After meeting an enigmatic stranger on Waterloo Bridge, loner Julia Bates embarks on what she thinks is a kind of treasure hunt along the River Thames, that will also teach the history of the river. But as each scenario unfolds, she begins to realise that this programme is far more personal, and the river and its history will reflect her own personal inner world, taking her out of her comfort zone. Each story she views is first shown to her as videos, but she begins to meet new people (and form a new relationship with her sister), and the scenarios change so that she and her friends start to travel in time and even to interact with the people at each historical period. They will even find that they can influence what happens, and when they travel to a future affected by climate change, they begin to realise they may even be able to change the world.
After meeting an enigmatic stranger on Waterloo Bridge, loner Julia Bates embarks on what she thinks is a kind of treasure hunt along the River Thames, that will also teach the history of the river. But as each scenario unfolds, she begins to realise that this programme is far more personal, and the river and its history will reflect her own personal inner world, taking her out of her comfort zone. Each story she views is first shown to her as videos, but she begins to meet new people (and form a new relationship with her sister), and the scenarios change so that she and her friends start to travel in time and even to interact with the people at each historical period. They will even find that they can influence what happens, and when they travel to a future affected by climate change, they begin to realise they may even be able to change the world.
Dirty Old River, must you keep rolling
Flowing into the night?
People so busy, make me feel dizzy
Taxi light shines so bright.
Ray Davies, Waterloo Sunset
On the day that my life changed I stood on Waterloo Bridge as I often did, staring out into the dark waters flowing beneath me. It was five o’clock, and the Friday night rush was buzzing behind me. Yet, despite the noise of the traffic, the throb of bus and taxi engines, the impatient honking of horns and the bustle of passers-by as they hurried homeward or to the first of the weekend’s drinking rendezvous, I found a kind of calm looking down onto the constantly moving waters. The words from the old Kinks song ran through my head as I myself looked up and gazed on Waterloo sunset.
It was the only time of day that I felt at peace.
Every morning I crossed the bridge with all the other workers. I then spent the day in a lawyers’ office above the Strand, typing letters and wills for other people, having an hour’s break for a sandwich in the old Corner House, or if it was a nice day, sitting by the fountains on Trafalgar Square. Then each evening I would walk back across the bridge with the other workers; cyclists coming in waves from the traffic lights at Lancaster Place, office workers running to catch a train, old and young with rucksacks on backs, many plugged into iPads or talking on phones, and me, trudging back to my Lambeth flat.
At this time of year, I was compelled to stop and watch the sun set over the Houses of Parliament. Tonight, it was golden, as it was a cloudless night. On other nights, when the skies were grey with cloud, I might stop on the other side of the bridge, where the dome of St. Paul’s stood to one side of the modern skyline of oddly shaped skyscrapers, starkly beautiful against a gunpowder sky.
I cannot remember whether I had any feelings of envy for those pedestrians crossing the bridge, purposely moving forwards into their busy lives, their weekend plans, texting wives, lovers, husbands, friends: ‘Be there in 5 😊’, ‘I’ll be on the 5:10 train’, ‘Meet me in the bar…’.
I had no-one to text or phone, but as far as I remember I had no feeling of missing out, or that my life was sad in any way. I have no recollection of feeling anything much. If anything, I was numb.
It was that same Friday night, as I looked over at the sun setting over Parliament, words from the song jangling in my head, that I became aware of someone standing just a few feet away from me. It was not unusual for people to stop and stare at the sunset, except this guy happened to be singing the words of the very same song that had been running through my head at the very same time as I had thought them. I looked at him, incredulously. He was a man of indeterminate age with long, flowing hair, and a long coat. Not your average office worker.
And then he turned and smiled at me.
I smiled nervously. Being a Londoner, I had a natural distrust of strangers.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said, looking back out towards the golden sky.
I turned back to look at it myself, and whispered, ‘yes, it is.’
He said nothing else, and I turned back then to see if he was going to engage in further conversation, but he was gone. I looked into the crowd, behind me and to the left and right of me, but there was no sign of him. With his distinctive looks, I would have spotted him easily despite the numbers of people on the bridge, but there was no sign of that long hair.
A chill came over me. I looked back over the river. The sun had gone, and the river and Parliament now looked dull and grey. A sharp wind was blowing across the bridge from the east.
I pulled the hood of my parka over me for extra warmth and trudged my way towards my flat.
I lived in a tiny flat in Newington, just behind St. George’s Cathedral. The rent was more than I could really afford, but I liked the location. I loved being able to walk to work, and be so close to Waterloo Station, the River, the National Theatres and galleries, and Central London. Newington and Southwark were now trendy areas, where a café culture had grown up around the South Bank. Not that I went out much, but it was nice to know that all that night life was there, so close to me, if I wanted it.
But I rarely did. After a day at work, I was content to shut myself away in my flat, fire up my laptop and get stuck into being a hero for the evening. In the multi-player world of fantasy gaming, with my trusty sword and faithful pet tiger, Tristan, I slayed dragons, toppled corrupt kings and saved the world of Terrunia many times.
Occasionally, if my computer was being slow to start, or while I waited for a ready-made lasagne to heat up in the microwave, I would stand by my window, five floors up, and look down onto the real world below. There were plenty of dragons and corruption out there too, but it was too difficult to be a hero in the real world. I was too small and inconsequential, and people scared me. How I wished I could do something about saving the world; stopping elephants from extinction, saving the environment, slowing climate change, preventing knife crime and persuading people to stop believing the lies of politicians and journalists. But what can one small, shy person do? Signing online campaigns was a mere drop in the ocean. In the real world, I felt too small, too pointless and too voiceless.
In my online fantasy world, I was a hero; I changed things, and people learned to fear and respect me.
You see, I’m not very good at sticking my head over the parapet. I grew up with an older sister who is an extrovert; a natural performer who became an actress, dancer and singer in later life and had no fear of stating her opinions (of which there were many). When we were young, my parents were slightly in awe of her, viewing her as perfection itself. If I ever spoke out in disagreement, they would frown at me, and if I tried, in my awkward, unsure and clumsy way, to state an opinion of my own, I would be laughed at by all three. Don’t get me wrong; they did not mean to be cruel; I am sure they thought that all four of us were laughing, and I often did laugh too. But inside I receded, and I learned to hold my tongue and believe that my opinions were worthless. At school I was average in just about everything, and had few friends, whilst my sister was the popular one, and became the star of the Drama Class. I was the quiet one, the one who sat at home and read books – mainly history, or fantasy or science fiction novels. On television, I watched a mixture of costume dramas, Doctor Who and Star Trek. My parents thought I was weird, and that science fiction was for geeky teenage boys.
So, years later, when computers came along, and then the internet, I was one of the first to find respite in the world of fantasy gaming where I could play the role of someone different to myself in a world where no-one in the real world could find me.
So, on that chilly Friday night in October, I was well into my game, climbing an ice mountain with Tristan, hoping to clear out a den of evil dwarves, when a wizard climbed down past me, heading the other way.
I did not pay much attention to other players in the game, preferring to keep to myself, and going on quests that only demanded my own skills. Occasionally I might join in on a group quest, but only if necessary to achieve some reward or skills needed to level up. Mostly, the only characters I spoke to were the in-game characters that were part of whatever story-quest I was on. The cloaked wizard was another player, and I was just walking past without stopping, when he stopped as I passed him, and above his head came the words, ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
It was an odd thing to say within the game, and I stopped on the mountain, looking at the game’s golden sky on the horizon. I had heard those words before, and when I looked at this wizard, I noticed he had long, flowing hair, and it was then that I remembered the meeting on Waterloo Bridge earlier.
As I paused, wondering whether to respond or not, he moved on, and disappeared.
I sat staring at the screen for a few moments, disturbed by a feeling that my two separate worlds had just collided. After a while I hit the log-out button, and closed down my laptop.
What had just happened?
‘Sheer coincidence,’ I said to myself. But as I looked around the small room, I suddenly felt the need to go out, and get some fresh air.
As usual, whenever I ventured out, which was not often, I instinctively walked towards the River. It pulled me as if with some gravitational force of its own, and within a few minutes I found myself back on Waterloo Bridge. It was now about seven-thirty, and the neon blue ring of the London Eye caught the attention, in stark contrast to the golden yellow lights that lit up the Houses of Parliament. Below, the water calmly reflected them, fusing them together with lights from the Jubilee Bridge like an impressionist painting.
It came as no surprise to see a tall figure with long flowing hair leaning against the parapet, looking out on this scene, starkly still in contrast to the constant bustle of people now out for an evening of pleasure and entertainment, heading towards the National Theatre and other delights of the South Bank complex. Yet I felt a kick in my gut and pinpricks all over my skin as I confirmed to myself that something very weird was happening.
He turned as I approached, as if he had sensed my presence.
There seemed nothing threatening about him, although the lights reflected in his eyes seemed to dance against dark and unfathomable depths. I felt in awe of him; there was something wild and ancient about him, even though he did not exactly look old. Though, if asked, I could not have specified his age.
He smiled at me and said, ‘We meet again.’
‘Yes,’ I replied. I didn’t really know what else to say.
We both looked out onto the river.
‘Do you know what it is you are looking for?’ he asked.
I did wonder whether he thought I was someone else.
‘I’m sorry?’ I replied, ‘I’m not sure what you mean. I… I don’t think I’m looking for anything.’
He turned towards me.
‘But you are looking for something, otherwise you would not have called me.’
Now I really did think he had mistaken me for someone else.
‘But I haven’t called you. I don’t even know who you are!’
‘Every night you have called me, as you stand on this bridge.’
This was getting far too weird for me. I shouldn’t have come out. It was time to go back home.
‘I’m very sorry,’ I stammered, ‘but I think you have me confused with someone else. I have never seen you before this evening, and I don’t usually call anyone I’ve never met. I’ll be going now…’
I moved to turn away.
‘But you are Julia Bates, are you not?’
I stopped and turned back to him.
‘How do you know…? I’m really sorry, but if we have met before, I just don’t remember you. I… I don’t really…’
He smiled, acknowledging my discomfort, and held out his hand.
‘You can call me Ewen.’
I was pretty sure I had never met anyone called Ewen before, but I took his hand. It was cool and firm.
‘I still don’t…’
‘No matter. All the same, I have a proposal for you.’
‘What kind of a proposal?’
At that moment, a passing taxi honked his horn so loudly at a cyclist cutting in front of him, that I jumped. Ewen turned his head as if to make sure that the cyclist was all right and turned back to me calmly.
‘Perhaps we should find somewhere quieter. Come.’
He turned and headed towards the northern, Strand end of the Bridge. I could have left then. My usual instincts told me to turn round and walk the other way, and for a moment I looked towards home and hesitated, but a new and unfamiliar instinct told me that I would probably regret it if I did not follow him. So, I followed him.
For a moment, I thought I had lost him in the crowds during my moment’s hesitation, but far ahead of me I could see his tall figure and that distinctive long hair. He must be a fast walker. I weaved in and out of pedestrians and tourists standing or walking across the bridge to keep up with him. He did not turn back to see if I was following him.
He walked over the crossing at Lancaster Place, and doubled back, disappearing into a Caffé Nero. I followed him in and found him standing at the counter, ordering a decaf latte. I stood behind him, and it was only then that he turned to me again, without showing any surprise or acknowledgement that I was still there. In anyone else, I would have found that arrogant, but in him, it wasn’t. He just knew I’d be there, and that was all.
‘Coffee?’ he asked, ‘or perhaps you’d prefer a herbal tea?’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’d like a chamomile tea, please.’ I needed something a little calming.
We sat in the comfy chairs in the corner by the window. I had never found these chairs unoccupied before, and usually had to make do with the draughty seat at the window, right next to the ever opening door. It was a good choice of his to come here, it felt cosy at this time of night, and better than the Pret a Manger across the road with its starkly lit rows of refrigerated sandwiches.
‘So,’ I said, when he did not immediately continue our previous conversation, ‘you said something about some sort of proposal?’
He gave me a sideways look.
‘How would you like to go on a treasure hunt?’
‘A treasure hunt?’ I repeated. I’d had no idea what his proposal was going to be, but I certainly would never have thought it would be that.
He nodded.
‘You might say that I run a treasure hunt all along the River,’ he waved his hand behind him to indicate the waters we had just crossed, ‘Eleven quests that will take you through the history of the Thames. I think it would be something you would be interested in.’
Once again, he was inferring that he knew more about me than our very short relationship could possibly warrant. Again, I felt surprised that it did not irritate me. He just said it as a matter of fact, not to show off. And besides, he was right. A historical treasure hunt along the river did sound interesting, although I was not keen on rushing around with a bunch of people I didn’t know, and it also sounded like it might be expensive.
‘Oh, I see,’ I said, you find people who seem to like the river, and then promote your business to them - is that it? How much does it cost?’
‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘Nothing?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That’s not much of a business. So, how does it work? How do you…?’
‘It’s not really a business. I don’t need money. It is something I offer to people who I think would get something out of it, and I find it satisfying. Oh, and by the way, you can do the treasure hunt completely on your own, if you wish. Other people are doing it, but it’s not a group thing. If you don’t want it to be. And you can always change your mind.’
Once again, he seemed to have read my mind. I contemplated him across the table, and as I did so, he said, ‘I don’t come on the quest with you, but I will be around if you need me.’
Which answered the question that I had not felt comfortable asking. No matter how genuine he seemed, I was not really into spending time with a complete stranger on some strange quest in lonely parts of the Thames Valley.
I looked down at my steaming tea and breathed in the soothing smell of the chamomile.
‘This all seems very strange,’ I said, ‘are you some kind of expert on the Thames?’
He grinned.
‘You might say that.’
‘So, how does it work?’
He put something down on the table in front of me. I recognised it immediately as a computer flash drive, and I looked up at him enquiringly.
‘You can download the programme onto your computer,’ he said, ‘watch the introduction first, then you’ll go into each story, or quest, if you like. You can only continue to the next story once you have completed the one before. You can start any time you like.’
An involuntary smile spread across my lips, and a little electric shock of excitement shot across my guts. It was a pleasant, but unfamiliar, feeling. This sounded right up my street, like someone had given me a cool game for free.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘you will have to leave your flat to carry out the tasks, so you’ll probably need to use the app on your phone as well. There’s a link in the programme.’
I picked up the flash drive.
‘So, once I’ve done all the tasks, what happens then?’ I asked, ‘I mean, is there some kind of reward at the end, or what?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but you won’t find out what that is until you’ve finished. If you finish. You might not find it as easy as you think.’
That was fine. I quite liked a challenge.
He stood up and held out his hand.
‘It was nice to meet you, Julia Bates.’
Puzzled, I took his hand.
‘Wait. What happens now - how do I contact you? How do you know when I’ve completed the…’
He smiled broadly.
‘It will all become clear. Just follow the programme.’
‘Will I see you again?’
‘Yes. Many times.’
And suddenly he was gone. He turned with a swish of that long hair and left the café before I could ask any further questions.
I looked down at the flash drive in my hand and felt another flutter of excitement. I couldn’t wait to start.
By the time I got back to my flat, it was getting on for ten o’clock, so I decided to get an early night and start the programme tomorrow. Part of me wanted to load the drive right then and find out more about what it was all about, but the sensible part of me knew it would be better to start feeling fresh on a Saturday morning with the whole weekend ahead of me. So I put the flash drive on my desk, and got ready for bed.
I thought I would have difficulty sleeping, but for some reason I got off to sleep quickly, and slept well and deeply, waking in the morning with the tail end of some fragmented dreams about being in a small boat in a large, deep river.
After a bowl of cornflakes and a strong coffee, I sat down at my laptop, picked up the flash drive and, after a moment’s hesitation where I wondered if it was possible that this was all a scam that would download a virus and destroy my programmes and empty my bank account, I decided to ignore my initial fears and pushed the drive home into a usb port.
A window popped up asking me if I wanted to install the programme, and with a small amount of trepidation I clicked Yes and waited for it to do its thing.
The interface was simple, with a blue background, and a simple button marked ‘Introduction’. No brand name or menus, so there was only one thing to do, and that was to click the button.
Immediately, I appeared to be underwater. Well, there was an underwater scene on the computer screen, but it seemed to be in 3d and was so real that I felt that I was there. Just above the water line there was a vast ocean, and then underwater again, I saw shapes moving around, and as one huge shape came towards me, I involuntarily leapt back, and my chair almost toppled backwards, as the shape coming towards me turned into some kind of creature with an open mouth and large teeth.
A voice (I think it was Ewen’s) told me that this was a mosasaur, one of the prehistoric reptiles that swam above what we now call London over 77 million years ago.
Pulling myself together, I settled myself back in front of the screen as the video took me through several million years of history. As the waters moved back, ice ages came and went, and the Thames Valley began to take shape. Some quarter of a million years ago, I saw land animals coming to drink - and at one point an elephant came charging towards me and took me by surprise again, before it was cleverly transposed onto a modern view of the Strand, and I realised I was being shown what had existed here in my world before human beings ever settled here.
I was very impressed with the quality of the picture and the sound. Ewen, or whoever it was who made this, must have some high-quality technology to make these images seem so real. In fact, as a crocodile thrashed its tail in the waters of the river, I could have sworn I felt a splash of water, and indeed I found my jumper was slightly damp - but decided I must have spilt some coffee when I had jumped back earlier.
The voice-over told me that it was about 10,000 years BC that the first settlers who would stay here came to occupy the valley from the northwest of Europe; marsh people who hunted and fished along the banks of the river.
Suddenly, the video ended, and onto the screen came some instructions. The simple text told me that there would be eleven quests. At the beginning of each quest, I was to go to the place specified, and before doing anything I should watch the video provided with each quest, and then carry out the given instructions. Underneath this text was another large button, saying ‘Quest 1’.
I took a deep breath and clicked it.
Rosamunde Bott's Dark River is a compelling tale that keeps the reader interested from start to finish. It is a novel of self-acceptance and discovery, tied together by the river Thames.
Julia Bates is the main character of Dark River, and the narrator of the novel. She is unhappy in her current life. Her dream of being an illustrator was squashed by her parents for being impractical, and her career as a secretary is not fulfilling.
She meets a mysterious stranger, Ewen, on the Waterloo Bridge. He offers her a chance to play a quest-based game. Julia is intrigued and agrees.
The quest begins with a series of videos about past events in London. The videos reach back as far as the Stone Age, and are eventually replaced by time travel. As the novel unfolds, Julia learns about the past events that helped shape the present.
Each quest also forces Julia out of her comfort zone. She learns more about herself and the future that she wants, while creating new bonds with some of the people around her.
Julia is a compelling character. Anyone who has found themselves in a rut, realizing that they are unhappy in their current lives but unsure how to make a change, will see themselves in Julia's struggle. Her journey of self-discovery is compelling, and may spark inspiration in readers.
The supporting characters are interesting, especially Alex and Suzie. They are each on their own journey, and these run parallel to Julia's. Ewen is also a fascinating character, and it was enjoyable figuring out who he really was.
The novel was able to talk about environmental issues in an interesting and compelling way. It shows the impact that people have on their environment, and the difference that one person can make. This aspect did not take away from Julia's journey, but complemented it well.
Dark River travels through time in an interesting way, and the attention to historical detail is impressive. There is obviously some poetic license taken, but nothing feels out of place. It flows together well, and the use of the river to tie everything together was very clever.
If you enjoy historical fiction, time travel stories, or journeys of self-discovery. Dark River is a novel that is worth your time. It is a compelling story with a relatable main character learning about London's past and herself, all tied together by the River Thames.