I sat on the wall of a river embankment with my father beside me, older now and more frail than I had ever imagined he could become…   a spring afternoon and the broad mass of water before us was flowing fast: the snows on the hills were melting. The tide was low and a broad strip of untidy shoreline showed at the base of the walls. There were few boats on the river and no other people on the quayside. We had just watched a young man drown…   Tears stood in our eyes as we saw the current sweep the man around a curve and out of sight…   My father’s maroon silk handkerchief passed between us.

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See Paul Ebdon introduction

See the novella