The Box Tin

EXT. ALLOTMENT - DAY

The sun rises over a quiet morning on the allotment. Dew glistens on the ground. ROBBIE (early thirties) stabs the earth with his spade. A tin the size of a shoe box sits at his feet. ERIC, an older gentleman, wanders by and puts a firm hand on Robbie’s shoulder.

ERIC
You alright son?

Robbie nods.

ERIC (CONT'D)
Not seen you up here for a while.

Robbie shrugs.

ERIC (CONT'D)
He always said you were a good lad. Said you’d look after his patch if anything ever happened.
Robbie continues to dig. Eric spies the tin.

ERIC (CONT'D)
What you got there?

ROBBIE
Just a couple of his things.

Eric spots a pair of battered old boxing gloves and a small urn inside the tin. He hangs his head.

ROBBIE (CONT'D)
Did you know much about my Grandad?

ERIC
He was a terrific ol’ fella ... thought a lot of you.

ROBBIE
I always looked up to him.

Robbie strokes the cracked leather on one of the gloves.

ROBBIE (CONT'D)
Boxed for the army you know.

ERIC
Did he? He had so many stories from the war ...

ROBBIE
And a lot of medals. Was always telling me how he fought for my freedom.

Eric nods thoughtfully as Robbie finishes digging and turns to face him.

ROBBIE (CONT'D)
I often think of what he must have done to get them.

ERIC
Brave man. But then the burglary of course.

ROBBIE
Honoured by your country only to have them taken away like that?
(to himself)
Poor sods.

Half overhearing Robbie, Eric looks puzzled.

ROBBIE (CONT'D)
I tried to get them back you know.

ERIC
Oh?

ROBBIE
He was never one for fuss but I knew he’d be upset. I wrote to the Ministry of Defense and told them what had happened.

ERIC
I see.

ROBBIE
They were very good, very sympathetic. In certain circumstances they can issue replacements.

ERIC
I didn’t know that.

ROBBIE
There’s a a fee of course but when it comes to something like that ...

ERIC
Money’s no object.

ROBBIE
Exactly, so I wrote back with the supporting evidence, crime number, that sort of thing.

Robbie places the lid on the tin and places it in the hole.

ROBBIE (CONT'D)
The M.O.D. wrote back. Apparently no record of Grandad ever having the medals.

ERIC
All bloody computerised systems now no doubt with some spotty school leaver ...

ROBBIE
Obviously I told them there was some kind of mistake.

ERIC
Of course.

ROBBIE
So I had to ask Grandad if he had anything left which proved he'd had them.

ERIC
All gone?

Robbie shovels soil over the tin.

ROBBIE
Never had anything to start with.

ERIC
But you’d seen them.

As Robbie talks, we see images of his GRANDAD cackling in the allotment shed, playfully jabbing his gnarled fists at Robbie.

ROBBIE
He fought other soldiers for their medals ... other soldiers oblivious to the fact he was boxing champion. I’d idolised him my whole life only to discover he’d won the medals by punching the crap out of the people who'd actually earned them.

We cut back to Robbie, gently levelling the ground with the sole of his boot.

ROBBIE (CONT'D)
Rest in peace you lying ol’ bastard.

Robbie touches the soil with his fingers and walks away.