**Spring Planks**
Morning frost clung to the river, and the old wooden bridge creaked underfoot. Life in the village carried on as usualboys with satchels slung over their shoulders dashed across to the bus stop for school, while elderly Margaret Whitaker carefully stepped over the gaps between the planks, a string bag of milk in one hand and a cane in the other. Behind her, five-year-old Tommy from next door pedalled his tricycle with solemn focus, steering clear of the broken boards.
By evening, the shops bench was full of villagers chatting about egg prices, the latest thaw, and how theyd weathered the winter. The bridge linked both halves of the villageone side held the vegetable plots and churchyard, the other the road to the market town. Occasionally, someone lingered by the water, watching the stubborn ice still clinging to the rivers centre. No one paid the bridge much mindit had always been there, as much a part of the landscape as the fields and hedgerows.
But this spring, the planks groaned louder than before. Old Simon Carter was the first to spot a fresh crack near the railinghe ran his fingers over it and shook his head. On his way home, he overheard two women talking:
*”Its getting worse God forbid someone falls through.”*
*”Dont fretits stood this long.”*
Their words hung in the March wind.
The next morning was damp and grey. A laminated notice appeared on the post by the turn: *”Bridge closed by council order due to unsafe condition. No trespassing.”* The parish council chairmans signature was clear. Someone had already tried peeling back the cornerjust to be sure it was real.
At first, no one believed it. The children still headed for the bridge, only to turn back at the red tape and *”Keep Out”* sign. Margaret Whitaker stared at the barrier over her spectacles, then slowly turned to follow the bank in search of another way.
By the shop bench, a dozen villagers passed the notice between them in silence. Finally, William Higgins spoke:
*”What now? No way to the bus Wholl fetch the groceries?”*
*”What if someone needs the doctor? This is the only crossing!”*
Voices grew tense. Someone suggested crossing the icebut it had already begun pulling away from the banks.
By afternoon, the news had spread. The younger ones rang the council office, asking about a temporary footbridge or a ferry:
*”They said wait for an inspector”*
*”What if its urgent?”*
The replies were all the samesafety first, procedures must be followed.
That evening, a meeting was called at the village hall. Nearly every adult turned up, bundled against the damp river wind. The air smelled of thermos tea; sleeves were used to wipe fogged glasses.
At first, the talk was quiet:
*”How do the kids get to school? Its miles to the main road.”*
*”The delivery vans come from town”*
They debated repairing the bridge themselves or building a walkway alongside. Someone remembered past years when theyd patched holes after floods.
Then Edward Bennett stood:
*”Well petition the council! At least ask for permission to build a temp path.”*
Lillian Parker agreed: *”If we all sign, theyll listen faster. Otherwise, well wait till summer!”*
They drafted a letter, collecting names of those willing to work or lend tools.
For two days, three men travelled to the council offices. The official was brisk:
*”Any river work requires approvalliability falls on us otherwise. But if youve a signed petition”*
Edward slid forward the villagers names. *”Heres our agreement. Just give us the nod.”*
After a huddle, the council relentedoral permission, provided they followed safety rules. A few nails and planks from the depot were promised.
By dawn, the village knew: no more waiting. Fresh signs hung on the old bridge, while men gathered by the river with tools. Edward, grim in his old jumper, was first to shovel a path to the water. Others followedaxes, wire, hammers in hand. The women didnt stand idlethermoses of tea appeared, along with spare gloves for cold fingers.
Ice still clung to the rivers edge, but the bank was a quagmire. Boots sank as they laid planks on the frozen ground, dragging them forward. Each had a taskmeasuring gaps, holding nails between teeth, swinging hammers. Children hovered, gathering kindling for a bonfiretold to keep clear but eager to help.
From a bench, the elders watched. Margaret, wrapped tight, gripped her cane as Tommy peppered her with questions.
*”Patience, lad,”* she murmured. *”Soon youll ride across again.”*
A shout came from the river: *”Mind that plankits slick!”*
When drizzle thickened, a tarp was strung up for shelter. Beneath it, a makeshift table held bread, tea, tins of condensed milk. They ate in shiftsswigging warmth before returning to hammers and saws. Mistakes were madeboards crooked, posts sinkingbut Edwards grumbling was met with Williams calm: *”Try bracing it lower.”*
By noon, a council worker arrived, eyeing their progress. *”Dont forget handrailssafety first.”*
Nods all around; extra planks were nailed for support. Papers were signed on knees, damp sheets clinging to fingers.
By dusk, the walkway was nearly donefresh timber running alongside the old bridge, propped on makeshift stilts. Children tested it first, Tommy clutching an adults hand while Margaret watched closely. Then, the villagers crossedslowly at first, then with confidence. A wave from the far bank: *”It holds!”*
Tension melted like the last ice.
That night, by the bonfire, the workers lingered. Smoke curled over the water; the scent of wet wood and embers warmed them better than tea. Talk turned lazy:
*”Proper bridge next, eh?”*
*”For now, thisll do. Kids can get to school.”*
Edward gazed at the river. *”Stick together, and well manage the rest.”*
Margaret thanked them quietly: *”Id not have dared cross alone.”*
Mist rose as the villagers drifted home, already planning the next taskmending the school fence or clearing the church path.
By weeks end, the council returned, approving their work and vowing to fast-track repairs. Spring lengthened the days; birdsong and lapping water filled the air. Greetings grew warmereveryone knew the value of shared effort now.
And ahead loomed new projectsthe road, the playground. But that was another matter. One thing was certain: when they stood together, little was beyond them.
**Lesson learned: A village thrives not by its bridges, but by the hands that build them.**
