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Автор Алан Гарнер

Thursbitch
by
Alan Garner

For Tatiana Dobronitskaya

Richard Morris

About the Book

HERE JOHN TURNER WAS CAST AWAY IN A HEAVY SNOW STORM IN THE NIGHT IN OR ABOUT THE YEAR 1755.

THE PRINT OF A WOMAN’S SHOE WAS FOUND BY HIS SIDE IN THE SNOW WHERE HE LAY DEAD.

This enigmatic memorial stone, high on the bank of a prehistoric Pennine track in Cheshire, is a mystery that lives on in the hill farms today.

John Turner was a packman. With his train of horses he carried salt and silk, travelling distances incomprehensible to his ancient community. In this visionary tale, John brings ideas as well as gifts, which have come, from market town to market town, from places as distant as the campfires of the Silk Road. John Turner’s death in the eighteenth century leaves an emotional charge which, in the twenty-first century, Ian and Sal find affects their relationship, challenging the perceptions they have of themselves and of each other. Thursbitch is rooted in a verifiable place. It is an evocation of the lives and the language of all people who are called to the valley of Thursbitch.

About the Author

Alan Garner is one of Britain’s outstanding authors. He has won many prizes for his writing and in 2001 was awarded the OBE for services to literature. His books include The Owl Service (which won the Guardian Award and the Carnegie Medal), Red Shift and The Stone Book Quartet, recognised by the Phoenix Award of America.

Also by Alan Garner

Fiction

Strandloper

Essays

The Voice that Thunders

Thursbitch

and nu wið Grendel sceal,wið þam aglæcan ana geheganðing wið þyrse. And now I’ve got a bone to pickWith knacker master Grendel;Yon Big Thing.

Beowulf: II. 424–426

Ac ther ne was wye non so wys that the way thider couthe,But blostrede forth as bestes ouer baches and hulles,Til late was and longe that thie a lede mette,Yparayled as a paynyem in pylgrimes wyse. But no one was near as knew the next way.

They blunder about same as beasts, by the valleys and hills,While it is gone late and long past; a lommocking youth,A heathen in harness, they meet; he’s a wandering sort of a chap.

Piers Plowman: C. (ed. Derek Pearsall),

Passus VII, II. 158–161

With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this Calling

Little Gidding: V, 25

Go back. What was must never be.

1

HE CLIMBED FROM Sooker and the snow was drifting. He held Jinney’s reins to lift her, and Bryn ran round the back of Samson, Clocky and Maysey, nipping their heels so that they would not drag on the train. They passed Ormes Smithy, up Blaze Hill and along Billinge Side.

“O come all ye wych wallers as have your salt to sell.

I’ll have you give good measure and skeer your vessels well.

For there’s a day of reckoning, and Hell will have its share;

Old Nick will take you by your necks,

As Mossy ketched his mare. ”

The wind was full in their faces and the horses were trying to tuck into the bank for shelter, but Bryn kept them from shoving their panniers against the rocks. Now it was dark and the snow was swarming into his lanthorn and he could not see for the whiteness; but he knew the road.