The River

The River

The river was wide, but friendly, the fields ran gently down to the water's edge. In the distance, you could see the town bridge from the park's riverside walks. Sometimes, after heavy rain, it ran brown with mud, but today, the little waves danced and glimmered in the bright warm sunshine.

He’d been walking down from the old peoples' home every day for over a year. Somehow, the river drew him like a magnet. He always sat on the same long bench, provided by the council, but today a couple was already on the bench, so he moved to the next one along. This didn’t please him one bit. It was his bench - how dare they! An old anorak with some faint lettering across the back was worn in summer and winter. Locked between his teeth he had one of those S shaped pipes. It wasn’t always lit. Ages were spent tapping out the burnt ash and refilling it with Murray’s shag tobacco. It was carefully taken from a battered old tin, rubbed in his wrinkled hands before being pressed firmly into the bowl. People would nod and say "hello" but he just grunted. Anyone who tried to start a conversation got short-shrift with a series of gruff grunts.

A young man strode along the path. He had been told to clear out while his girlfriend tried on the wedding dress with her mother. The wedding was only days away and he was nervous. Was he doing the right thing? They had had a major argument the previous evening, he was still seething. He hadn’t intended going down to the river but somehow an inner force had drawn him. He was surprised to find himself on the pathway. It was during long walks by the river that he had fallen in love with Barbara, dear Barbara, she was nothing like that bitch back at the rented apartment. It had been the biggest mistake of his life not marrying Barbara. But he was trapped now and maybe it would work out fine once they were married – but he wasn’t convinced. Time for a sit down and think, so he nodded to the old man and sat down.

A girl, pushing a pram, came through the ornate metal gates into the park and headed down towards the river. A dog ran beside her, barking happily and the baby was sitting up laughing at the dog. She stopped to throw a stick for the dog who ran after it, all excited. She wasn’t cutting a dash in the latest fashion, the pram looked second or third hand but that didn’t bother her. They were a happy little group glad to be out in the air down by the river. It was time for the baby’s bottle so she looked round for a free bench but they were all taken. For some strange reason she was drawn to the one with an old man and a young man sitting separately.

All cheerful she said, “Move up please, if you don’t mind it’s time for the baby’s bottle." Her voice dropped off as she took in the face, the face she knew so well. The little brown mole, the blue eyes, the stumpy nose – for a moment they just looked.

“Barbara.” He said recovering from the shock.

“Paul, fancy meeting you here! I thought you had gone to England.”

“I’ve been back a while; it didn’t work out too well.”

“Oh, I am sorry you were so excited about going.”

“Yes, well I’m back. I see you’ve found someone and have a lovely little boy. Congratulations.”

“Not really. I’m what Social Services call a single parent, a single mum. But me and wee Paul here get by, although my Mum wasn’t too pleased at first. But she’s coming around."

She pulled out a bottle from under the pram and lifted little Paul onto her knee. He took hold of the bottle and started to feed himself.

“What about you, have you settled down yet?” she asked.

“The wedding's next week.”

“Oh right. Well I hope you’ll be very happy and your itchy feet will remain in one place.”

They all sat quietly for a while. Paul broke the silence.
“Do you mind me asking, why you called the baby Paul?”

“Oh it’s simple – after his father.”

“Do I know this Paul?”

“All your life.”

“All my life!” He exclaimed, turning and looking puzzled.

“Yes, all your life, you stupid man – he’s yours!” she said looking him straight in the face. She wasn’t sure if she should tell him – she knew it was the right thing, but was it the right time?

“Mine? My son? Why on Earth didn’t you contact me?”

“You had your great plans for England and I didn’t want to stand in your way. He wasn’t exactly planned.”

“ Barbara,” he stopped short, at that moment the old man got up, steadied himself and walked slowly away leaning on his stick. They both looked at him and you could clearly see the words on the back of his anorak – S S NOVAK.

"Hang on a Minute." Paul jumped up and ran to him.

“Excuse me, excuse me, can I ask you something?" The old man turned round, screwed up his eyes and looked hard at him.

“This maybe a long shot, but the last I heard of my father he was a deck hand on the SS NOVAK. You don’t by any chance know a Jim Gribben? I’d love to hear about him and maybe contact him.”

The old man looked at Paul, cocked his head on one side and took the pipe from his mouth. This time there was no grunt.
“Jim Gribben?” There was a short pause. “That’s me.”

Three generations drawn to a park bench beside a river. Was it divine intervention? Was it a twist of fate? Of course, you don’t believe me. Well every word is true. And how do I know? My name's Paul Gribben. I was there.