The Bridge – A Fable by Denis Podany

What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun – Ecclesiastes 1:9

The town needed a bridge.

Not a symbol. Not a flagship project. Just a bridge people could cross to get to work, school, and the hospital on the other side of the river.

Everyone agreed this was reasonable.

The council issued a statement acknowledging the need and affirming its commitment to delivering a bridge that would be safe, inclusive, sustainable, and fair.

A planning group was formed. Then a steering committee. Then an oversight panel to ensure the steering committee reflected the full diversity of the town.

Consultants were appointed. They produced reports explaining that bridges were complex, that rivers carried risks, and that mistakes could have consequences. This was sensible. Everyone nodded.

Public consultations were held.

Some residents asked simple questions: When will the bridge be built? How much longer do we have to walk the long way around?

They were thanked for their engagement and assured their voices mattered.

More studies followed. One warned that a bridge might encourage too much foot traffic. Another suggested it could disadvantage those who preferred the longer route. A third concluded that while a bridge was desirable, the current framework was not yet robust enough to deliver one safely.

Years passed. People adapted.

Some woke earlier to take the long way around. Some stopped applying for jobs across the river. An elderly woman missed hospital appointments because the journey became too much. A small shop closed when customers no longer crossed.

None of this appeared in the reports.

The bridge that appeared anyway

One spring morning, a narrow wooden footbridge appeared.

It was plain. It creaked slightly. It had no plaque, no launch event, no consultation logo. But people crossed it.

Parents walked their children to school. Workers arrived on time. The elderly woman made her appointments again.

No one held a meeting about it. They simply used it.

The bridge had not appeared by accident. It had been built by a local builder.

He had worked on council projects before. He knew the regulations. He understood the risks.

For years, he had followed the process. He had submitted tenders that went nowhere. Attended briefings that produced nothing. Watched timelines slip while the problem remained exactly where it always had been – between two banks of the same river.

Eventually, he did something unfashionable. He solved the problem.

He didn’t charge for it. He didn’t brand it. He didn’t ask permission. He built the simplest bridge that would allow people to cross safely, fully intending to improve it once it existed.

The response

The council responded within days.

An emergency notice was issued. The bridge had not been approved. It had not been assessed. It did not meet modern standards. It exposed the town to unacceptable risk.

Officials spoke gravely about liability. They explained that while the intention behind the bridge was understandable, process existed for a reason. Allowing unapproved solutions, they warned, would undermine trust in governance itself.

The bridge was removed. The river returned to being uncrossable.

At the next council meeting, progress was reported. Frameworks had been strengthened. Safeguards improved. Lessons learned.

The town still had no bridge. But it had something else. Confidence that the rules were intact.

The contractor accepted the decision without argument. He packed his tools and moved on.

Across the river, another town

Across the river, a neighbouring town faced the same problem. Its residents also needed a bridge. Its river carried the same risks. Its regulations were much the same.

The same contractor was known there too. His skill and knowledge were in no doubt. He was kind and helped the community.

This time, he was asked a different question. Not “Have all the requirements been met?” But “Can you get people across safely?”

He proposed the same solution. A temporary bridge. Clear limits. Incremental improvements.

The council approved it with conditions instead of objections.

They inspected it while it was in use. They adjusted load limits. They added handrails. They fixed issues as they appeared.

The bridge stayed. And because it stayed, the town changed.

Businesses opened on both sides of the river. Commutes shortened. Hiring widened. Foot traffic increased.

The temporary bridge became permanent. Not because it had been perfectly planned – but because reality had shaped it.

The town didn’t celebrate its process. It crossed the river.

Two futures

Years later, the difference between the towns was easy to see.

In the first town, people were still discussing options. Still reviewing frameworks. Still managing risk. The river remained an obstacle.

In the second town, the bridge was simply part of life. Unremarkable. Taken for granted.

No one remembered who approved which stage. They only remembered that things worked.

No one in either town had been corrupt. No one had intended to fail. Every decision in the first town had been reasonable when viewed in isolation. Yet the result was unmistakable.

One town treated rules as tools. The other treated them as something to be protected.

One learned by doing. The other perfected the art of waiting.

Systems like this don’t fail loudly. They fail politely. They fail with meetings, minutes, and reassurances – while the original problem waits patiently on the other side of the river.

The quiet ending

As the bridge was taken away in the first town, a man stood watching in silence, shaking his head. When he finally turned to leave, his jacket shifted for a moment. The patch on his sleeve was briefly visible:

Royal Engineers.

Image on main page taken by the editor on Christmas Day 2022