Contributions

by Neville Krasner

The shrill tone of the telephone broke into her quiet morning reverie.

“Mrs Roberts, this is Jason's headmaster. I wonder if I could ask you to come

and see me. I'm worried about Jason's school attendance and progress with his

school work.”

“Of course,” Mrs Roberts sighed with resignation, “something

needs to be done. He's not been the same since he lost his father.”

Life wasn't easy on an Army widow's pension and she realised that she may

have to look for a job to supplement the family's small income. They lived in a

modest semi-detached house and Jason had to walk fifteen minutes through the

Childwall Black Woods to and from Gateacre Community Comprehensive

School, one of the biggest schools in south Liverpool.

It was a perfect early summer afternoon, but this was not reflected in Jason's

mood. He sat on his usual perch, a fallen tree in the woods, bunking from school

and puffing angrily on his third cigarette of the day, the way he spent most of his

meagre weekly pocket money. Jason was a loner, big for his fifteen years and apt

to use his physical attributes to get his own way among his fellow pupils who

preferred to give him a wide berth. They all knew what had happened to his

father. He was a good-looking lad and some of the girls in his class would look at

him wistfully, but they knew that he was unapproachable.

Recently his concentration had been poor at school and he was surly and

uncooperative with his teachers who took the easy option and concentrated on

the other students. It hadn't always been that way. Jason had a hero, his father.

Dad had been in the Paras, serving in Afghanistan. He didn't see very much of

him, relatively short stays between tours of duty, but he relished the chance to

hear how real men fought on behalf of their country. Then , nine months ago,

just after the start of the new school year, came the dreadful day. At six o'clock,

as they were sitting down for supper, the doorbell went .

“I'll get it Mum.” Jason opened the front door and he knew at once that

something terrible had happened when he saw the grim-faced expressions of the

two uniformed officers standing there. Almost every day the newspapers or

television broadcasts carried stories of the latest British casualties and , although

they tried to push the thought to a dark recess in the mind, they recognised the

constant dangers faced by their husband and father.

“Can we come in?” said the senior officer. Mrs Roberts came into the hallway

and also knew immediately that the worst possible news had been brought.

In the small living room, a photograph of a uniformed Captain James Roberts

was proudly displayed on a ledge above the fireplace. Mother and son listened to

an account of the heroism and of the death of James. He had been leading a

routine six man patrol in Lashkar Gah, the capital of Helmand province,

vigilant as always.. Suddenly, as they passed by the open door of a bombed-out

house, several bursts of gunfire from across the street shattered the uneasy calm.

Two of his men went down, one killed immediately, and one badly wounded. The

remaining four, pinned down, retreated into the ruined house and returned fire,

calling for back-up. During a lull, one of his patrol tried to rush out and bring

in his wounded comrade, but he too was hit. Under covering fire, James, who

couldn't allow his men to lie injured or perhaps die unretrieved, went in a

crouching run and reached the nearest casualty. He managed to manhandle the

injured man into the safety of their temporary shelter. Quickly drawing breath,

he was out again for the other soldier. The covering fire silenced the main enemy,

but a single shot rang out from a different location and James was dead before

he hit the ground. The back-up arrived too late.

“We are so deeply sorry. He was a very fine soldier. For what little consolation

it can offer, for his bravery, Captain Roberts has been posthumously awarded

the Military Cross. We will make arrangements to return him to you and the

funeral will be conducted with full military honours”.

The sad day passed, and in due course the medal arrived but Jason could not

look at it. He became increasingly truculent and withdrawn, adding to the grief

and burden placed on his mother. She dreaded the visit to the school to talk to

the headmaster.

Jason fingered the blade of a knife he had acquired. He felt that one day he

was going to use it and was waiting for the opportunity to be provoked

sufficiently. He didn't hear the yapping of the little Jack Russell terrier almost

dragging along his elderly master, a short white-haired man, just about holding

on to the long lead that gave the dog room to play. In and out of the bushes ran

the dog, but shying away from the boy on the log as if he recognised a dangerous

presence. The old man saw the glint of the knife and moved on quickly. When

Jason thought that school had probably finished for the day, he walked on

through the woods and made his way home. Mrs Roberts waited till supper to

broach the problems that the headmaster had discussed, but, with a scraping of

the chair, he shrugged his shoulders and went up to his room to brood alone.

The following afternoon found Jason in the woods again. In the morning he

could put up with English and he liked geography because he could look up the

atlas to see where his father had been posted. But in the afternoon he couldn't

stand the bunsen burners and smelly chemicals, and as for magnetic fields and

electric currents, he just couldn't get the hang of them at all, so he tended to play

truant. Sitting in his usual dark mood, he hardly noticed the old man and his

canine companion walk past along the path only a few yards fom him. A few

minutes later, he picked up the small rucksack in which he carried his school

books and set off homewards. His mother received the usual shrug and a

grunted reply when she asked how his day had been. He never thought to ask

her how she had filled her time.

On Friday, he stayed at school all day because he enjoyed woodwork in the

afternoon. The school bell rang and the class emptied. As Jason was walking

across the playground, he pushed past a small bespectacled boy in the class

below him. “ Hey! Bully boy,” shouted the youngster. “ You think that you're

tough like your Dad. My Mum says he got what he deserved. She says the Army

had no right to be there anyway.”

Everyone heard it and it was as if the world had stopped. Jason's hand went

to the knife in his pocket and started towards the boy. “That does it, the little

tyke was asking for it” was his instant reaction.

“Jason Roberts” the strong deep voice pierced the silence. “Come with me, we

need to talk.” The spell had been broken and Jason meekly followed the

headmaster to his office.

“Jason, I know how difficult it must have been for you since your father was

killed. You have your future in front of you, but if you carry on in the way that

you are doing, it is going to be a very bleak future. You have been missing your

lessons, and if it happens again I will have to suspend you and inform the

authorities. Your mother will probably be held responsible for allowing it to

happen. Do try to buck up and don't let me have to talk to you again.”

Jason knew that however bad his troubles, he could not place the extra stress on

his mother.

Saturday. “Thank goodness for the weekend,” thought Jason. “At least I don't

have to wear a uniform and go to that awful school.”

After breakfast and the few household chores, which he reluctantly did as a

token for his mother, he made for the woods, the only place where he felt he

could be alone and think his troubled thoughts. He lit his first cgarette of the

day.

The breeze rustled gently in the trees and the sun warmed the place where he

sat, but Jason was oblivious. He was slightly startled when he found a little

brown and white dog sniffing at his shoes, and almost unconsciously he put his

hand out to pat and stroke the little animal which responded with a wagging tale

and a lick of his hand.

“ I'm sorry if JR is bothering you”, and Jason looked up to see an elderly

gentleman in a rather shabby raincoat in spite of the warm weather.

“Do you mind if I sit beside you for a few minutes. I need to rest my weary legs.

And I don't suppose you'd lend me a cigarette. I have tried to stop them, but

after a lifetime of smoking, I just can't seem to give them up altogether.”

Grudgingly, Jason offered the packet and lit the cigarette with his cheap plastic

lighter. The old man gave a contented sigh.

“My name's Tom O'Brien, by the way. What's yours?”

Jason resented the intrusion but felt he had to respond.

“Jason, Jason Roberts” was the terse reply.

The little Jack Russell settled down at his master's feet.

“ I know that I'm only an interfering old buddy, but you seem troubled and

unhappy, and I wondered if you would like to talk to me about it.”

Jason had never discussed his feelings with anyone and the suddenness of the

suggestion broke through his reserve and the story came out in a rush. He told

about losing his father and what a waste of a life it was when he could have

saved himself.

“My life is a mess. I can't seem to settle to do anything useful and I don't know

what to do about it. What's the use of even trying?” The bitterness was hard to

hide.

Tom had listened carefully and then described to Jason his own background

and the tragedies he had suffered which were similar to that of his young

companion.

“I never really knew my father. He was killed in almost the first skirmish with

the Germans in France in 1939 when I was only six years old. My father was

also in the regular Army but was only a corporal. The war years were very

difficult for my mother and me. With the bombing of the docks, we had a very

lucky escape, and several of our neighbours were killed. Our own house was

badly damaged and we had to move into poor accommodation in a rented house

in Anfield. Coming from an Army family, I also joined up in due course and

served a spell in Korea during the war there. No war is pleasant and many

innocent people are hurt or killed, but there is usually a good reason for our

country to get involved. Your Dad's life wasn't wasted. He died doing what he

believed was right and he sacrificed his own life in saving another. There can't

be a higher contribution than that. Can there?

“I'm really glad to have someone to talk to. I lost my wife five years ago and I

have no living family, and my only companion and friend is my little dog. I

couldn't think what to call him so he's ended up as JR, short for Jack Russell,

his breed. Although I'm not religious, I go to church at Childwall Abbey most

Sundays just to have some contact with people. Apart from going to the local

shops for some groceries and for my pension from the post office at the top of

the road, I only venture out to take JR for a walk.”

Tom coughed hoarsely several times, saying “What an old blether I am. My

throat's so dry. I don't suppose you would come back with me for a sandwich

and a cup of tea.”

It was nearly lunchtime and his mother had gone out to visit friends, so Jason,

whose mood had so unexpectedly lightened, and was beginning to feel peckish

hestitated only briefly before indicating that he was happy to take up the offer.

He remembered the advice from his Mum and from school that he should not at

any time go with strangers but felt that Mr O'Brien was a genuine person who

just needed some company.

“It's not far” said Tom, “I live just off the Abbey Road”, and Jason found that

his own house was just round the corner.

The two houses were very similar and Jason felt immediately at home in the

sitting room while Tom made their light lunch and fed JR. Army memorabilia

was spread over the mantlepiece and Jason was drawn to the photograph of a

young Tom in his army days, and beside it a small box containing a medal. He

recognised the content immediately, the same medal his Dad had won, the

Military Cross. As Tom came in with the sandwiches, he asked if the medal

belonged to Tom and how he had earned it.

“ I mentioned that I had been in Korea. Well things happened in much the same

way as with your Dad. You just do what you think needs to be done at the time”

he said modestly.

“You will make your contribution in your own way. There's always a meaning in

life. You just have to find it.”

They chatted easily together into the afternoon until Jason felt he had to go

home. They agreed to meet in the usual place in the woods on the following

week, but Tom made Jason promise that he would stay at school all day and not

miss any more lessons, no matter how much he disliked the subjects. His mother

has just arrived home before him and when she asked what he had done all day,

she received the usual short reply.

“Out. In the woods,” but instead of going as usual straight to his room, he asked

his mother if he could see his father's Military Cross. He didn't explain why and

he certainly didn't intend to tell her about Tom and his cute little dog. Mrs

Roberts was surprised but knew better than to say anything and she gladly

retrieved the medal from a drawer in the living room cupboard. He wasn't

exactly happy, but his Mum felt that Jason was not his usual surly self.

For the next few weeks the pensioner and the schoolboy met regularly once or

twice a week either in the woods or in Tom's house, and Jason seemed more

forthcoming about school and his willingness to do the necessary homework. He

was even working towards the end of term exams. Tom seemed to have

developed a chronic cough and didn't accept any more cigarettes from Jason

who found that he was losing interest in them also. They agreed to meet again at

the end of the week and Tom suggested that Jason should come for tea and

biscuits instead of going to the woods. He was feeling a little tired these days.

Jason duly arrived on the Friday after school and was surprised to see Tom

still in his pyjamas and looking rather gaunt.

“I haven't been very well this week, and I haven't been out. Poor JR hasn't had

a walk and I can only let him out into the back garden . Be a good lad and take

him into the woods for a few minutes.”

Jason was concerned for his old friend but was glad to help, taking the key so he

could get back in without disturbing Tom.

“Go back to bed and I'll make you a cup of tea when I come back.”

Little JR wagged his tail furiously in anticipation of his outing and stood while

Jason fixed on the lead. When he returned, Jason asked when Tom had last

eaten, and it soon became apparent that there was very little to eat in the house

since the old man had been too ill to go out and buy his few provisions and he

was short of ready cash anyway since he had not been able to collect his pension

that week. The Post Office was closed now so Jason promised to come early the

next morning to do what he could to help, suggesting that Tom write a letter

which he would take to show that he was allowed to collect Tom's pension, and

he would use the money to buy whatever was needed. Jason duly arrived and

took JR with him to the Post Office and the shops, returning to make Tom a bite

to eat and to make him comfortable.

Over the next few days Jason came on a daily basis after school to tend to

Tom's needs and to see that JR was walked, fed and watered. His mother knew

that Jason was up to something but her son was not forthcoming and anyway he

seemed more contented these days. Life was much more tolerable when he

behaved like this. On Friday Jason again went to look after Tom but he was not

at home and there was no sign of JR either. There was nobody to ask where they

had gone. Jason was desolate and feared for his old friend. The only person he

could talk to was his mother and he finally opened up and told her about his

association with Tom O'Brien and how he had helped to change his outlook. She

was surprised but pleased but was unable to console Jason adequately. He

semed to withdraw into himself again and all his progress looked like being lost.

However, he continued to apply himself to his studies.

A few days later when Jason came back from school, his mother handed him a

package addressed to him personally. It had been delivered that morning and

had apparently been sent by a firm of solicitors. Mystified, he tore open the

package to find a small box which was familiar, and a letter from Tom's lawyers.

The letter explained that Mr O'Brien, feeling very ill had called for an

ambulance and he had been taken to hospital where cancer of the lung had been

diagnosed and unfortunately he had died two days later. He had left a bequest to

the only person in recent years who had befriended and supported him when he

couldn't look after himself. He thought that Jason might like his Military Cross

and hoped that the proceeds from the sale of his house would place Jason and

his mother on a more secure financial footing. He had only one word of advice

for Jason and that was that everyone was able to make a contribution in this life,

and he felt that Jason had started on the right road. His final request was to

collect JR from the RSPCA and hopefully give him a home.

Jason had never been given to crying, not even at his father's funeral, but now

the tears welled up and he gave a shuddering sob. He had never been

demonstrative either, but he looked up at his mother and threw his arms around

her.

“I'm so sorry Mum. I know that I have been a misery for the past few months,

but I'm out of it now. Old Tom was like a grandfather to me and probably

guided me as Dad would have done if he were still here.”

The following week was exam time and Jason went in nervously each day to

complete his papers. Results from each class were always shown to the

headmaster before being distributed to the pupils; he followed closely the

progress of each of his many students so that the correct guidance could be given

when required. Mrs Roberts was at home when the phone rang.

“Hello, Mrs Roberts, this is Jason's headmaster,” and her heart sank. “ I

thought that you would like to know that I am delighted with the way that Jason

has performed in his exams. In fact, the teachers in his year have recommended

him for the prize for the most improved student in his year.”

Mrs Roberts could only give a mumbled thanks and sat down to recover from

her surprise. The events of the past week had been so totally unexpected.

Jason received the good news on the following day and looked forward to the

summer break in a week's time. Jenny Matthews, one of the prettiest girls in his

class came shyly up to him.

“We're having an end of term party at the weekend and we wondered if you

would come.

“I'd like that. In fact, I'd like that very much.”

Jason's woodwork talents had not been lost. On the ledge above the fireplace sits

a beautifully crafted frame containing two medals and two photographs of the

men who had made such an important contribution to his young life.