Whittlestone

Nether Swell. -- Within a stone's throw from the north-west angle of the church, on the summit of the rising ground, in the allotments, stood, within the memory of the writer of this paper, a familiar, yet most venerable monolith. It was known as the Whistlestone (so called, perhaps, from this, the Wheat Hill, as the one beyond was the Oat Hill). This stone was the last, most probably, of a cist. Many stones were found at its base.

A witticism, amongst the villagers, was this:- "When the Whistlestone hears Stow clock (a mile off) strike twelve, it goes down to Lady-well (at the Hill's foot) to drink." Alas, poor Whistlestone!

Farmer Illes, one of the olden time, one day picked up two of a perfect set of teeth, in plowing by the stone, but so harried was he by the weirdy teeth, that he replaced them speedily where he found them.

But a later occupier did what the good folk of the village declared could not be done - for "All the King's horses and all the King's men" could not cast down nor carry away Whistlestone - but it was carried away - yet rescued from the roads or profane use. In the vicarage-paddock the pre-historic block now finds asylum.