The evening's first raid was on the Plymouth pub, the Tom Elliott. The Rev. Wilfred H. Mildon, a mild-appearing man, went in alone by the four-ale door (to the public bar) to establish a bridgehead. When he reappeared and gave the thumbs-up sign, all six parsons trooped in, 30-year-old Pastor Arthur Bird's black & white accordion braying deafeningly.
Straight off, they began to bellow You Are My Sunshine. Some sailors joined in self-consciously. Three fat men playing dominoes in the corner glowered and clicked their pieces resentfully. A thin charlady drinking stout and a fat one drinking gin sang at the...
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