‘Mother River’ – A Short Story Highlighting The Awesome Power Of Nature

Published on: 14 Jan, 2026
Updated on: 14 Jan, 2026

As you may have noticed, the Guildford Dragon’s pages have been opened up to talented short story writers in recent months.

Today we are delighted to publish another of the “Highly Commended” entries in our recent short story competition, run in conjunction with Guildford’s independent bookshop, Paper Moon. The author of today’s short story is Carolyn Patterson.

Mother River

By Carolyn Patterson

I can’t breathe! The intense pressure on her lungs stopped Kate from saying the words out loud. She fought the increasing chill and the river’s current, remembering there was no one to hear her even if she were able to cry out for help.

Kate, like most other people, called it the River Wey, but those in tune with ancient ways referred to Mother River. Sometimes in hushed reverence, respecting her splendour, wisdom and faithful presence, in awe of Mother River’s ability to caress or scold. Beware any person or animal who underestimated how quickly that shiny, wet welcome could change to deep, dark anger. Or those who doubted her power in shaping the landscape. It could take centuries, but Mother River usually got her way in the end.

Kate’s riverside memories flashed before her, cliché-like and jumbled, as her windmill arms fruitlessly grabbed thin air. The red-welly-booted delight of towpath puddle splashing with her kids. Marvelling at the speedy and rarely seen kingfisher, an iridescent dart of joy. Fast forward to fighting off wasps divebombing amongst the squash and sausage rolls. Still flailing, she also remembered luxurious evenings before the children. Relishing the picnic blanket in other ways, the moon’s reflection rippling in rhythm with soft breezes of passion. Each flickering memory was usually a welcome moment to smooth or remove Kate’s worries. But not today.

It was her own fault. Kate’s grown-up son had objected loudly at her suggestion of a walk beside the Wey. ‘It’s absolutely freezing mum! You’re on your own on that one. You’ll catch your death!’ Kate beamed at the role reversal when he’d insisted that she wore her new purple bobble hat. His now-deep voice echoed her own phrases of loving care from childhood days. His sister was nowhere to be seen, out running again no doubt.

Kate wished she could feel the family warmth of that bobble hat moment now. Cold water shock was real. The benign, sparkling flow, almost inviting in the sun’s faint rays, now threatened to overwhelm and drag her down. Fighting for breath, under she went, greeted by a muffled bubbling symphony, raucous and threatening. The stench of rotting leaves matching the pungent taste of autumn from her involuntary lungful.

Stop struggling! Her numbed mind tried to think of the advice she’d instilled in her kids. Relax. Lie back and float. Calm your breath. Perhaps this battle had happened to the baby too. The only reason she was now in the water instead of crunching along the half-frozen riverbank.

Kate hadn’t noticed it at first. She was lost in the black bends of the river, so reliable and familiar, a safe harbour amongst the day’s chaos. She’d always welcomed the changing canvas of each season and their backdrop to the Wey. The optimistic daffodil streams, ebbing to a summer trickle in places as the sun and climate change did their stuff. Paddling on blonde dappled beaches that sparkled with life above and below the cloud-mirrored surface. Autumnal energy gaining strength as the wildlife, plants and trees squeezed out their last joys before winter. Finally, those dreary bitter months, surging in with a torrent as the banks strained under extra rain, frost and snow meltwater.

It had all happened so quickly. She’d been quietly admiring the trees’ stark contrast against the low sunshine, like bleak exclamation marks along the path’s edge. Then she saw it. Stark amongst the reed clumps that provided a ragged rustling home for unruly ducks. Kate couldn’t quite make out the pale shape until she’d stared long enough at the opposite bank to realise it was a baby! Horror cut through her carefree solitude. Memories of her own son and daughter collided with heart-breaking images and headlines as she looked around desperately. Seeing no one, Kate grappled with the urge to jump in or run for help, cursing when she realised her phone was still charging on the kitchen table.

As she hit the water, Kate realised that the baby was probably drowned already. Too late now, its orange woollen cardigan a day-glow beacon summoning Kate despite her fear. It didn’t look far to swim, but she could just imagine her kids’ voices. ‘Don’t be so stupid mum!’ It’s what she would have said too if they’d jumped in. She remembered them both as vulnerable infants and her primal urge to keep them safe. Perhaps that inbuilt link with the baby was what drove her forward. Whatever the reason, second thoughts or regrets were pointless. Mother River simply stretched, yawned and swallowed Kate up with an almighty splash.

Two years had passed since Mother River had last helped a soul towards their end. Rewarding foolish antics with blissful peace, as the drunken deckhand slipped quietly beneath her surface. The gaudy narrow boat chugged far down stream before his celebrating friends realised someone was missing. It was easier in the early times of golden ford, when heavy woollen garments made it simple to gather wading people who got too close. Plentiful prey continued as the royal castle appeared on the nearby hill, bringing masons weighed down by their own stone blocks and fatigue. It wasn’t so easy these days, but maybe her luck was changing.

Kate sensed the river’s ominous mood and swam as strongly as she could towards the fading light. Eventually her head shot triumphantly skywards, gulps and gasps exploding the silence. She refused to give up her comforting riverside memories to this terrifying replacement. Mother River wasn’t giving up either. Kate was sucked underneath again, just glimpsing a teasing raft or was it a threating battering ram heading towards her? Desperate now as the log sailed by leaving her no choice but to kick hard and fight back.

Her bobble hat was long-gone. Frantically she wrenched off her shoes, whirling in the spray to loosen her coat and scarf, regretting not piling them on the shore before her reckless rescue. Kate couldn’t tell how deep she was or how far away from the river’s edge. Panic took over with no strength to scream. All her thoughts and failing energy targeted towards breaking free. Then, unexpectedly, as if bored by a feeble foe or just trying to help, Mother River spat Kate out closer to the baby’s knitted SOS.

Not far now, she was almost there, only a few more strokes. Liberated, she thrashed towards the baby’s body and grabbed one of its legs, releasing it from the branch’s weed-tangled grip. What on earth! The hard rubber stare led to shocked expletives as Kate turned the baby over and registered its blinking eyelashes and tiny mouth. Earlier exhilaration dissolving, Kate recalled finding her own abandoned doll when sorting through the cast-off piles of life after her mother’s funeral. Although extremely grateful it wasn’t a body, Kate swore, spluttered and shuddered through the undergrowth, dragging the doll and questioning why she’d risked everything. It was then she heard shouting.

‘Mum! Mum! Are you OK?’ Kate’s sprinting son clutched her bobble hat, leaving a watery, silver trail for his sister close behind. Mother River shimmered innocently, gurgling a murky smile as she rolled on past the riverbank reunion.

Words all at once as they heaved their mother from the river’s grasp, each of them shaking. One with freezing what ifs, two with fearful relief. ‘We thought we’d surprise and meet you, then we saw your bobble hat floating in the river, ran further, then you were in the water, carrying a dolly!’ Both resorting to child-like babbling, struggling to understand what had happened.

They tumbled towards home, interlinked with Kate who explained everything between deep rasping breaths, as they instinctively rubbed and cuddled their mum warm. It all sounded ridiculous even to her. A life-threatening, rash decision all because she’d thought a baby was in trouble. She still couldn’t fathom how this toy had managed to fool and lure her away from sensible action. A mother’s instinct some might say. But whose? Kate’s or the river’s?

Despite Mother River’s fierce brutality that infamous afternoon, Kate often returned to wander the soothing stretch of waterway. Determined to enjoy her favourite place, with its scarlet kayaks, tiddler-catching children, and wonderous nature. Ignoring the bunting of plastic bags and other carelessly dumped debris that sadly festooned the urban stretches of the Wey. Quietly reflecting on those events now, rather than reliving the water-logged terror.

The doll became a charity-shop treasure, unrecognisable in cheerful new clothes. Thankfully chosen before relegation to the grubby top shelf, cherished by a thrilled little girl who loved her new friend.

Mother River also carried on. Winding her way and searching for souls through countryside, suburbs and the increasingly hectic towns that lined her route. Occasionally revealing shiny secrets to the few who understood her power, as she finally merged with her intended, Old Father Thames.