The Folklore of Discworld

right type, to spread the load. They began by recruiting shy young Agnes Nitt (also known, in the recesses of her own mind, as Perdita) to replace Magrat and carry out thetraditional tasks of the Maiden, which consist mainly of fetching the tea and getting bullied. But then Magrat had a baby, and so would be qualified to return as Mother. This, however, is Nanny Ogg’s natural role, seeing as she has had fifteen children, and revels in an ever-growing horde of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. In literal years, Nanny belongs to the same generation as Granny, but in these matters it is not literal facts that count. It is no accident that her cottage is called Tir Nani Ogg, which, as Tiffany Aching rightly suspects, means ‘The Land of the Ever-Young’ ( Tir nan Og ) in the ancient Celtic speech which the Nac Mac Feegles brought to the Discworld – and not , regrettably, ‘Nanny Ogg’s Place’ [ Wintersmith ].
    It is understandable that when it seemed that Granny might be about to withdraw from witching, Nanny disliked the consequences for herself: ‘Can’t say I fancy being a crone. I ain’t the right shape and anyway I don’t know the sound they make.’
    So, for the present at least, the threesome is a quartet, and who-stands-for-what still has to be sorted out. Nevertheless, Granny and Nanny have grown into their roles during the course of the series: Nanny is the notionally soft big-hearted one, an expert on midwifery, while Granny is the one you will, with some trepidation, call in when death is in the air.
B ORROWING IS NOT S HAPE-CHANGING
    Granny Weatherwax is the most skilful Borrowing Witch in all Lancre. While her body lies cold and rigid in her bed, her mind goes off and borrows the consciousness of any bird or animal she chooses. Steering it gently, she sees with its eyes, feels its pleasures and fears and appetites, absorbs any knowledge it has. In due course she guides it into her bedroom, and quietly slips out of its mind. Then she has a short lie-down, just to get used to the feel of her own body again. And then, since things have to balance, for the next few days she will put out some food for the creature whose mind she entered.
    She is so skilled that she has even Borrowed a swarm of bees:
    ‘She’s going to swank about this for weeks ,’ said Nanny Ogg. ‘No one’s ever done it with bees. Their mind’s everywhere, see? Not just in one bee. In the whole swarm.’
    ‘I done it with beezzz! No one can do it with beezzz, and I done it! You endzzz up with your mind all flying in different directionzzz! You got to be good to do it with beezzz!’ [ Lords and Ladies ]
    Which also goes to show that some of what you’ve Borrowed stays with you for a while, such as, in this case, a certain confusion in the vocal cords, plus a need for a bunch of flowers, a pot of honey, and someone to sting. The bees themselves – or the owl, bat, hare, or whatever – remain almost unaware that a human mind has been riding them. At least, that is how it should be. If someone ruthless does it, an Elf Queen for example, she goes through the animal’s mind like a chainsaw, leaving it half crazed.
    There are dangers, of course. No magical procedure is without risks. A young inexperienced witch with a natural talent can become so intoxicated by the joy of Borrowing that she sinks too deep in, and stays there. So can an old one, come to that. For years Nanny Ogg used to put out lumps of fat and bacon rind for a bluetit that she was sure was old Granny Postalute, who went out Borrowing and never came back. Even Granny Weatherwax knows that she must be careful. It’s addictive, like a drug.
    There is also the practical problem that someone might mistake your body for a corpse, and pop it into a coffin before you can get back. To avoid this embarrassment, Granny Weatherwax always holds, in her rigid hands, a small card which says I ATE’NT DEAD.
    Not all Discworld witches are able, or willing, to Borrow, while on Earth the skill is almost unknown. There, one of the very few accounts of what appears to be a Borrowing Witch comes from St Briavels in Gloucestershire, and was reported in the journal Folk-Lore in 1902. There was a girl there who, for some reason, had to share a bed one night with a certain old woman and her daughter.
    During the night she happened to wake, and was alarmed to feel how very cold the old woman was. She shook her, but in vain. So she then woke the daughter, crying, ‘I do believe