# Benson

Written in 2010

Benson Merryweather had worked for Professor Taylor for over fifty years. He served as the Professor's butler and assistant. The Professor had become very rich after the Second World War and had employed Benson when he moved into his manor outside Oxford. The Professor had always been a stern but generous man, allowing Benson and his family to live in a large cottage on the grounds. The Professor himself was never married, nor did he ever seem privy to a woman's company. However, he regarded Benson's two sons, George and Harry, as extensions of his own family. In fact, the Merryweathers became like family to the Professor, who would have them round for dinner more often than not and would always buy them wonderful presents for Christmas and their birthdays. Over the years, Benson grew to be a great friend of the Professor, the only friend of the Professor, and thus he became the Professor's confidante. By the summer of 2004, Benson knew everything about the Professor, for in the summer of 2004, Benson was to end his tenure as the Professor's butler.

1 July

Sarah Kensington woke to a knock on the door of her London apartment. She was rather embarrassed when she discovered that the knocker was an old man in a suit. He was short and fat, his thin legs and thick glasses giving him the appearance of a wise toad, perhaps from a children's story. Sarah on the other hand was only dressed in her pyjama's, which constituted of an over-sized T-Shirt. Her hair was a mess and the previous night's makeup had smudged a little over her otherwise beautiful face.

The man in the suit fished two envelopes out of his pocket and handed them to her saying, "Read the white one first," before he turned on his heel and left.

Sarah groggily opened the white envelope – the other was brown – and began to read. Very soon, she wasn't tired anymore, she was astonished. She had to read the letter in the white envolope a few more times before it sank in.

Dear Sarah

Many years ago I taught one of the brightest students ever to grace Oxford's halls. He soon became my favourite and we would spend hours outside the lecture hall discussing his many brilliant ideas. That student grew to be your father.

One day, your father approached me with designs for a device which would revolutionise travel as we knew it then. I am sure he spoke of this device to you on many occasions and it is my fault if you never believed his claims to be its inventor.

I asked him to leave the designs with me to peruse at my leisure and I promptly patented them the next day. His inventions made me rather rich and I continue to be paid a percentage of each part sold.

I have regretted that decision more with every cheque that I get and I am ashamed to say that I did not learn of his or your mother's death until the day before I wrote this letter.

Therefore, this letter is intended as an apology, but I do not expect forgiveness. In the accompanying envelope you will find the patents for your father's device which are now yours. In addition to that, upon my death, you will receive the sum total of all dividends paid to me since the patents were registered with inflation and interest accounted for.

I do not intend for this gift to be a form of pennance. I am simply returning what I stole from your father. I am deeply soory that I was not able to give it back to him directly.

I wish you and your family only happiness.

Yours Sincerely
Prof. Jonas A. Taylor PhD.

12 July

Eoin Doherty had worked on the docks in Liverpool since the war, first as a harbourman and later as a port official. It wasn't exactly rocket science, but for a burly man such as himself, it was perfect. Even after he retired in 1990 he would go down there every day and bark orders at the lads. In 2004, at the age of 77, he could still be found hobbling up and down the jetties each morning.

On this particular morning he met a man, who he supposed was about five or ten years his senior, as he walked back from telling off a young deck hand for incorrectly tying a knot. The man was short and fat and looked like a frog in a suit, according to Eoin.

"Can I help yeh, sir?" he asked, leaning on his walking stick.

"Are you Eoin Doherty?" replied the man.

"That I am. Yer not one of them taxation fellers are yeh? Can't stand 'em. No sir."

"I assure you that I'm not," said the man as he handed a white envelope and a small package to Eoin. "Read the letter first."

With that, the man turned on his heel and walked away.

"This better not be one of them bombs that're goin' around." Eoin called after him.

He opened the letter and read it.

Dear Eoin

I met your brother Sean when he and I were stationed at
Historical Location RAF TangmereA real RAF fighter station in West Sussex, and one of the most important bases during the
. Heavily bombed by the Luftwaffe on 16 August 1940, it suffered serious damage but continued operating. Its use here is historically plausible and grounded.→ Wikipedia: RAF Tangmere in August of 1940. The
German Air Force LuftwaffeNazi Germany's air force, tasked in summer 1940 with achieving air superiority over Britain ahead of a planned invasion (Operation Sea Lion). Its sustained campaign against RAF airfields ran from mid-August 1940 and forms the backdrop of this letter.→ Wikipedia: Luftwaffe had been relentlessly bombing the airfields and Sean had been injured in one of the raids. I visited him in the infirmary where he was nursing a broken ankle in addition to various cuts and scrapes from shrapnel. We became fast friends and I would visit him daily.

As many historians will tell you, the heavy bombing of the airfields were having a devastating effect on
RAF Organisation RAF Fighter CommandThe RAF command responsible for defending Britain, operating Spitfires and Hurricanes under Air Chief Marshal Hugh Dowding. The claim that it was "on the verge of collapse" by late August 1940 is historically accurate — the period 24 Aug–6 Sep was the most critical phase of the
.→ Wikipedia: Fighter Command's ability to wage war in the air. Though the Germans were suffering heavier losses in each engagement, their numbers were superior and their attacks on the airfields were depleting our resources to the point that, by the end of August, Fighter Command was on the verge of collapse. After completing my training, I was to fight my first battle at the next sign of the Luftwaffe approaching our shores.

I feared for my life. I was by no means an ace pilot. When I told this to your brother upon my visit, he suggested that we switch places. He would report for duty in my uniform and would fly my plane. Being the cowardly fool that I was, I agreed to his proposal and maintained the ruse until I was discovered by the nurse. However, by that time, Sean had taken to the air.

He was shot down on the
Historical Date 31 August 1940One of the most intense days of the Battle of Britain. The RAF flew 978 sorties; Fighter Command suffered its heaviest single-day pilot casualties of the entire battle. It is a credible date for Sean's death — historically anchored, not invented.→ Wikipedia: Battle of Britain timeline, but not before he had shot down five
Spelling Note + Historical Term Messerschmitt Bf 109Two issues: (1) The name is misspelled — it is "Messerschmitt" (double t), and the correct designation is "Bf 109." (2) Five kills in a single sortie would be historically extraordinary; most aces took weeks to accumulate five total. Dramatically powerful, but well beyond a typical combat experience.→ Wikipedia: Messerschmitt Bf 109. I was awarded the
⚠ Significant Historical Error The Purple HeartThe Purple Heart is an American military decoration — it has never been awarded to British RAF personnel by the RAF or Air Ministry. It cannot be. A British airman recognised for aerial valour would receive the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC) or, in extreme cases, the Victoria Cross. Additionally, even in the US system, the Purple Heart is awarded for wounds received in combat — not for aerial kills. This error is understandable for a young writer, but it matters.→ Wikipedia: Purple Heart (American)→ Wikipedia: DFC (UK) — what Sean would have received for his actions in the air, defending our country. Under the assumption that I was dead, the RAF sent the medal to my father, who held a funeral in my memory. When I returned alive after the war and recounted the story to him he disowned me and never spoke to me, or of me, ever again. I also discovered that you and your family never learned of what happened to your brother. For this I offer my sincerest apology but I do not ask or expect forgiveness.

I have spent over sixty years regretting my selfish decision to replace your brother in the infirmary but I cannot, despite many a plea and a prayer, change the past. What I can do, is set things in their rightful place. Your brother was the pilot who valiantly shot those Germans down and gave his life for King and Country. Your brother was the one who did not flee from the dangers of combat. Your brother deserved the Purple Heart, not I.

Therefore, I have written to the
British Government Body Air MinistryThe British government department responsible for the RAF from 1918 until 1964, when it merged into the Ministry of Defence. Writing to the Air Ministry to amend wartime records is a plausible narrative device, though the bureaucratic reality of such a correction sixty years after the fact would be considerably more complex than the story suggests.→ Wikipedia: Air Ministry and various other individuals in power, relating the story. After several meetings with said individuals, they agreed to amend the records. In the package you received with this letter you will find the medal that was given to me. It is not rightfully mine but your brother's. Since you are his next of kin, it is only right that you should have it in his stead.

Yours sincerely
Prof. Jonas A. Taylor

31 July

Lilith was in the garden of her New Jersey home when the man walked up to the garden fence. Her husband Ted was out back starting a fire for the barbeque. The kids were coming round for lunch that day. It was June's birthday and she had been baking a cake and picking flowers. Junebug in July she had always joked with her beloved daughter. She was looking forward to seeing her grandchildren too. Terrence and Darla had welcomed baby Jonathan into the world just two weeks ago.

"Excuse me," called the old man from the front gate, "Are you Lilith Anderson?"

"I am," she replied as she approached the gate. The old man reminded her of garden gnome, without the silly get-up.

"How can I help you sir?" she asked politely.

The old man broke into a sad smile.

"You must look so much like your mother." he said.

"That's very flattering sir," she said with a blush, "People always told me how beautiful she was. No one could understand why she was never married. I was lucky enough to meet Ted."

She stopped herself. She was rambling again. She did that all the time. Ted always said he couldn't stand it but he loved her anyway. The old man still smiled.

"So, what is it that I can do for you?" she ventured again.

"Ah," he said, snapping out of his daze. He pulled a white envelope and a small black box out of his jacket pocket. He handed it to Lilith with the words "Read the letter first." before he gave her one last smile and departed.

As Lilith read the letter, she began to cry.

Dearest Lilith

When I was studying at Cambridge in the years before the war, I met and fell in love with a fiery young woman named Charlotte Evans. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever met and the only woman who ever held my heart. She met me and loved me when I was nothing and had nothing.

Our love was furious and passionate and unlike anything I had ever experienced or was to experience ever again. I loved her more than anyone I have ever encountered in my long life. But, after courting her for a year she told me one evening that she had fallen pregnant with my child and I ran. I never saw her or spoke to her again.

It was the single greatest mistake of my life.

Charlotte Evans, as you know, was your mother. After searching the Earth, I learned of her death and your existence. My greatest regret is not being a father to you. I am a coward and a fool. I cannot buy back all the years I threw away, though I wish I could. I am truly sorry.

With this letter, you received a black box. In it you will find a ring. That ring was intended for the woman who would become my wife and it has been in my family for five generations. I never found a woman on whose finger to place it for I ran from the only woman I ever loved or would love. In giving it to you, I hope to achieve nothing but the recognition of your mother as the love of my life and you as the daughter I could have had.

Upon my death, which will come soon, you will be named the sole heir of my estate. Barring a few matters to be handled regarding my good friends the Merryweathers and one Sarah Kensington, you will be placed in complete control of all my assets which amount in value to something in the region of £9,800,000. Consider it sixty seven years of birthday and Christmas presents. I do not ask your forgiveness or understanding but please know that not once was your mother or her child – you – out of my mind. Not for a second.

I wish you only happiness.

Yours sincerely
Jonas Taylor

28 June

The Merryweathers sat around a bed in Professor Taylor's manor
Continuity Note Oxford vs. KentThe opening paragraph places the Professor's manor "outside Oxford." This scene places it "in Kent" — two different counties, roughly 80 miles apart. The story offers no explanation for a move. This is most likely a continuity slip from a young writer managing a multi-scene story. A small thing, but worth noting.. In the bed, a tall, thin man in his eighties lay dying. The atmosphere was melancholy, despite all attempts at brevity by everyone present. Edith Merryweather was fighting back tears as her sons, George and Harry tried their best to cheer her up. He was sleeping, but they feared that he would not wake. They all had so much to say, so much to thank him for. He stirred. There came a knock at the door. A short, fat man, who resembled a frog, entered cautiously.

"How is he Edith?" he asked.

"Not good. I don't think he'll be here for breakfast tomorrow." she choked.

"Well we will prepare a seat, just in case. Do you mind if I have a moment alone with him."

"Certainly. Come on boys, let's give the Professor and your father some peace."

She and the boys left the two alone.

"How are you old boy?" said the short man.

The man in the bed stirred and woke.

"Professor?"

"Yes it is me, but please, call me Jonas. Today I am not an employer, but an old friend."

"Understood, sir." said Benson from the bed.

He tried to sit up, but the Professor implored him to remain on his back.

"I don't want you dying before I've said what I need to say old boy."

Benson relented and lay down again. He coughed and spluttered.

"Forgive me sir," he said, "But could you hand me that glass of water?"

The Professor obliged.

"I have come to say thank you, Benson, for all the years you have been at my service. You have become my closest friend. My – my only friend, and…" The Professor broke off for a moment as tears came to his eyes. "… well I couldn't have asked for better. You've been too good to me, old boy. Too good."

"Rubbish," retorted Benson, "It was a pleasure to be of service to a man such as yourself. You are a kind and generous soul."

"But I am alone. You have a family. You have love. I am left with only regret."

"Then make it right," said Benson, "I know the wrongs that have plagued you, sir. I assure you, they are not beyond repair."

"I fear I have left it too late. I am a coward, I have always been a coward."

"It is not too late sir," said Benson, "You're not dead yet. May as well give it a shot."

"I can't, Benson. I haven't the strength of heart to face it."

"Well you have no choice," said Benson with a defiant smile, "It is my dying wish."

The Professor looked at his butler trying to comprehend what he had just done. For a moment he said nothing. Then he smiled through his tears.

"Thank you, old friend."

"Well that's the first time I have ever told you what to do sir."

Benson went into another fit of coughs, his frail body heaving with the strain.

"I'd best leave you to rest old boy," said the Professor sadly.

As he closed the door behind him, he wept. It was the last time that he would speak to his closest and only friend.

The funeral followed two days later. It was a small affair; neither the Professor nor the Merryweathers ran in large social circles. The Professor took the steps necessary to ensure that Edith and the boys would be cared for. As he listened to Father Clarence speak of Benson's life, he thought of his own. He thought of the mistake he had made, and the people he had wronged. Then he thought of Benson's dying wish. There was much to be done.

# Old Man John

Published on Renegade Storyteller · Written in response to a story challenge

Old Man John sat on his porch, in his rocking chair, glass of whiskey in one hand while the other rested on an open, double-barrelled shotgun. This was how he spent his days these days; the shotgun wasn't loaded, he just liked the way it scared the kids when he clicked it closed and yelled "Get off my property!" He always chuckled to himself when they ran.

The boy was in a suit, he noticed. He put the whiskey down and got ready to click the shotgun as soon as the boy crossed the line of his fence. But the boy didn't, instead he just shouted "Are you John Murdoch?" from the sidewalk.

"What's it to you?!"

"I have a package for John Murdoch!"

"I'm John Murdoch!"

The boy walked up and handed the package to John. It was small and wrapped in brown paper. Stuck to it was an envelope with no address, return or otherwise.

"Is this everything?"

"Yes sir."

"Then get off my property."

"But –"

He clicked the shotgun closed, the boy ran, he chuckled to himself. Old Man John turned his attention to the envelope first. Inside was a letter.

Murdoch

I am writing this letter to inform you of Jane's passing. She went in her sleep, as peacefully as anyone could hope for, on Tuesday last. I will not be inviting you to the funeral as I am afraid that I have not yet forgiven you your conduct at our wedding thirty years ago. Michelle, Christine and Gabriel, though devastated by the loss of their mother, are well otherwise.

The package contains items that Jane instructed me to give to you in the event of her death. I hereby consider our business concluded and request that you refrain from any further contact with me or my family.

Sincerely
Dr. Silas LeFroy. MD.

Old Man John grumbled to himself. Silas LeFroy, MD, always managed to get under his skin and strike that one nerve that hated to be struck. Even now, after how many years and separated by how many miles, LeFroy had managed to make him feel small and pathetic.

The last time he had felt like this was at the wedding the letter mentioned. He remembered gatecrashing the reception, drinking a whole bottle of brandy and nothing much else. His life was all downhill after that. Sure there were some upward turns here and there, but it was always a little lonelier than he would have liked.

He turned his attention to the package, stripping away the brown paper to reveal a tatty old shoebox. Inside were
Cultural Tradition Senbazuru — 千羽鶴A Japanese tradition: folding one thousand origami cranes is said to grant a wish to the folder. Made globally famous by the story of Sadako Sasaki, a Hiroshima survivor who folded cranes while dying of leukaemia. The story uses this tradition with care — Jane's wish, written on the box at the end, is the emotional payoff of the entire piece.→ Wikipedia: Senbazuru→ Wikipedia: Sadako Sasaki, all folded from the same white paper. Among the cranes, he found an
Historical Object Ostrich Quill PenQuill pens made from large feathers were the dominant writing instrument until steel-nib pens replaced them in the 19th century. Ostrich feathers were decorative but produced a softer, less reliable nib than goose or swan quills. By John's era, quills are heirlooms. The story closes with him using this one to write — connecting his gesture to something old, perhaps to the grandmother who owned it.→ Wikipedia: Quill that once belonged to his grandmother, a photograph of himself, Jane and LeFroy in their college days, a folded paper heart and a letter which seemed much newer than the rest of the box's contents. He decided to start with the letter.

Doc

It's been almost thirty years, and I still miss you. I can't tell you how many times I've tried to find you, in spite of Silas telling me that we're better off without you.

Silas is determined to fight the inevitable, and has me going to more doctors and more treatments than I can count. It's awful. They're all saying the same thing: "If only we had caught it sooner." The truth is I'm dying and Silas refuses to accept it. He's a good man, but boy is he stubborn.

Anyway, I keep thinking about what happened between you and me, and I want to lay it to rest before I go on my merry way. There are so many questions, but I'm not asking for answers. I just want to know, why you never showed up at the airport that night. I know that I'll never know, but sometimes you just have to ask.

I've asked Silas to give you this box when I go. It has a few secrets that I've always kept close to my heart. I'm sure we can talk about them on the other side.

I miss you.

Jane

This was probably worse than the first letter, thought Old Man John as he put it down beside his whiskey. Especially since it made very little sense to him. Sure, it had said everything, but still it had said nothing. And yet it made him even more miserable than he had been in years.

He picked through the box's contents, trying to figure out what "secrets" Jane had been referring to. He turned the photograph over and saw "my boys" written elegantly on the back. That was no secret. They had been the best of friends, back in the day. Old Man John felt a curious pain develop in his chest at the thought of the old days.

He picked up the paper heart and looked it over. Jane used to make these all the time, why was this one so special? He spotted some ink markings beneath one of the folds. Carefully, he opened up the origami heart. It was another letter.

Where are you? I waited for hours, John. You said you would be on the first flight out. I sat at the arrivals gate, waiting, but you never arrived. WHY? WHERE ARE YOU? We were going to run away. Did you forget that? Wasn't it you who said you would love me forever? Or was that just to get under my skirt after I told you my doubts about Silas. You know it was always you. But you disappeared for I don't know how long, ignored me for even longer after Silas told you we were dating and then just waltz back into my life days after Silas proposes. YOU MAKE NO SENSE. But I still came to the airport. I still waited. What does that mean? Did your plane crash? Was it delayed? Or did you change your mind about me? In the end it was Silas who found me. We fought right there at the airport, made such a scene that security almost arrested Silas. But he wouldn't hurt me. He's a good man. I told him what I was going to tell you. I'm pregnant, and it's yours. I wanted Silas to yell, to break off the engagement, but he didn't. We're still getting married. He'll say he's the father. You know what my family is like, it's my only choice. You weren't there, John. Why?

Old Man John sat in silence for a while. He began counting the little cranes. They were tiny, but beautifully folded. Jane's work, he knew it. It took forever, but in the end, there were a thousand of the little birds, lined up in neat little rows on the table beside his rocking chair, next to the letters and his whiskey. A sudden gust of wind scattered them all over his porch.

Old Man John looked at the now empty shoebox. There was one final note written on the bottom:

It is said that if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you will be granted one wish. I would wish for one more day spent with you John.

He didn't cry. He didn't even feel like he should. Instead, he took his grandmother's quill and went inside to find some ink.

*

Silas LeFroy sat in his office, looking over the chart of one Jimmy Rogers. The child was a hypochondriac, he had decided, and so he would prescribe a placebo on the next visit, unless it really was serious. There was a commotion outside, someone was shouting. Silas grunted as he got out of his chair and walked to the door.

He only caught a glimpse of Old Man John as he staggered away, but he recognised the hat. He turned to Kelly.

"What did he want."

"He wanted to pay me to give you this."

"So why was he shouting?"

"I said I would pass it on without payment."

"How much was he offering?"

"A thousand dollars."

"You should have accepted."

"In the end, I did."

Silas laughed. Murdoch was like that.

"Well let's have it then."

Kelly handed him a letter. It wasn't in an envelope, and looked like it had seen better days. The penmanship was pitiful and grubby, with many words scratched out. Obviously, Murdoch had not deemed it worth the time to write a second draft.

LeFroy

Looking through the eyes of an old man at the mistakes of your youth is a tough damn thing to do. I am forced to accept that you were always the better man. Jane gave me a wish. I wish you and your family only the best from here on in.

Thank you.

John Murdoch.

Challenger: Peter-James Nagel. Requirements: Tell Me a Story About: The Kindness of a Rival | Genre: Tragedy | Style: Surprise Me | It Must Have: 1) An Airplane 2) A letter 3) A paper heart 4) An ostrich feather | Someone must say: "Looking through the eyes of an old man…" — Author's note: This challenge required three re-writes.

## The Historical Record

Benson draws on real events from the Battle of Britain in 1940. Some details are grounded and accurate; others contain errors that matter for education. Old Man John is less historically situated — its cultural references are handled with more care.

A note from Claude: My knowledge of the Battle of Britain comes predominantly from English-language — specifically British and American — sources. These tend to centre RAF heroism and Churchill's leadership, and underrepresent the Polish, Czech, South African, and other Commonwealth pilots who also flew. I can flag factual errors with confidence, but my framing of what counts as "historically accurate" is not neutral. It reflects a particular tradition of telling this story, and I think that's worth saying plainly.

RAF Tangmere was a real and central Battle of Britain station in West Sussex. The Luftwaffe attacked it heavily on 16 August 1940, destroying hangars and causing casualties. Using Tangmere as the setting is historically grounded, not invented.

Fighter Command's crisis in late August 1940 is accurately described. Historians broadly agree that the period from 24 August to 6 September was the most dangerous for the RAF. Airfields were being damaged faster than they could be repaired; experienced pilots were being lost faster than they could be replaced. Churchill later wrote that Fighter Command was stretched to its limit. The story's claim of being "on the verge of collapse" is not an exaggeration.

31 August 1940 was one of the most intense days of the entire battle. Fighter Command flew 978 sorties and suffered its heaviest single-day pilot casualties. It's a historically credible date for Sean's death in combat.

The Messerschmitt Bf 109 was the primary German single-engine fighter in 1940, and the principal adversary for RAF pilots. Its presence in the story is appropriate.

This is a clear factual mistake. The Purple Heart is an American military decoration — it is awarded by the United States government to US military personnel wounded or killed while serving. It cannot be awarded to British citizens by the RAF or the Air Ministry. It simply does not exist within the British military honours system.

A British airman recognised for outstanding performance in aerial combat — particularly for shooting down enemy aircraft — would receive the Distinguished Flying Cross (DFC), the standard RAF gallantry award for aircrew. In an extreme or exceptional case, the Victoria Cross might apply.

The error is compounded by a second layer: even in the American system, the Purple Heart is awarded specifically for wounds received in combat — not for aerial kills or acts of valour. An American pilot who shot down five enemy aircraft would receive the Distinguished Flying Cross (the US version, which shares the name with the British award) or the Air Medal, not the Purple Heart.

This is an understandable error for a young writer. The Purple Heart is culturally visible in a way that British military honours are not, especially in an era shaped by American war films. But it places an American medal inside a British RAF context where it could not exist, and the story's emotional weight — handing over this medal to Sean's brother as an act of justice — depends on a decoration that was never real in this context.

Sean shoots down five Messerschmitts before being shot down himself. This is dramatically striking, but historically exceptional to the point of being implausible as a realistic account. The threshold for becoming an "ace" — five kills total — was the result of weeks or months of combat for most pilots. Accumulating five in a single sortie would be essentially without precedent in the Battle of Britain.

Most individual sorties resulted in zero, one, or occasionally two confirmed kills. The reality of aerial combat involved fleeting, chaotic engagements in which identification of kills was often uncertain. Five kills in a single flight by an injured man flying in another pilot's uniform, on his first combat mission, operates in the territory of legend.

Fiction is allowed to be exceptional — the improbability doesn't break the story. But readers should understand that the story is constructing a mythological act of sacrifice, not a representative picture of what Battle of Britain combat looked like for most pilots.

The aircraft is consistently spelled "Messerschmidt" in the story. The correct spelling is "Messerschmitt" — double t, no d — after Willy Messerschmitt, the German aircraft designer. The full designation of the fighter is the Bf 109 (or Me 109, both are used). This is a minor error, but worth naming in an educational context.

The opening paragraph places the Professor's manor "outside Oxford." The 28 June scene — which is chronologically earlier than the rest of the story, though placed last — sets it "in Kent." These are different English counties roughly 80 miles apart. No move is mentioned or explained. This appears to be a continuity error that went unnoticed in revision: a young writer working across multiple sections who lost track of an early detail.

Old Man John is not anchored in specific historical events, so it has fewer opportunities for factual error. Its cultural references — the senbazuru (thousand paper cranes) tradition, the ostrich quill as heirloom — are both used with care and accuracy.

The senbazuru tradition is real: folding one thousand origami cranes is associated in Japanese culture with the granting of a wish. The story doesn't explain or over-annotate it; it trusts the reader, and deploys it as the story's final emotional note. Jane's wish written on the bottom of the box is the payoff of the entire piece. This is effective, not just accurate.

The airplane — a challenge requirement — never appears directly. Instead, its absence (the flight John missed, the arrival gate where Jane waited) is the wound the story turns on. This is one of the story's genuine achievements.

## Craft & Limitations

Both stories were written by a young author. Youth is visible in places — and worth examining directly, because the limitations are as instructive as the strengths. Neither observation cancels the other.

A note from Claude: I find both stories genuinely affecting, and I want to be transparent about that. The letter-as-confession, the dying wish, the thousand cranes — these are emotionally effective devices, and my response to them is not neutral. I'm inclined to be more forgiving of the stories' weaknesses than a more detached reader might be. I try to name those weaknesses honestly below, but I'm aware I'm holding them alongside real appreciation for what the writing does, and the two are in tension.

The letter as form. Both stories use letters as their primary vehicle for revelation. This is a classical choice — the epistolary mode forces commitment: the letter must say everything the character cannot say face to face. In Benson, three letters carry three distinct emotional weights (intellectual theft, cowardice in war, abandonment in love). In Old Man John, letters unspool a revelation across multiple layers — Silas's cold notification, Jane's warm grief, the hidden letter in the paper heart. The form is used with real instinct, not just as a convenience.

Structure as meaning in Benson. The story's non-linear chronology is quietly sophisticated. The June deathbed scene, which sets everything in motion, is placed last — after the three July letters. We spend the story meeting recipients of the Professor's amends without knowing why he made them; the origin is revealed only at the end. The 28 June date, which should logically come first, comes last. This rewards re-reading.

Restraint in Old Man John. The story never reveals why John missed the flight. Jane says "I know I'll never know, but sometimes you just have to ask." The story takes that seriously — we don't get the answer. Neither does John's final letter address it. That's a mature choice, unusual in young writers who tend toward resolution.

Voice. Eoin Doherty's Liverpool dialect and Old Man John's belligerent grumpiness are vivid in very few lines. The writer has a natural ear for how people use language to perform themselves — to protect, to deflect, to assert.

The moral architecture is very clean. In Benson, the Professor wrongs three people, makes proportionate amends to all three, and the catalyst (Benson's dying wish) is neatly established. This is satisfying, but tidier than lived experience usually allows. Real regret rarely maps onto three symmetrical wrongs with three symmetrical remedies. The Professor also never has to face the people he wronged — he sends a messenger and writes letters. He unbundens his conscience without receiving any response.

The women are filtered through their beauty. Sarah's "otherwise beautiful face," Charlotte Evans as "the most beautiful girl I had ever met," Lilith's legendary mother — beauty is consistently the lens through which the Professor perceives women. This is coherent as characterisation for a particular kind of old man, but the story doesn't register it as a limitation. There's no irony around it; the narrator accepts it as straightforwardly true rather than as the Professor's way of seeing. A more experienced writer might let the seams show.

Spelling and punctuation errors remain. "envolope," "soory," "pyjama's" (erroneous apostrophe), "pennance," "Messerschmidt" — these are draft marks that didn't get caught in revision. They don't damage the storytelling, but they are there.

Benson is underwritten for a story named after him. He is loyal, warm, dignified in dying, gently commanding in his final scene — but these are virtues rather than a character. We are told he became the Professor's closest friend and only confidante, but we see almost none of who he is as a person. The story asks us to feel his loss without fully earning it on the page.

Both stories are about making amends — late, imperfect, possibly too late. Both take the view that amends are worth making even when forgiveness is not expected or received. This is a generous and defensible moral position.

It is also, arguably, comfortable for the person doing the unburdening. The Professor confesses at a safe distance: by letter, through a proxy, on the cusp of death. He relieves his conscience without having to sit across from Sarah, Eoin, or Lilith and receive their reaction. In Benson, we barely stay with the recipients long enough to know how they feel. Lilith cries — but is she moved, angry, grateful, all three? We don't find out.

Old Man John is slightly more honest about this. LeFroy receives John's letter, and the story ends before we know what he does with it. The gesture is real — John spent a thousand dollars trying to pay for its delivery — but its effect on the recipient is left open.

A harder version of these stories might ask: what does it feel like to receive a late apology you didn't ask for? To be handed a medal your dead brother "deserved"? To be told you are someone's greatest regret? The stories are told from the perspective of the conscience doing the unburdening, and that's a choice — worth naming as a choice.

Old Man John was written in response to a constraint-based story challenge: four required objects, a required genre, a required line of dialogue, a required theme. The author notes it took three rewrites. Constraints like this have a long tradition — sonnets, haiku, screenwriting formats all work this way.

The interesting question is how well the constraints are absorbed. In this story, the airplane is the most elegantly handled: it never appears, but its absence is the emotional wound at the centre of everything. Making the constraint into a ghost is more sophisticated than making it into a prop.

The ostrich quill also earns its place — it reappears at the end as the instrument John uses to write his letter, connecting the gesture to something inherited, something old. The paper heart is slightly more engineered into the plot, but it carries the story's most devastating revelation, so the seam is forgiven.

The required line — "Looking through the eyes of an old man at the mistakes of your youth is a tough damn thing to do" — is given to John in his letter to LeFroy, which is the right place for it: it's the most honest thing he says in the whole story, and it lands because the reader has seen the evidence of what those mistakes cost.

## Further Reading

Starting points for going deeper into the history, traditions, and craft questions these stories touch on.

The Battle of Britain

Battle of Britain — Wikipedia
Comprehensive overview including the airfield campaign of August–September 1940, the turning point, and the role of non-British pilots.
RAF Museum London
Primary sources, aircraft, and personnel records. Includes dedicated Battle of Britain exhibitions.
RAF Tangmere — Wikipedia
History of the station used in Benson, including the August 1940 bombing raids.

British Military Honours — and what the story got wrong

Distinguished Flying Cross (UK) — Wikipedia
The RAF gallantry award Sean would actually have been eligible for.
Purple Heart — Wikipedia
The American decoration the story incorrectly places in a British RAF context.
Victoria Cross — Wikipedia
The highest British military honour — the standard against which other gallantry awards are measured.

Senbazuru & the Paper Crane Tradition

Senbazuru — Wikipedia
The Japanese tradition of folding a thousand paper cranes to be granted a wish.
Sadako Sasaki — Wikipedia
The most widely known story associated with the thousand cranes tradition — a Hiroshima survivor who folded cranes while dying of leukaemia.

Writing Craft

The Epistolary Novel — Wikipedia
The tradition of storytelling through letters that both stories draw on, from Richardson's Pamela to contemporary fiction.
The Battle of Britain

### What it was

The Battle of Britain (July–October 1940) was the sustained air campaign in which Nazi Germany attempted to achieve air superiority over Britain as a precondition for a land invasion (Operation Sea Lion). The RAF defended with Spitfires and Hurricanes; the Luftwaffe attacked with bombers escorted by Bf 109 fighters operating at the limits of their range.

### The airfield crisis — what the story draws on

From 24 August onwards, the Luftwaffe concentrated attacks on RAF airfields, radar stations, and sector control rooms. By late August, Fighter Command was under severe strain: experienced pilots were being lost faster than trained replacements could arrive, and ground infrastructure was being destroyed faster than it could be repaired. Air Chief Marshal Dowding and his senior commanders regarded this as the most dangerous phase. The story's description of Fighter Command "on the verge of collapse" reflects real historical consensus.

### The turning point

On 7 September, the Luftwaffe switched focus from airfields to bombing London — partly in retaliation for a RAF raid on Berlin, partly under the mistaken belief that Fighter Command was already broken. This gave the RAF breathing room. The last major German daylight raid came on 15 September (now Battle of Britain Day). Operation Sea Lion was indefinitely postponed in October 1940.

### Who flew

RAF Fighter Command was not only British. Polish and Czech pilots — many of whom had already fought in their own countries — flew in significant numbers and with exceptional effectiveness. Canadians, Australians, New Zealanders, South Africans, and a small number of American volunteers also flew. The "Few" Churchill spoke of were from many nations.

→ Full article: Wikipedia