'From a Bridge over the River Lea' by Margot Wilson

We scattered the ashes of the dog, who had outlived her young owner by one year, from the bridge over the river, where we used to take her for walks. The family gathered from their homes in other parts of London to this place, where, as a young dog, she used to race the train that goes to Hertford. The path runs alongside the railway for most of the way, bordered by nettles and dock leaves, under road bridges and, in one place a motorway. Coot and moorhen paddle up and down and round and round, with ever diminishing numbers of chicks in tow in the Spring. We watched as we stood on the bridge we had chosen, crossed by a grass-covered footpath, and hugged each other. Our tears for a young woman, and now her dog, are wearing away channels in the riverbed. We remember how, every single day, when she was a teenager, they would walk here together. A swan glides by, perhaps the one that built its nest under the street lamp. The soothing, calming river water continues to scrape away at the banks and beds. Her brother’s new girlfriend is here with us today and her sister’s boyfriend. They did not know the sister who will never be an aunty. They did not know the dog when she was young. We watched fish jumping, mallards, coots and moorhen diving. Each of us shook ashes into the current. We turned and made our way back. Gone the spell of rippling water. We waited for the train. We sped south together. Then we scattered.