Get lost, will you! I said, go on! What are you hanging around here for? Mrs. Dorothy Matthews slammed down a big plate of steaming sausage rolls onto the table beneath the sprawling Bramley apple tree and gave the neighbours boy a firm shove. Off with you! Whens your mother going to start looking after you? Useless little thing!
Lanky and pale, odd little Jonny with the nickname Cricket (nobody used his first name anymore), glanced sheepishly at the fierce neighbour before trudging back to his own doorstep.
The old Victorian house, long ago converted into several flats, was only half filled. Living there now were, as the others said, just two and a half families: the Sterling family, the Simmons family, and then the halfEmma and her son Jonny.
That half was rarely noticed or included unless absolutely necessary. Emma was not considered important, nor worth anyones time.
Emma had no one but her son, Jonny. No husband, no parents. She got by alone as best as she could. People eyed her askance, but generally left her beexcept perhaps when they chased Jonny off, who was never called anything but Cricket, because of his spindly arms and legs and his oversized head that seemed to balance on a twig of a neck.
Cricket was painfully awkward to look at, shy but immensely kind-hearted. He could never walk past a crying child without stopping to comfort them, which more than once drew the scorn of mothers who didnt want that odd boy near their little ones.
For a long time, Jonny didnt understand why he was called Scarecrow by some childrenuntil his mother once gave him a storybook about a girl named Dorothy and her friend, the Scarecrow. Suddenly everything clicked.
But Jonny took no offence. He reasoned that those who called him Scarecrow must have read the book, too, and knew that the Scarecrow was clever, kind, and helpful to alland in the end, became wise and admired. When he shared these ideas with his mother, Emma just smiled and saw no reason to shatter his optimistic take. Why not let the boy see the best in people?
There was enough meanness in the world already. Let him keep his childhood happiness for as long as he could.
Emma adored her son. Shed forgiven Jonnys father for abandoning them before the boy was even born, accepting her fate with bitter resolve when she cradled her newborn in hospital and scolded the midwife for suggesting that Jonny wasnt quite right.
Dont be ridiculous! My son is the most beautiful child in the world!
No ones arguing! But clever, well, that might not be in his stars
Well see about that! Emma stroked her babys cheek and wept hot tears.
The first two years, she dragged Jonny from doctor to doctor till someone took him seriously. Shed spend hours on rickety old buses into city clinics, hugging her swaddled boy to her chest.
Emma ignored pitying looks. Anyone who tried offering advice got snapped at:
Send yours off to a childrens home if you like! No? Well then, keep your opinions to yourself! I know what Im doing!
By the time Jonny was two, hed caught up, gaining weight and growing steadier; his mind zipped along with the best of them, even if his face was not the picture of beauty. His head was still a bit too large, limbs skinnyEmma did all she could to beat back the scrawniness by giving him every scrap of good food she could manage, going without herself.
Her sacrifice paid off. Jonny hardly bothered the doctors anymore; they only shook their heads with surprise at fragile Emma hugging her Cricket.
There arent many mums like you! A child they said would be disabled, now look at hima little champion! Clever, too!
Yes! My boy is exactly that!
Now, were not talking just about the boy. You, Emma, are the real hero!
Emma shrugged, struggling to grasp what was so unusual about loving your own child and caring for him. Wasnt that simply what a mother did?
By the time Jonny was old enough for Year 1, he already read hungrily, wrote well, counted figuresand stammered a little, which sometimes overshadowed his talents.
Jonny, thank you, thatll do, his teacher would cut him off, handing the reading aloud to another child.
Later, in the staff room, shed sigh that Jonny was bright, but blessedly difficult to listen to in front of the class.
Luckily, she only lasted two years before leaving to have children, and Jonnys class was handed to Miss Mary Carter.
Miss Carter, a veteran teacher with a sharp wit and a soft spot for children, figured out Cricket easily. She had a quiet word with Emma and sent Jonny off to see a good speech therapist, insisting he complete his answers in writing.
You write beautifully! I do love reading your work!
Glowing under the praise, Jonny blossomed all the more. Miss Carter would read his answers aloud to the whole class, reminding them what a talented student they had.
Emma was so grateful shed have kissed Miss Carters hands if the teacher allowed, but Miss Carter just waved her off:
Dont be absurd! This is simply my job! And your boy is wonderful. Hell be just fine, youll see!
Jonny happily skipped his way to school, much to the amusement of the neighbours.
There hops our Cricket! Looks like its time for our shift! Goodness me, how could nature be so cruel to a child? Why ever did he survive?
Emma knew exactly what her neighbours thought of her and Jonny. But she hated arguments; if someone lacked a kind heart, you couldnt force them. No need to waste the time of life trying to decipher other people when it could be spent fixing up the house or tending her rose bush by the steps.
Each flat had its own patch outside the entrance, a loosely observed rule. Emmas bit was the prettiest by far, with blossoming roses and a big lilac bush, and the steps covered in a mosaic made from broken tiles shed begged off the local community centre, shining in the sunlight like the treasures from some far land.
Can I have those tiles? shed burst into the managers office, barely waiting for a reply before carting away the scraps late into the evening, selecting only the best for her patch.
Neighbours looked on, bemused. Whats she want with all that rubbish? But weeks later they gasped admiringly at the art Emma created from the unwanted junk.
Shed never seen a real museum, never been abroad, but her instincts guided her hands. The tiny mosaic entryway drew onlookers from all over the village.
Just look! Its a masterpiece
Emma ignored the surpriseshe cared only for her sons opinion:
Mum, its so beautiful
Jonny would sit tracing the patterns in the tiles, beaming with contentment. And Emma would overwhelm with tears yet again, for her boy was happy and moments of happiness were few for Cricket. At school, hed get praised; at home, a special meal or motherly cuddle, and her whispered reassurancesthose were his joys.
He had very few friendshe lagged behind the boys in footie and preferred reading. The girls were shielded from him, particularly by Mrs. Matthews, who had three granddaughters aged five, seven, and twelve.
Dont you dare go near them! shed waggle her finger at Cricket. Not for you, my lad!
Nobody quite understood what went on in Mrs. Matthewss perm-curled head, but Emma warned Jonny to stay well away.
No need to ruffle her feathers. She might take ill
Jonny agreed and gave Mrs. Matthewss doorstep a wide berth, even that day when she was setting up for a party, just passing quietly by.
Oh, Lord, have mercy! muttered Mrs. Matthews as she covered a plate with an embroidered tea towel. Or theyll say Im a miser. Wait!
She called after Jonny, handing him a couple of sausage rolls.
Here! And dont let me catch you out in the garden. Its a special day! Stay put till your mother gets home, understand?
Jonny nodded thanks and scurried off; Mrs. Matthews was already thinking of guests arriving, grandkids tumbling in, the family gatheringher youngest and favourite granddaughter, Daisy, was having her birthday, and the last thing she wanted was the awkward neighbours lad spoiling it!
No need to frighten the children with that odd-looking nipper, she thought bitterly, breathing heavy as she recalled warning Emma shed never manage, the boy would never amount to anything.
Why give birth, Emma? What for? You cant give him a life. Hell end up as a drunk, freezing in a doorway!
Have you ever seen me with a drink, Mrs. Matthews?
Thats not the point! With your poverty, youre doomed! Your boy doesnt stand a chance. You dont know what it means to be a mother; you were never taught. Get rid before its too late!
How could you say such things! Youre a mother yourself!
Dont look at me like that! I raised mine, gave them all I could. What can you give?
After that, Emma stopped greeting Mrs. Matthews, walking past with pride, her ungainly belly jutting ahead, refusing to spare a glance.
Dont be silly, girl, I only want whats best for you! Mrs. Matthews would tut.
Your best smells rotten, Mrs. Matthews! Ive got morning sickness! Emma would retort, stroking her bump. Dont you worry, my darling. No one will ever hurt you.
Jonny never told his mum about the names or cruelties from neighbours. He felt sorry for her, in his quiet way. If people upset him, hed cry in secret, but never let on. He knew Emmas heart would break faster than his own. The pain slid off him, like water off a ducks back. Clean tears washed away the hurt, and minutes later, hed almost forgotten who had said what, just feeling sad for the strange adults who didnt grasp the simplest things.
Life was easier without bitterness or grudges.
Jonny had long ago stopped fearing Mrs. Matthews, though he didnt like her. Every time she threatened him with a jabbed finger and bitter words, hed dash awayhe didnt want to see those angry eyes or hear her sharp, blade-like remarks. Had Mrs. Matthews ever asked him how he truly felt, she might have been astonishedJonny pitied her, sincerely, in a way only he could. He was sorry for this woman, who wasted minutes on anger.
Minutesthose mattered more to Jonny than anything. He knew with a childs wisdom that nothing was more precious, nor brought back: once gone, never to be bought for any money, nor traded even for the prettiest sweet wrapper.
But adults never seemed to understand
Perched on the windowsill of his room, Jonny nibbled one of the sausage rolls and stared out over the back lawn where Daisy (the birthday girl, flitting in her pink party dress like a butterfly) and the other children kicked up grass and laughter. Jonny watched, spellbound. He pictured Daisy a princess, or fairy from a storybook.
The adults celebrated round a table in Mrs. Matthewss yard while the children moved towards the old well behind the house where there was more space for footie.
The moment Daisy vanished out of sight, Jonny at first didn’t noticehed been distracted watching the boys group up for some secret plan. But soon he realisedDaisys pink blur was missing.
Heart pounding, Jonny dashed to his front steps. A quick glance told him Daisy wasnt among the grownups either
Why he didnt shout for help, Jonny didnt know even later. He simply bolted across the lawn, ignoring Mrs. Matthewss shriek behind him:
Stay inside, did you hear?!
He reached the worn, mossy brinks of the old wellthe children, shrieking, hadnt noticed Daisy was missing, nor that Jonny had gone tearing after her. Peering down, Jonny saw a flash of pink deep below.
Press up against the side! he called, in case Daisy heard.
Not daring to touch her, Jonny lowered himself down, wriggled onto the rotten beams, then dropped into darkness.
He knew time was shortDaisy couldnt swim. Hed seen Mrs. Matthews try to teach her and remembered her floundering in the water.
As Daisy clung to him, coughing and frightened, Jonny wrapped her arm over his neck like his mum had taught him.
Dont worry, Ive got you, he soothed. Hold tight, Ill shout as loud as I can!
Clinging to the slimy wooden lining, Jonny managed a shout for help, but the other kids had already scattered. He didn’t know if anyone would hearor if he had enough strength to keep Daisy from sinking till adults came. He only knew this: the world didnt have enough beauty or minutesnot to save her.
People did hear, eventually.
Mrs. Matthews, setting down a roast goose, looked up for Daisy and froze:
Wheres Daisy?!
Drunken relatives didnt catch her panic at first, until she let out a scream so fierce it startled everyone; passers-by stopped in their tracks.
Jonnys voice, hoarse with fear, called again:
Mum!
And Emma, hurrying home from her cleaning job, felt a sudden urgency. Shed planned to get bread, but instinct made her sprint straight home, shoes forgotten, straight to the gardenand as she burst in, she saw Mrs. Matthews collapse on the old steps.
Something was wrongEmma dashed for the back, heart hammering, barely pausing to pinpoint Jonnys call.
Im here, love!
She needed no guesswork the old well had always worried her. She had begged the council to fill it in, or at least top it with something safer, but only managed to put up a flimsy fence. No one but Emma cared.
No time to think. Emma tore indoors, grabbed the washing line, raced onto the steps:
Quick! Take thishold on!
Fortunately, one of Mrs. Matthewss sons-in-law was sober enough to understandhe knotted the rope swiftly and wrapped tiny Emma round the waist.
Go on! Ive got you!
Emma snagged Daisy at once. As the girl clung feebly to her neck, Emma trembled with terror, nearly losing her grip in the cold water as she fished for Jonny.
She felt something thin and slippery. Heaving with all her might, she hauled her Cricket up, pausing only to shriek:
Pull!
As they all were lifted, Emma heard a weak and ragged:
Mum
Jonny spent nearly two weeks in hospital, returning to the village a hero.
Daisy was released sooner, waterlogged but mostly unharmedsave for a few scratches and a ruined dress. Jonny had suffered far worsea broken wrist, trouble breathing for a while. But with his mother near, he wasnt afraid any longer.
My dear, dear boy! Thank goodness! If you hadnt Mrs. Matthews sobbed, hugging sun-browned Jonny. Ill give you anything you want!
Why? Jonny shrugged his skinny shoulders. I just did what needed doing. After all, Im a man, arent I?
Mrs. Matthews, lost for words, simply hugged him tighter, never realising this same awkward lad would, years later as a grown-up, drive an armoured ambulance full of the wounded to safety, never asking who was who, only doing what was needed because it was right.
And when asked, why help people after how they treated you? Cricket would answer simply:
Im a doctor. Its whats right. Life needs to go on. Simple as that.
***
Dear reader,
Truly, a mothers love knows no bounds.
Emmas devotion to Jonny, despite hardship and the scorn of others, nurtured him into a kind and wise young man. Her unshakeable care helped him flourish. Its the clearest reminder of the transformative power of parental love.
True heroism is in the heart: Jonny, judged by his awkward looks, proved himself a hero through courage and kindness when he risked everything to save Daisy. It was his actions, not his appearance, that defined him. Kindness, bravery, and compassion are the real marks of greatness.
Neighbours who once looked down on Emma and Jonny were forced to see their worth after Jonnys heroic act. The story is a reminder that prejudice crumbles in the face of genuine virtueand that the highest lesson is to keep doing good, no matter how others treat you. As Jonny put it: Im a doctor. Its whats right. LifeI must keep going. Thats all.
This tale inspires us to remember that humanity and compassion always shine through indifference and crueltythat real worth truly does come from within.
So, what do you think, reader?
Do you believe kindness always finds a way, no matter the odds, and changes the world for the better? When has your own life shown you that looks deceive and that true riches lie in the soul?
