot they crack and down they come. One of my mates was buried as a wall collapsed, no time to get out. Top bloke with a missus and kiddies.”

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Sowerbutt's Fires

The exhausted fireman was pleased to talk. “With our taxi, just been pulled back from Shoe Lane, One pump and our hose against dozens of fires. The fires are out of control. Low tide and there’s not much water to pump up. Nothing more we could do.”

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Sowerbutt's Fashion Show

“Cor blimey, you must have come for the fashion show?” asked the auxiliary fireman, standing near the entrance to St Paul’s. Sowerbutt burst out laughing. His leather jacket was torn and burnt; what was left of his  shirt was streaked with ash and brick dust. Some of his long brown hair was missing where sparks had cascaded from falling timber.
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Sowerbutt's Shot

Missionary raised his Webley and fired, the bullet hitting the Spaniard in the middle of his forehead. With a shocked expression on his face, the man stood motionless for a second, arms outstretched. He pitched forward, dead.
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Sowerbutt's Fight

The Spaniard’s voice rising, he shouted: “Come on, boy. Fight like a man. Are you scared of me? Hijo de puta.” He pulled a knife from his belt and took a step forward.
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Sowerbutt's Tableau

The shed turned into a frozen tableau. The street boys stood stock still, ready to run. The Spaniards, muttered and looked sullen, ready for a fight.
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Sowerbutt's Trigger

Missionary nodded to one of his lads who aimed his shotgun at a fence running away from the shed and pulled the trigger. The pattern of shot would have killed anyone standing in the way.

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Sowerbutt's Bombs

Wave after wave of Heinkels and Dorniers could be seen dropping their loads of bombs and incendiaries to fuel the blazes below. 
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Sowerbutt's Success

Brendan Bracken said: "The man who saved St Paul’s and the Tower was the brothel-keeper. Your man, Sorbay, sir."
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Sowerbutt's Worry

“Our noble capital, whose history stretches back more than two millennia, is suffering grievous wounds. The question preying on all of the minds of all of us is how long can London take it?” Churchill growled.

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Sowerbutt's Show

Lieutenant-Colonel Faviell nodded: “Damn good show, looks like you have saved the Tower, Mr Sorbay.”

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Sowerbutt's Warning

Over bowls of steaming bean stew at Benavente, a picturesque medieval town, the Guardia Civil comandante whispered about the terrorists in the Galician mountains. “The region is loyal; officially the El Piloto brigands don’t exist, senor. But we must be careful, you are armed. My men are on full alert.”

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Sowerbutt's Generosity

Franco said: "Many terrible things happened during the years of fighting, but I will carry the loss of my beloved goddaughter, Kasandra, in my heart forever. You were too generous to the scum who murdered our poor girl. I would have crucified him and left him as carrion."

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Sowerbutt's Friend

Generalissimo Franco walked heavily across the ornate reception room in the Pazo de Meiras at Sada, put his hands on Sowerbutt’s shoulders and kissed both his cheeks. “Jimmy,” the man, dressed in the immaculate uniform of a Captain-General, said, “it is very good to see you again."

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Sowerbutt's File

The file’s former occupants were stamped “Never To Be Released”, repeatedly checked, placed in an acid-free archival box and driven under close escort some miles from Kew to a tightly-guarded storage facility, designated under the Official Secrets Act of 1989.
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Sowerbutt's Finger

A chubby pink finger in a Horse Guards office trembled on its way down the list followed by a spectacular explosion. The well-furnished suite was more familiar with conversations about high matters of state and the acquisition of KCBs than shrieks of anger over East End road accidents.
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Sowerbutt's Aeroplane

"Pray inform me about the aeroplane flight from Sweden. Whom and what are on board this week?”

“Nothing of substance, Prime Minister. The letter to His Majesty via our Moscow Embassy, offering Heaven knows what. Shake the Italian tree, as we are in Libya, and you never know what will fall out."
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Sowerbutt's Revolution

Churchill growled: "Will the Reds seize the streets of our great city and murder us in our beds? I will call the Army out or would it be more tactful to detain them, send them to the detention camps with the Mosleyites?”
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Sowerbutt's Blitz

Churchill gripped the railing on the roof of No 10, tears showing in his eyes. “The heart of our great empire ravaged night after night by these evil Jerries. Death and destruction raining down on our innocent London families."
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Sowerbutt's Advice

Victor Savoia smiled: “Take my advice and do not hurry back, signor. The Rhodos wine is excellent, the moussaka delicious and the town has many attractive girls."
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Sowerbutt's Letter

“We’ve have gone to much trouble to get here to Rhodos,” the colonnello from the 2^nd Blackshirt Division said. “This letter is of the highest importance. His Majesty trusts you to deliver it in Ankara as soon as possible."
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Sowerbutt's Promise

Sowerbutt looked at the driver and his mate, their hands raised. “Sorry about the trouble, lads. I’ll see you right when this blows over. Mum’s the word.” He turned to One-Line and Panda. “Rope and gag them. Don’t want the stoppers thinking they were part of it.”

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Sowerbutt's Disguise

Sowerbutt turned to Madame Komarovski: “I know you want to smack the bastard, but this is a contract. We’ll bleach his hair and give it a proper cut, you’ve got the glasses with plain lens."
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Sowerbutt's Watch

Half-dozen men, all carrying shooters under their overcoats, were positioned along the quiet street, watching for trouble.
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Sowerbutt's Hold-up

The driver shouted: “It’s a hold-up.” A giant of a man, wearing a balaclava with eye-holes, wrenched the van door open and pointed a Webley revolver at his head.
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Sowerbutt's Kiss

Sowerbutt walked across the reception room and kissed Franco’s hand. “We fought together in the war, Paco. We fight together now."
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Sowerbutt's Salute

The butts of the Lee-Enfields smacked onto the driveway gravel as one; a portly figure, dressed in a long tweed overcoat and black Homburg, stepped forward and shook the squat man’s hand.
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Sowerbutt's Belt

Private Cloud stepped into the short tunnel and shone his hurricane lamp in the alcoves.  It was the work of seconds for Vershinin to strangle the 20-year-old; his belt looped around the soldier’s neck, his other hand clamped across his mouth.
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Sowerbutt's Champagne

Bracken said: “Sorbay has more Pol Roger for you, sir. I won’t go into its origins but it is untraceable. No record of it having been lifted, I think the saying is.” Churchill grunted: “The source of all wisdom, Brendan. What Government could survive without the elixir of the gods?”

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Sowerbutt's Praise

Brendan Bracken said: “The man who saved St Paul’s and the Tower was your man, Sorbay, Prime Minister. He found the bombs at the Cathedral and his men took out this criminal docker at the Tower.”

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Sowerbutt's Claim

"I’d be surprised if anyone – Vershinin – was hidden there. The lads and I work well in the dark.” Brendan Bracken snorted: “I’m sure – as half the West End knows to their cost.”

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Sowerbutt's Reply

A voice replied: “Lieutenant Bradshaw, Royal Fusiliers. We’re expecting you. Would you be so kind, old chap, to exit the tunnel one by one, holding your weapons by the barrel in front of you? Don’t want any mistakes, do we?”
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Sowerbutt's Body

The body belonged to the ginger-haired ex-docker, much of a shoulder and the side of his face blasted away. By the dead man’s side was a canvas rucksack containing gelignite wrapped in waxed paper and several timing devices.

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Sowerbutt's Bullets

The .455 bullets ricocheted off a stone buttress in the passage, a line of sparks illuminating the blackness. A split-second earlier, as rubble slipped noisily onto the paving stones, the three men flattened themselves against the rough-hewn walls.
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Sowerbutt's Ladies

The Professor said: “You ladies are natural business people, Miss Polly. 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 Shoot-Out

Sowerbutt said: “I’ve sent some of my lads into the tunnel. Might be an idea to guard the exit in the White Tower. Don’t send your soldiers inside  whatever you do. I don’t want my lads catching bullets if there is a shoot-out. We’ll stop these bastards.”

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Sowerbutt's Bomb

Sowerbutt nodded: “Bomb Disposals were at St Paul's when we left. Spaghetti found the first device attached to one of the pillars. They are Reds. The idea is to blow up these landmarks and the Reds, unionists and so on, take to the streets, all worked up."
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Sowerbutt's Road Blocks

Brendan Bracken snapped: “Yes, General. I want central London sealed off with road blocks, nobody through until their vehicles are searched.  A delivery of  Vickers Bren-gun carriers has just been made to the Rifles depot in Bow, commandeer them on Cabinet authority."

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Sowerbutt's Catastrophe

Brendan Bracken shouted: “The effect on morale will be catastrophic if St Paul’s goes up. We’ll have to say it’s the Jerries, a bomb with a time-delay fuse."
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Sowerbutt's Coffins

“A splendid deal if I may say so,” the Professor said. “The Home Office will pay 21/9 each for 500 coffins for Blitz victims. Treated pine with rope handles. Collection by the Royal Army Service Corps under guard.”

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Sowerbutt's Enemy

"That Vershinin person is up to something. Nasty piece of work, I don’t like him. They say he used to torture people – enemies of the state."
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Sowerbutt's Army

McGaskie whispered: “This is going to be the big one, my love. They are planning on tens of thousands coming to London, a veritable people’s army. The word has gone out to unions, activists, some of the silly MPs and, of course, the Reds everywhere. Once in the Smoke, some rabble-rousing and the mob will take to the streets. Mr Churchill calls out the troops, the violence escalates. Perfect for a revolution.”

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Sowerbutt's School

Father Goose said: “I have a list of 40 names for our school, Mr Sorbay says there are many more. After the terrible bombing of South Hallsville, some children ran wild; their parents dead. Terrible times. I wonder whether we will ever know how many poor souls were called to their Maker on that day."
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Sowerbutt's Generosity

The curate nodded: “Mr Sorbay, such a generous man. Some might say he operates his businesses close to the wind. But he is a blessing to our people. He houses them, he feeds them, he gives them jobs. Now he educates them.”

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Sowerbutt's Books

Father Goose said. “I’m doing a roster for the lessons and Mr Sorbay, bless his soul, put your name forward for English and history. You are a generous man, giving freely of your time as well as the precious books.” Bob Hawks smiled: “Happy to give my time to such a good cause but the books, no. Mr Sorbay paid for them.”

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Sowerbutt's Table

McGaskie leapt on his table, scattering the plates of pie and mash. “Help me, Peregrine, help me. Protect me, Buffalo. The beasts are going to hurt me,” he squeaked.

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Sowerbutt's Champion

Two burly men, both casual porters in the hospital, foolishly moved towards One-Line. Two blows from his giant fists felled them.
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Sowerbutt's Throw

Recognising several Stepney Reds, One-Line grabbed the nearest man and hurled him through the open door.
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