Jack carried a sandbag beside George who carried two.

"You're running bloody late."

"It's been there close on fifty years, another fifteen minutes won't hurt."

They reached the pillbox. George stopped his helpers a dozen yards short.

"What are you going to use?"

"Got time for a lesson, have we?"

"Only asking."

"Get that shower back and I'll talk you through."

Jack waved the drivers and the farmer and the developers away.

He watched George work. All the time he worked he talked. A thin nasal voice describing the skills that he loved.

"I've drilled shot holes right through to the reinforcing net of wire, got me? Reinforced concrete, right, so there's wire in the middle. Each wall, I've got six shot holes a foot apart, and I've six more in the roof drilled vertically. For each hole there's three cartridges of P.A.G., that's Polar Ammon Gelignite to you. All in it's close to 20 pounds that's going to blow. Don't ever force the cartridges, see, don't mistreat the little fellows, just slide them in, like it's a bloody good woman you're with… "

Jack enjoyed working with the old man. For more than two years he'd been with George once a week, once every two weeks, and he was always made to feel it was his first time out. There hadn't been anything of a friendship between them until George had one day cried off a job, and Jack had been in his area and called by. He had found him alone with a twisted ankle and an empty larder and gone down the local shops and stocked the cupboard, and ignored all the moaning about not accepting charity. He'd called in a few more times till the old man was mended, but though they marked the binding of an unlikely friendship his visits were never referred to again.

' Bastard stuff this reinforced concrete. Takes double what you need to knock over brickwork…" lack knew that. He'd known that from the first time he'd worked with the old man. He just nodded, like he'd been given a jewel of new information.