Alan Garner - Thursbitch

He rose.

“And the night is the night.”

He passed over the water that was already shining and began the climb up Catstair.

“Walk and do. Walk and do. Walk and do till all is done.”

By the time he reached the cave the moon was well up, with the shape of a hare clear across its face.

Jack took the head of Crom and set it on the floor of the cave, looking out across the valley.

“I’ll be back in a three-night,” he whispered into the stone ear. “Give us thy bonny een now, then sleep gen tha be weary.”

He left the head to watch over its land and stepped onto the square slab under the ridge of the moor.

The moon was bright, but a low mist lay across the ground. He opened his neckcloth and the hare stood up. It looked about and around, sniffing the air, then lolloped away into the mist.

Jack sat, one heel beneath him, and waited. The night was still. He watched. Listened. Waited. He tucked his neckcloth into his shirt. And waited. The moon rose higher, drawing with it the mist. Jack stood to see above it, listening, looking on the hare’s path.

The first stars were showing, their sounds the echoes of the moon, and the moonlight on the brook rippled up to him. As in the day, he took of the valley and the sky and the valley and the sky took of him; but now all was lapped in a greater silence, and in it and from it he heard something in front of him, and a rustling and a plashing in the mist.

Jack stood firm and waited. The rustling and the plashing drew near, the mist snorted, and of it and from it came a bull, a great white bull, marked only by a red stripe along its muzzle, dark in the moon.

“O sweet Bull. O noble Bull. O worthy Bull. O bonny Bull.”

NAN SARAH SAT on the bank side. Everyone else was asleep. They lay in the lane or were propped against stones and each other, silent, but with their limbs moving in a slowness of their own. The moon was clear of Cats Tor.

Clonter Oakes lifted his head and looked around. He caught hold of Mary Turner’s skirt to pull himself onto his knees, and she woke at the feel of him. He stood, swaying but in balance, and not drunk, lifted his arms and clicked his fingers. He danced. His feet barely left the ground, but moved across, heel and toe, a pattering weave of steps.

Others woke at the sound and danced too. Once they were up they were firm and their bodies flowed. They danced where they stood, the men matching but not watching Clonter. The women had a different way: three high steps and a hop; and as they hopped, they wrenched their heads back over their shoulders. They lifted their arms and brought them down, the elbows bent.

Nan Sarah did not know what to do. Without pausing or speaking, the dancers formed, the men on the outside, and they came together with their different steps into one dance. The women leapt higher and the men danced faster. At no signal, they started off down to Saltersford, each one spinning slowly around.

Richard Turner sang. After two lines of the song, Edward Turner sang two lines, alone. The next two they sang together. Then all the people sang.

Nan Sarah followed, apart, walking. She did not know the dance and she did not know the words.

Sneaper Slack began a second verse, and Tally Ridge took over.

Nan Sarah had to walk hard to keep up with them. For all their sound and force, they did not tire.

Lither Lomas sang:

“The third great joy of Mary Anne

It were the joy of three –”

Fodder Pott sang:

“To see her own son little Jack

Upon the horn to fly.”

Their voices joined:

“Upon the horn to fly and scrat

The moon as bright as day.”

Saltersford echoed:

“Euoi! Euoi! Io! Euoi!

Through all Eternity!”

Another round began.

“The next great joy of Mary Anne

It were the joy of four –”

“To see her own son little Jack

March down into the moor.”

“March down into the moor and draw

The well as none can dry.”

“Euoi! Euoi! Io! Euoi!

Through all Eternity!”

They danced up the hill between the high stones.

“The next great joy of Mary Anne

It were the joy of five –”

“To see her own son little Jack

Fetch out the head alive.”

“Fetch out the head alive and skrike

He were the same as he.”

“Euoi! Euoi! Io! Euoi!

Through all Eternity!”

The climb to Shady did not slow them. Their voices were no less. On and on. When they came to the end of the song, they sang again. Over and over. Nan Sarah fell behind.

“The next great joy of Mary Anne

It were the joy of six –”

“To see her own son little Jack

Call from the rock the snakes.”

“Call from the rock the snakes and shape

Of them the ivy tree.”

“Euoi! Euoi! Io! Euoi!

Through all Eternity!”

When they reached the Butts, they did not go into the field, but stood at the corner and were stilled. Nan Sarah came up with them. They took no notice of her, nor of each other, but all looked towards the mouth of Thursbitch. They waited.

The Belderstone was dark on the field, but the crescent ring set into the top took a greater light, gathering the moon.

They waited.

“O BONNY BULL. Come thy ways.”

He stroked the curls of the bull between its horns. Then he turned his back. The moon was on the ford and all the waters of the valley ran silver to it; the high stones shone.

He set off down Catstair. He took a bone pipe from his pocket and began to play. The tune was happy and sad, and the night flowers opened and swayed around and below him, and he could see every one as close as if he held it; while around and above him the stars were just as close and moved with the flowers; and all rang and sang with the brook to the tune; and under was the knell of the tread of the bull.

They came down Catstair to the ford and along the valley. Thursbitch waters purled on every side. The flowers were with the stars, the stars were flowers, and the brook was the Milk Path all the way to Lankin at the end of the valley. Beyond, the hills were in moonlight. Jack put the pipe in his pocket. The flowers closed. The stars held their roads. He stood and looked down to the Butts. All that shone was the glint of the steel ring in the Belderstone. The people were dark and silent across the field.

The bull came to Jack’s side, and he laid his arm along its neck. “Noble Bull. Worthy Bull. We live each other’s life and die each other’s death.”

He walked into the field, his arm still on the bull, to the Belderstone. A rope lay coiled upon it, with other things. At the stone, he pressed the neck and the bull knelt.

“We do not want to mither you, O Moon,” he said, “with worship or ill praise, pasturing in your heart swift eyeless love.”

He lifted the rope and wound it between the horns. He measured five paces of slack and tied the free end to the ring in the stone; and spoke.

“Shine with high light, O Bull, and sharpen your two horns, while you sleep below the sky now in these white nights. Let your bonny een give new een above at harvest end, and let your voice go belder to the Moon, so as he never sets for ever, but wakens to tragwallet on his ways, for all us sakes.”

He called aloud.

“See at white Bull! Bonny Bull! As lives on hill tops; striding Bull as lives on hill tops! Lord over all as close the eye!”

The people sang. “Io!”

“See at his step, full of honey! There in his highmost step, the honey!”

“Io!”

“There the highmost step of Bull, striding the sky, shines down! For there is nowt as he is not!”

“Io! Euoi!”

“See at Bull with mighty voice! Mask of Bull, kindled for beauty, white!”