the weirdstone of brisingamen by alan garner

The Edge is a land of two worlds: above and below. But there wasn't anything I could do about my clothes, and Grandad was not pleased. Nearby, under the leaf mould, is a layer of white clay that we used as soap to wash ourselves before we went home after playing. When I was seven, the bog was dangerous for somebody of my size and I once got stuck in it and thought I was going to drown, even though I sank only to my hips but I managed to reach the rock and to climb up it to where a fallen tree was lodged, which spanned the bog, and by sliding along the trunk I was able to reach firm land. It landed on an old woman and her cow that, for some reason, were standing in the bog, and, as a result, are still there. It fell from the cliff above in 1740 and made the Garners' cottage shake.

Below another ancient well, the Holy Well, a rock lies in a bog. I didn't know that not all children played, by day and by night, the year long, on a wooded hill where heroes slept in the ground.

I didn't know that it wasn't the same for everyone. I am Joseph's grandson, and I grew up on that hill, Alderley Edge in Cheshire, aware of its magic and accepting it. And why did he carve it? He carved it to mark that here is the Wizard's Well. How much older, no one knows, but it's centuries older, or even more. He carved the face above a well that is much older. About 150 years ago, my great-great-grandfather, Robert Garner, carved the face of an old man with long hair and beard in the rock of a cliff on a hill where my family has lived for at least 400 years, and still does.

The weirdstone of brisingamen by alan garner