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Fear of meeting the Wild Hunt prevents most villagers from using the footpath across the fields under the camp after dark yet. It is told that one man who dared to cross it about midnight heard the sounds of a pack of hounds in full cry, and for a time wondered what fetched "the old squire" out hunting at that time of night. However, as there was evidently a good run going on, he hastened to open the field gate toward which the pack was coming, and stood by to watch. And when the dogs came through, they were not the squire's, but terrible great black dogs, with fiery red tongues lolling out, and the gentleman with them was riding a great black horse without a head.

No harm came to the man in this case. But only the quick wit of another man saved him. He also dared to cross the path in the dark, and was overtaken by the Wild Hunt as it passed overhead. And when he looked up, there was the devil himself following the hounds and riding on a great pig. What was worse, the devil pulled up and spoke to him.
"Good fellow," he called, "how ambles my sow?"
The man was "most terrible feared," but he knew that he must make some answer, so he replied:
"Eh, by the Lord, her ambles well enow!"
And that saved him, for the devil could not abide the Name of the Lord, so he and his dogs vanished in a flash of fire!

..The riders of the Wild Hunt are specially localised at the riverward end of the trackway [from Dowsborough], where the hill fort of Combwich has a most uncanny reputation. The hill itself is a bold, rounded mass of the mountain limestone of the Mendip formation, cropping out through the red sandstone, and is said to have been brought from the Mendips by the devil when he dug out Cheddar gorge, which is plainly visible from any point of the distric commanding an eastward view across the Parrett. After throwing some material into the sea, thereby forming Flatholme and Steepholme islands, the next spadeful made the Knoll at Brent, falling short of the water, and the labourer decided to carry the next load westward. He filled a basket accordingly, and with it on his back leapt over the Parrett, landing so heavily that the load was jerked from the basket to form the hill, at whose foot one may still see, deeply impressed in the rock, the mark of his hoof. This is a very definite imprint, but the corresponding impression of his hand - for the devil came down on all fours as he lighted from the leap - on the opposite side of the hill, I have not been able to locate, though it is said to be there.

Local memory has it that "men from Dowsborough beat down men from Stowey Castle, and the men from Stowey beat down Stogursey Castle".

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..The great hill-camp of Danesborough is practically the central point of our district, and it is a usual saying with us that a Quantock man never cares to be out of sight of "Dowsboro' pole." [..] I have already mentioned the tradition that at Danesborough there was a massacre of "the Danes," and though it is not likely that those marauders ever reached the camp, no doubt some such slaughter did take place there, possibly in the invasion of Kentwine. But it is said that the old warriors are still living within the hill, and that at midnight their songs and merriment as they feast may be heard.

[..]

From Danesborough runs eastward the ancient trackway to the Cannington, or Combwich, fort and the tidal ford. And along this route the "Wild Hunt" still passes overhead, coming from the river to the hills. The belief of the hunt is strong with us, but I have never heard that its passing is held to portend anything special, as in the north.

[A camp], unnamed, lying in Aisholt parish, on the eastern slopes, and guarding a pass over the highest ridge of the hills, "Will's Neck," seems to be associated with a more definite battle-tradition yet. The field below the spur of the hill where the camp lies, in which the fight took place, is still pointed out as that where "the worst battle ever fought in these parts was fought. The dead men were heaped all so high as the top of the gates, and the blood ran out so deep as the second thill," (i.e. gate bar). The folk can tell you no more, but will repeat the detail, only adding that it is not so long ago that the graves of the dead men could be seen in the field, and that swords and spears had been dug up often. Nothing is visible now to break the surface, and it is not known what became of the weapons. This statement is probably traditional, and may date back indefinitely.

Turning the Devil's Boulder. Primitive Rite in Village of Shebbear, North Devon.

The Times of November 4, 1952, in announcing a "traditional survival" in "an isolated upland village" said "The pride of the village is the brown monolith - an arenaceous conglomerate stone - that reposes beneath an oak-tree outside the Norman church. On the evening of November 5 the bell-ringers unfailingly assemble in the belfry with a designedly clamorous and discordant peal, which is looked upon as a challenge to evil spirits. Accompanied by the Vicar the ringers then leave the church, arm themselves with crowbars, and surround the boulder. Shouting excitedly, as though to encourage one another, they then turn over the boulder.

The oldest inhabitant, a blacksmith 87 years of age, has given his boyhood memories of the custom. He told me that in his time the custom took place later in the evening and torches and lanterns were used.

The turning of the boulder is regarded in a most serious light by the older villagers. Any neglect of this parochial function would, they say, lead to evil consequences for the crops.

E.F. COOTE LAKE

A festival used to be held on top of Martinsell on Palm Sunday, which closely resembled an ordinary country fair. The principal feature of the meeting was the fighting which took place there. The inhabitants of the district would reserve the settlement of their quarrels till the day of the festival, and the scenes which then occurred were often of the most brutal character. But this part of the ceremonies was suppressed, and the fair soon died out.

People still meet on the top of the hill, however, and a curious game is played on the steep slope. A number of boys stand one above the other, and the one at the foot starts a ball, which is hit up the hill with hockey sticks, each of the players passing it to the one above him, until it reaches the top boy, when it is allowed to roll down, and the game is begun again.

I cannot find that any peculiar viands were sold. An old man said "land figs" were eaten, but these seem to be the ordinary fruit. I am told that boys play a game at Roundway Hill, near Devizes, on Palm Sunday, similar to that played at Martinsell.

In what was early this century the garden of the home of Sir Johnston Forbes Robertson there stood a Bronze Age round barrow. It was partly removed in 1920 for a tennis court, when it was found to contain the primary burial of a human skeleton, probably crouched, above which were six later, most likely pagan Saxon, skeletons. These finds caused the house and its surroundings to acquire the reputation of being haunted, with the result that Sir Johnston experienced some difficulty in getting servants or keeping them. The site of the barrow is on Bay Hill, St Margarets at Cliffe, at TR 36414449. I have not seen it but it was still about two feet high in 1964..

The Drake Stone.. consists of one large and one small glaciated boulder of Spilsby Sandstone. This is said to have been all one stone, and that the smaler one has been split off the larger; the stones are always spoken of in the singular. Trollope says [..1872] that "the stone is said to have stood upon another stone at one time." Only in one traditional account, out of many, were the stones called the "Duck and Drake Stones."

[..]

Local tradition says that a man was ploughing in the field that is known as "Drake Stone Close," when he was horrified to find horses and plough fast disappearing into a sort of quicksand. He himself managed to keep on firm ground, but he could not get the horses out, try as he would. As the quicksand finally closed over them, with a horrid sucking noise, a drake seemed to fly out of the hole where the horses had disappeared, and flew away with a discordant quacking. This scared the man so badly that he hurriedly left for home. Next morning he re-visited the spot to find the ground firm, but a slight depression indicated the site of the tragedy, in the middle of which was a large boulder stone, something the shape of a drake's head; since when this stone has been known as the Drake Stone.

It was always said, that under the Stone there was a great deal of treasure hidden, and many were the efforts to obtain it on the quiet, but no one was successful. Then a man, bolder than the rest, determined to make a great effort to get this treasure, openly; so he got together a yoke of oxen, not of ordinary strength, but all the oxen that he had or could borrow, and he fastened great chains round the stone, and fastened the oxen to them. At the given word the beasts pulled and heaved and managed to move the great stone a very little way from its bed, but then the chains snapped, and the oxen collapsed, and the guardian spirit of the treasure flew from under the stone in the form of a drake, and back went the stone into its accustomed place again.
After that it was deemed unwise to meddle with the stone, and it was left severely alone.

THE ARPAFEELIE BASIN STONE

A curious story is attached to an ancient stone, embedded in the ground, in a beechwood on the estate of Alangrange, near Arpafeelie, Black Isle, Ross-shire. The stone, roughly oblong, contains a circular cavity, about eight inches across and eight or nine inches deep, which is very carefully formed out of the hard rock. The stone lies a few yards south of a prehistoric "hut circle" of which there are three pairs, situated on a ridge, called Taendore--Gaelic, Tigh-an-druidbh-- house of the Druids. It is of the class known as Basin Stones.

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After a lapse of years the following sequel in events [to the story in PSAS] occurred. In March 1937 permission was given to the Curator of the Inverness Highland Museum, by the owner of Alangrange for the removal of the stone to the Museum. In view of this, two local residents went to examine the stone and accidentally turned it over on one side, leaving it lying thus unnoticed. Forty-eight hours later, the family at Taendore received news of the death of a child relative, caused by an accident. Also a sheep farmer, residing at the same farm, suddenly collapsed while escorting a cousin to her car. Whether or not these incidents were regarded as coincidences, or as acts of diabolical agency, the owner of the estate felt compelled by force of local and family feeling, to cancel the permission for removal of the stone, which she had given so recently.

It, therefore, rests in its original home at Arpafeelie, apparently for all time, as to this day none of the local country people will approach within near distance of the stone.

These later events in the history of the stone, were recorded, at the time, by the Curator of the Museum, in the Inverness Courier, 1937.

There was also a belief that the rainwater contained in the basin of this stone, was a cure for barrenness. "Childless women visited the stone and bathed in its water before sunrise" (Pro.Soc. of Antiquaries Scot. Vol. XVI, p387). This "cure" was resorted to up to the year 1882, at least.
E.J. BEGG.

A North Pembrokeshire legend says that in ancient days the Afanc, dwelling on the Precelly slopes somewhere above Brynberian, ravaged the countryside, committing such depredations on the live-stock of the population that a consultation of the wisest folk was held to devise some means of getting rid of him. They decided to slay him by a trick. A deputation was sent to him to ask him to dig a well for the people. This he agreed to do, and forthwith began working furiously. When he had dug to a great depth ("over one hundred yards" said one relater) the people above tipped into the hole he had made a big load of "white stones" {? Alabaster} which they had collected on the mountain-sides, intending to crush him to death. But next morning they found him still digging, and were informed by him that there had been a rather heavy snowstorm on the previous day. Thus they were unable to do away with him; and he continued as before, eventually "dying a natural death", after which "he was buried on the hill side" between Hafod and Brynberian, "and his tomb {a cairn of stones} may be seen to this day". In June, 1928 Charles Oldham and I visited this stone circle which is close to the village of Brynberian, well out on the moor.
This story was collected by T.R.Davis (now Schoolmaster of Newport School) and included by him in original Welsh in his prize essay on N. Pembrokeshire Folklore (MS. Maenchlochog, 1906). He heard it from shepherds and cotters in the Precelly district.

..an account [of this] appeared in a Devonshire newspaper one day last spring, on the Dartmoor, where the foaming river Plym rushes through a ravine under the tall cliffs of the Dewerstone. This wild spot is haunted by the Black Huntsman, who with his "Wish-hounds" careers over the waste at night. A story is told of this phantom that a farmer, riding across the moor by night, encountered the Black Hunter, and being flushed with ale, shouted to him "Give us a share of your game!" The Huntsman thereupon threw him something that he supposed might be a fawn, which he caught and carried in his arms till he reached his home, one of the old moorland farms. There arrived, he shouted, and a man came out with a lantern. "Bad news, master," said the man; "you've had a loss since you went out this morning." "But I have gained something," answered the farmer, and getting down brought what he had carried to the lantern, and beheld---his own dead child! During the day his only little one had died.

Village Feasts.--Many Cotswold parishes keep their annual Feast in the autumn, usually on the Sunday after the church dedication festival, which is sometimes observed on the date according to Old Style. There are family gatherings, a special dish for the occasion, and often open house, especially at the smaller public-houses. [..] at Nympsfield, puddings or dumplings are made of wild plums or "heg-pegs." There is a local rhyme, twitting the Nympsfield folks, who are very sensitive on the point:-

Nympsfield is a pretty place,
Built upon a tump,
And what the people live upon
Is heg-peg [or "ag-pag"] dump.

Nympsfield lies between "Hetty Pegler's tump," - i.e. Uley Bury tumulus, --and Lynch Field; but there is a Barrow field, of which only the name remains, in the village itself.

Four Stones, Old Radnor.-- There was a great battle fought here, and four kings were killed. The Four Stones were set up over their graves. (Kington Workhouse, 1908.)

A fine assortment of early opinions on [the henge] is fortunately available. Thomas Pennant, journeying north, wrote of it in 1769, "Some suppose this to have been designed for tilting matches, and that the champions entered at each opening. Perhaps that might have been the purpose of it: for size forbids one to suppose it to be an encampment." Four years later, however, he visited the Thornbrough henges (all three are very similar) and changed his mind, deciding that they at any rate, were designed for holm-ganga, or single combat in the Norse style, with the contestants entering at either side and spectators thronging the bank. He cites Saxo Grammaticus to illustrate this, and he adds, "I daresay the ring near Penrith, in Cumberland" (i.e. King Arthur's Round Table) "was formed for the same purpose."

Hutchinson, who had also visited the Round Table by 1773, noted: "We were induced to believe this was an antient tilting ground, where justings had been held: the approaches seemed to answer for the career, and the circle appears sufficient for the champions to shew their dexterity in the use of the lance and horsemanship: the whole circus being capable of receiving a thousand spectators on the outer side of the ditch."
Pennant was not the first to record the tradition of "tilting" at the Round Table. Bishop Gibson, a century before, had suggested "Tis possible enough that it might be a Justing-place...

During the late summer of 1952 the writer was of a team of archaeologists [excavating Thornborough Central henge].. Curious villagers often visited the "dig", and from the gossip of one, a fairly intelligent quarry foreman of about 50, the following beliefs emerged. The henge was supposed to have "treasure in't middle". It was known as "the charging-ground" and had been used as such by either the Romans or the Saxons (a previous local find of a Roman bath lent favour to the former alternative). The protagonists, mounted on horseback either for tilting or for single combat, had entered at the two opposing entrances, and had hurtled to their mutual encounter at the centre. Cheering spectators had thronged the banks, isolated from the combatants by the inner ditch, which was filled with water.

[..] this local aetiology is of some interest, because it has a parallel in another henge, King Arthur's Round Table, Penrith, Cumberland.

[The fairies] were also associated with caves. One lived in Thor's Cave, and a whole clan were to be found in the cavern beneath Ludchurch.

St. Mary's, Leek, Staffs.
W.P. WITCUTT

The Fiddling Hobthurse of Thor's Cave in the Manifold Valley, whose "fiddling" or screeching filled the cavern, was however something more than a harmless sprite. One cannot go far wrong in taking him to be the god to whom sacrifice was offered on the altar in the cave. Thor's Cave, as a matter of fact, has nothing to do with Thor. Its old name is Thursehole, the cave of the thurse or fairy..

Hinckley Point [sic], on the Severn Coast, where an Atomic Power Station has been built within the last few years, was considered for centuries to be fairy-haunted land. The neighbourhood is full of pixy tales and beliefs, and the Quantock people are quite outspoken in their expectation of disaster for the intruding Power Station. It has had, and is still having, a more than reasonable number of setbacks. There have been some bad accidents which are freely ascribed in the countryside to its being built where it is. Usually, West Somerset people will not discuss their still-remembered fairy-beliefs, but in this case their speech is suggestive and indicates a full knowledge of the tradition.
[..]The elderly, and not so elderly, find a ghoulish pleasure in recounting the accidents and dangers attendant on its building. One or two grim watchers have tallied up deaths and near-deaths at one a year since the beginning of the desecration. Of these they say, 'Ah! they won't stop till there's seven.' Are these victims to placate the River Severn or the vengeful pixy-people? An answer to modern boasting abou the triumphs of science is: 'You and I won't be here come a hundred years time. But They'll have 'en! Hundred years be nothing to They. They can bide.'

Above Porlock Hill, imbedded in the heather, to the left of the road, are two large stones called the Whitstones. Mentioned in Guide Books of the district, they are traditionally said to have been thrown by St. Dubricius and the Devil, from Hurlstone Point, during a hurling contest.
Mr. H. of Porlock, giving a variation of this legend, said they were thrown by "Dr. Foster" and the Devil. He said many attempts had been made to remove the stones from their horizontal position to upright, but that no one could move them an inch.
Between sixty to seventy years ago a Mr. M., steward to the Squire of Porlock Manor, made an attempt without any success.
Another informant, old Tommy S-- of Porlock, said the stones were thrown by an Angel and the Devil, and a third informant, an old inhabitant of the nearby village of Horner, again said they were thrown by Dr. Foster and the Devil. No information about the legendary person, Dr. Foster, could be obtained.

A writer on Somerset superstition in Cassell's Family Magazine for November, 1890, says: "The prophecies of Mother Shipton are nowhere more widely believed in than in the county of Somerset. Not long ago a report was in circulation that a great catastrophe had been predicted by this old sage. She had prophesied that Ham Hill, one of the great stone quarries of Somerset, would be swallowed up on Good Friday. This catastrophe was to be the consequence of a tremendous earthquake, which would be felt all over the county. Some of the inhabitants left the neighbourhood to escape the impending evil; others removed their crockery and breakable possessions to prevent their being thrown to the ground; others, again, ceased cultivating their gardens. Great alarm was felt, and Good Friday was looked forward to with universal anxiety. And yet when the day came and went without any disaster at all, even that did little to dispel the faith in Mother Shipton; the calculator had made a blunder about the date, and it was not her fault; and many Somersetshire folk are still waiting, expecting to suffer from the prophesied catastrophe.

On Palm Sunday there were gatherings on Longbridge Deverill Cow-down to play "trap," going up by "Jacob's ladder." The young men, with the elders to watch them, would "beat the ball" up Cow-down and then play trap.
And on Palm Sunday the women and children would go out into the fields "to tread the wheat." (1897)

Phantom Coaches
Bill Elliot said that, when a boy, he used to leave Upwood at 2a.m. to take the wheat into Salisbury. One morning, by first light of dawn, he saw near Handley Cross a coach drawn by a pair of headless horses plunge across Oakley Down from the direction of Cranbourne and disappear near the Yew-Tree Garage on the main Blandford-Salisbury road. He told me several other people had seen this apparition.

I have not recorded in the body of the text the story that the Rev. A.R.T. Bruce was chased off Oakley Down by a ghostly warrior because, when I asked him if this adventure had indeed occurred, he denied it, albeit regretfully.

I have also omitted the tradition, told me by several people, that Boadicea, Queen of the Iceni, fought a battle at Handley Cross, because all historical evidence is against the possibility of this event. The story probably originated because of the large numbers of barrows in the area, which tradition claims to be the war cemetery for the dead from the battle.