The Rain Bridge is a children's book published by The Gallery Press in 2017 "a story written by Derek Mahon for his son, then aged six, a tale of loss, kindness and recovery. Iremonger’s illustrations match, in their simplicity, the purity of the author’s style." (Peter Fallon 2017); IL Ponte Della Pioggia published in Italian by Valigie Rosse, Italy 2018 and Macedonia 2019.

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The Rain Bridge is a children's book published by The Gallery Press in 2017 "a story written by Derek Mahon for his son, then aged six, a tale of loss, kindness and recovery. Iremonger’s illustrations match, in their simplicity, the purity of the author’s style." (Peter Fallon 2017); IL Ponte Della Pioggia published in Italian by Valigie Rosse, Italy 2018 and Macedonia 2019.

Development of the drawings for the book.

The Rain Bridge is a children's book published by The Gallery Press in 2017 "a story written by Derek Mahon for his son, then aged six, a tale of loss, kindness and recovery. Iremonger’s illustrations match, in their simplicity, the purity of the author’s style." (Peter Fallon 2017); IL Ponte Della Pioggia published in Italian by Valigie Rosse, Italy 2018 and Macedonia 2019.

"There once was a boy who fell in love with a bridge. It was a beautiful bridge, made of fine old wood, with spaces between the timbers and railings along each side. It crossed a stream that ran down from the hills to the sea, with woods to left and right."

"The boy walked across it every day. Not just once, or twice, or even three times; but backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, the boy would cross the bridge he loved."

"One day it started to rain. The rain grew heavier. It rained and rained, for days and days. The boy stayed at home and waited for it to stop/ He sat at the window drawing a picture of raindrops running down the glass, and wondered about the bridge."

"He felt sorry for it, cold and wet out there in the wind and rain, his beautiful bridge. Meanwhile the heavy rain fell on the hills. and the stream became a river, and the river became a torrent, and the bridge the boy loved was washed away."

"Nes morning the rain stopped, the sun shone, and there were rainbows. Step rose from the roofs of the houses, and the roads, and the woods, as if it was the first day of the world."

"The boy woke up, looked out of the window, and saw that the rain had stopped. Excited, he washed his face, pulled on his clothes and rushed out of the house. He ran along the road, and through the woods, to see the bridge he loved...."

"But the bridge had disappeared! He looked down the river, out to sea, but there was no sign of the bridge; only a rainbow bridged the two sides of the stream. So he sat down on the ground and began to cry. He cried and cried, and stared at the brimming stream, while tears ran down his face like raindrops down a window."

"While he sat there, sniffing and wiping his eyes, a big man came along. The big man looked at where the bridge had been, and looked at the boy. 'What's wrong, lad?' said the man. 'Are you crying about the bridge?' He had a kind face. The boy nodded and cried his eyes. Together they looked in silence at where the bridge had been."

"'We'll make a new bridge. It won't be as good as the old one, of course, but at least it will be a bridge...... For a week, while the sun shone and the river changed back to a stream, the man brought planks, and a hammer and nails. The boy held the nails and watched while the big man built the bridge."

"At last it was finished and they walked across it together, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards. It was a lovely bridge. Not as nice as the old one, of course, but very nice even so."

"That day the big man had to leave. He walked across the bridge for the last time, waved goodbye, and vanished into the woods. Now the boy was left alone on the bridge and he felt shy."

"He sat down very slowly and stroked the wood. After a while he lay down flat and gazed into the water. He lay there a long time until it began to get dark, and he thought, 'It's not the bridge I loved, of course, nothing can ever replace that; but it is a beautiful bridge.' And he walked home."

"That night, as he lay in bed, he thought of moonlight shinning down on the bridge - and, strangely enough, he couldn't be sure if it was the old bridge or the new bridge that he saw; for they both looked much the same."

"He knew that the old bridge was the one he really loved; but he didn't cry any more. He knew too that he would go to the new bridge every day and stroke the wood, and gaze into the water and be happy."

"He fell asleep and dreamed of bridges, and hills, and rain, and sun, and rivers, and of the sea where all rivers go, and dreamed that one day he, too, would be a big man and able to build bridges."

While he slept the moon shone down on the new bridge where he would go next day, and the day after; and the day after that,....."

".....and on all the bridges everywhere that he had yet to cross;....."

"......for the world is full of bridges, some old, some new, some big, some small - so many you couldn't count them."