On my way to the cemetery yesterday afternoon, I stopped on the bridge to look down at the river. The bank on the left is lined with large slabs of shale stone, that slope downwards. As children we used to jump and dive from them, because the water was deep, and the riverbed is flat. So we called that place Flatrock. On the opposite side were trees with lots of shade, and my mother would sit there and watch us. But sometimes she would remove her sandals and walk in the river.