Tales from the riverbank

17 to 20 June 2015

The last gasp of spring before the solstice began with a wet Wednesday morning. It wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for the first walk to work of the week but beggars can’t be choosers so I pulled my hood up and marched along the riverbank. There were a couple of new flowers beside the railway line to brighten my morning. A St John’s Wort had sprung up from nowhere with long, starry stamens and yellow petals edged by black spots. This herb is used to treat depression and the sight of it certainly lifted my mood. The second newcomer was less of a surprise. I’ve been watching the wild sweet pea for a while waiting for the flowers to open. Now they finally have, adding a splash of pink to the greens and yellows.

Mia and Sandy were on their Weymouth trip so we were short handed and therefore busy. Spirits were lifted by regular Facebook updates from our roving reporters as they made their way towards Portland. The photos from the open topped bus with grinning faces distorted by the wind made us laugh out loud. They both looked like they were having way too much fun.

Thursday was even wetter. The boardwalk was all about dripping catsear seedheads, waterlogged wild mignonette, sodden poppies, wet knapweed buds and shimmering droplets. When I turned my gaze to the river I noticed Suki II was missing and I wondered where she’d gone. It hardly seemed the weather to go for a spin in a small boat. She’s been my companion on the morning walk to work for so long it was odd not to see her there.

Typically the rain cleared up not long after I got to the office. Isn’t that always the way? The day was a whirl of complaints, mostly shouty people. Thursday seems to be turning into shouty people day for some reason. Screaming down the phone really doesn’t help anyone sort out a problem but it appears to be the preferred way to make a complaint these days.

“The air conditioning on your buses doesn’t work,” one man yelled. “It’s a breach of human rights, that’s what it is. I almost fainted with the heat!”
As the man was in Southampton on a ten minute journey I know very well his claim seemed a touch excessive. After all I was in the same city and, although the sun had come out, I’d still been wearing a cardigan and a coat when I’d gone outside not five minutes before.
“I think I have heat stroke,” he continued, “and I want compensation because I’m going to have to have time off work.”
Somehow I managed not to laugh as I took his details. Heaven help him if he ever goes somewhere really hot. He was already on our system and I couldn’t resist looking at his previous complaints. One of them, from a few months ago, moaned that the heaters on the bus weren’t working and he’d caught a cold. Maybe he should see a doctor because I think he may have an issue with his body temperature.

Soon enough I was going out into the ‘searing heat’ myself for the walk home. It was a lovely stroll back along the river with the sun shining on the gently ripping water. A slight breeze ruffled my hair and I was glad of my cardigan and coat as I crossed the Big Bridge. Half way across I passed a step ladder. In my time I’ve seen some odd things abandonded on the street but a step ladder on the middle of the bridge is a first. Maybe someone had used it to climb onto the railings and jump? I peered over the edge but there was nothing but gulls on the river. How strange.

The next morning there was blue sky and wispy, feathery edged cloud criss crossed by con trails. The step ladder was gone but, on the corner by the big stones, someone seemed to have abandoned a slightly rusty bike. On closer inspection it was tethered to the metal fence but I couldn’t see anyone else about which was odd.

The tide was out and I hadn’t gone much further before I spotted the bait digger galumphing about in the mud. Maybe it was his bike, although I’d think he’d have a job carrying buckets of bait home on it. For a while I watched as he lumbered about, making sucking noises as he pulled each foot from the thick mud. If that was me I’d be sure to lose at least one boot. Does he sell the bait I wonder or is he a fisherman in his spare time? The swans were lined up at the water’s edge watching him too, at least those who were awake were.

Although there were clouds in front of me the sky behind was rapidly clearing and it looked as if it had the makings of a beautiful day. Suki II was still absent and I wondered if her owners were making good use of the weather, sailing off somewhere exciting or if she’s gone for good. If she is I’ll miss her. For the rest of the walk I imagined what it must be like to power through the waves on a little boat with the whole world in front of me. I could almost feel the wind in my face, taste the salt and feel the excitement of a new port ahead of me every day. Where would I go? What adventures would I have?

A funny square little engine was creeping along the train tracks at a snail’s pace when I crossed Horseshoe Bridge so I turned my attention to wondering about that. It wasn’t pulling any carriages and it wasn’t like the other engines that zoom up and down the line. It looked old and creaky. Maybe it was off to collect some goods waggons to take them to the docks?

As usual for Friday, lost property was the order of the day. We had, in no particular order, a stinky gym bag, three OAP bus passes, a foreign student’s bag complete with passport, the usual assortment of phones and a bag of groceries. None of the above had been handed in to control when we called, although the passport did turn up later. The most unusual complaint was from someone who’d retrieved their mobile phone but the SIM card was missing. They believed the driver or the lost property staff had stolen it. Quite why they would do that or what they’d use it for is a mystery. It was still sunny when I walked home and I took the Cobden Bridge route in the hopes of spotting Suki II further along the river. She wasn’t there but there were two small sail boats I’ve never noticed before. The mystery continues…

Commando got in from his overtime shift as the light was beginning to fade.
“The sunset is amazing tonight,” he said, “grab your phone and come for a walk up the hill with me.”
It sounded like an invitation I couldn’t refuse. We marched up the hill at top speed, getting to the top a little warm and breathless, or maybe that was just me. He was right about the sunset, stippled pink clouds like an impressionist painting and a deep orange glow growing. We strolled back down hand in hand and, when we got to the bend a plane was coming in to land. What must it have looked like from up there without the houses and trees in the way?

On Saturday the blue sky was gone for the final walk to work of the week. The swans were gathered on the shingle by the hippie ship, one latecomer lumbering up the bank to join them. They were surrounded by loose feathers. It looks like the annual moult has started early which is odd because the new cygnets are about a month late. It’s been that kind of year. The riverbank is full of untold tales and as I walk it I can’t help but wonder about them.