Folklore Posts by Rhiannon

The "Stannin Stane" on the Hill of Kirriemuir is, undoubtedly, the most familiar object among our local antiquities. Many who have never seen i t know it through Barrie's writings; but every Kirriemuir boy has bestrode it, and visitors to the Hill rarely fail to give it some attention.

Formed of the old red sandstone of its site, the great, solitary monolith measures 9 feet in height, is 7 feet in width at its broadest part, and averages a couple of feet in thickness. There is no exact record regarding its hold on mother earth, which, probably, is not great, for the native rock crops out all round.

But there are tales, difficult to credit, of its being originally "as high again" as it is now; of its standing on another stone even larger than itself; and of its having split in two, overwhelming a band of robbers who were dividing their ill gotten plunder at its base.

No record appears on its surface; no tradition exists to explain its origin or purpose; surmise alone can offer any feasible explanation of its meaning. Says one, it marks the bounds of some ancient tribal possession; says another, some great warrior of old lies buried here. But, whatever its precise age or origin, it may safely be affirmed that the "Stannin Stane" saw all the conflicts waged between the early Picts and Caledonians, and marked the advance of Rome eastwards to the sea, from the great camps of Ardoch and Cardean to Stonehaven, Aberdeen, or the Moray Firth, or from Battledykes by Forfar to the Tay.

In a small field near the confluence of the Burn of Kilry with the River Isla is a huge monolith known as the Standing Stone. It is about seven feet above the ground and ten feet in circumference at its base, tapering slightly to the top. While making agricultural improvements many years ago an attempt was made to remove it, but it was found to be so deeply embedded in the ground that the effort had to be abandoned.

That this monolith was raised to commemorate some great event, or fulfil some important purpose, there can be little doubt, but why it was raised or what people raised it are unknown. In all probability it was set up by the Druids, the high priest of whom performed his sacred rites and dispensed justice at the pillar. It is also said to mark the site of a battle between local rival families, when many of the combatants were drowned in the swollen river. Any such tale is unworthy of credence. Almost without doubt the stone stood where it is long before these families were ever heard of.

The Boy Who Was Taken By The Fairies Of Knockfierna.

Elm Park is a townland situated in the County Limerick, about five miles to the west of the city. About fifty years ago there was an old man and his wife living in a farmyard in this place. One night, about eleven o'clock, the old man heard someone moving about in the yard. He opened the door and saw, standing about ten yards from the door, a little boy about twelve years of age. He called him in and asked him who he was. He could get no answer from the child, who appeared to be in a dazed condition. They kept him throughout the night, and in the morning the man sent for the priest. The latter came and prayed over the child.

When the prayers were finished, the child seemed to regain the use of his faculties and he told the priest his name, and said he was from Knockfierna. He further stated that at about 7 o'clock on the previous evening he was looking for the ass about two miles from his home. As he approached the "lios" a horseman came forth from it, snatched up the boy, placed him in front of him and galloped off. The boy remembered nothing until he found himself at the place mentioned above.

The priest communicated with the parents of the child, and on the following day he was taken home, much to the relief of his people, who had spent the previous night searching for him. The belief was that he was taken by one of the fairy huntsmen of Knockfierna.

W. J. Carey.

As to the searching beneath ancient monuments for treasure there was a story that years ago when search was made near the large stone just above Catchall for a crock of gold, the stone groaned fearfully and the pit was filled with blood.

My grandfather James Carroll who lives in Spa Boyle told me the following story about the Druids altar. There is a Druids altar in Tinnecara to the north side of the railway in Thomas Ballintinels land. The altar is made of three large stones two uprights and one over head. Each stone weighs about ten tons weight. The druids used to come home from Knockadoo and swim across Lough Gara to worship their god at this altar.

There is another stone circle on "Brewel Hill" known as "The Piper's Stones.
The tradition about these stones is A lot of maidens were tempted to dance on an holy day, while a piper played for them. Like a flash of lightening they were all changed into stones.

There is a standing stone in Cryhelp about three miles west of Dunlavin. It has a hole in the top of it about nine inches long and four inches wide. There is an old tradition about it, that it was not aways in that place, it was moved to mark the grave of Harold, chief prince who was killed in the battle of Glen Mama.
The corner of the field in which the Cryhelp stone is standing is said to have been a cemetery a long time ago, covered with trees. Near at hand is a nettle-covered hollow, which was at one time opened; there is an underground passage leading to a mound not far away. It is not said that this hole was used to cure anything.

This rock is probably over 300 tons in weight and is in a field beside Killenduff National School. It is split in two as if it were hewn by a saw. This is the tradition connected with it:-
Ages ago two fierce giants lived on the Ox Mountains. They argued about their respective strengths and what they could do. They agreed to put the argument to a test by throwning a stone. They selected two large stones of similar size, several tons in weight. The idea was to see who could throw the stone from the Ox Mountains to the sea, five miles distant.
The first took up the stone, flung it, and it fell into the sea. The second took his throw and it fell about half a mile from the sea in its present position. The second giant's rage was so great seeing that he had failed in his attempt that he seized his sword, ran towards the rock and with one fierce cut, split it in two.

The tradition says that any body who walks through the Rock three times shall surely meet their doom. I have never heard of any body to go through it three times.

The floor of the chamber is covered with a deposit of mud. The tomb is locally considered to be a holy well and offerings of coins, some quite recent, medals, broken glass, etc., lie on the lower roofstone. The interior of the chamber is littered with broken glass.

On the lower declivity of Warton Crag, in the parish of Warton (which abuts on Morecambe Bay and the Westmorland border), commanding a beautiful and extended prospect of the bay, a seat called "The Bride's Chair" was resorted to on the day of marriage by the brides of the village; and in this seat they were enthroned with due solemnity by their friends; but the origin and the object of the custom, which has now fallen in disuse, are unknown.

Not far from Warton Crag are three rocking-stones placed in a line, about forty feet asunder, the largest stone lying in the middle.

A cave is also mentioned by Lucas, named "The Fairy Hole", where dwarf spirits called Elves or Fairies, were wont to resort.

It is traditionally supposed that beneath the surface of this camp vast stores of gold and silver are hid in an iron castle, the door of which is guarded by spirits and can only be found at the full moon.

It is stated that many years ago some labourers dug there with the hope of finding the treasure, but were obliged to desist because of the mournful sounds they heard, caused no doubt, by the howling of the wind among the trees.

A story is also told of a Dr Farrer, who lived in the parish and was learned in books and who found out from them how to get into the castle. The day before the full moon he went over the field with a hazel rod, and when he came over the door, the stick stood upright in the ground. The doctor returned at night with his servant and tools for digging and also took his bible with him. He set his servant to work, giving him particular instruction that whatever he saw or heard he was not to utter a word for his life.

The man went on digging, and at last his spade struck on the iron door of the castle, when horrible groans and cries were heard, and spirits began to come out of the door. The man was so frightened that he forgot his master's instructions, and cried out "Lord, have mercy on my soul," when one of the spirits caught him by the leg and would have carried him off, but the doctor put the bible on his head and dragged him out with the other hand.

The pit was closed up, the door banged together, and its position was changed so that no one has been able to find it since.
ETNE.

There is a story told locally of two men, who, many years ago, lived on the Quantock Hills. One day, finding themselves in financial difficulty and not knowing where to obtain any money, they decided to go over to Ruborough Camp, Broomfield, to try to discover some of the money and treasure supposed to have been buried there. As soon as it was night-time they left their homes and with picks and shovels on their backs, proceeded on their way. As they entered the tree-covered lane leading to the camp, they walked with caution in case they disturbed the stags and foxes resting there, but all was well and at last they reached the Camp.

It was a clear moonlit night and no doubt they could see the old castle at Enmore and further away the town of Bridgwater. They found the mound of earth where money and treasure were supposed to have been buried and after removing their coats, started to dig. Suddenly the ground gave away from beneath them and they disappeared.

After some hours had elapsed their relatives at home became alarmed at their not returning and decided to go to look for them. On reaching the old Camp they discovered to their amazement two coats beside a very large hole, but there was no sign of the two men. Being superstitious people they hastily returned to their homes saying that the pixies had captured the two men, who were never seen again.

This story may not be true, but it was told to me by old people living in the district years ago.
A.H., BRIDGWATER.

Reporter lays the Sheffield "ghost"!
Early to-day I learnt the truth about the Wincobank ghost - there isn't one! All the "ghost's" visitations, beginning eight weeks ago with "a white form standing rigid under a gas lamp," can be accounted for. The "apparitions," like the figure under the gas-lamp, are now declared to have been really live persons ignorant of the scare they were creating.

[...] The "ghost" that disappeared from the top of a banking or ridge on Newman road was undoubtedly a man who had been collecting some white flowers from a garden and had tripped on the banking and fallen backwards. There is not the slightest doubt that a man did fall in this manner at the same place where the "ghost" was seen, and at the same time, and some time later this same man was helped home by a friend. I talked this morning with some of the searchers, who were of the opinion that mysterious "objects" which they had seen were nothing more than the result of white smoke from a smoldering garden fire shimmering against the background of the trees.

[...] But Wincobank is a place with a history, and there are some who will never allow their "ghost" to escape them. If you talk to some of the oldest residents you will hear tales of the old Roman settlement and the ghosts of Roman soldiers which march up and down, and of ghosts of more recent days which are connected with old Wincobank Hall, which is said to have been full of secret passages and panels.

BUGLEY FAIR. - There was a very small attendance of pleasure seekers at this fair, which as usual was held on Cley Hill on Palm Sunday. It is to be hoped that next year a still smaller number will be present.

Whether a relic of Druidism, or whether merely the vestige of some observance of Roman Catholic times, it has been a well-known custom for many generations to hold certain festivities on Palm Sunday upon Cley Hill, Bidcombe Down, and other lofty elevations in this neighbourhood. Crowds used to assemble in times past on these hills upon this particular Sunday, and amuse themselves in a variety of rough sports, from backsword playing to harmless competitions in rolling down the hill. It may be well imagined that such proceedings were not always of the most orderly kind, and that they were not particularly desirable on Sunday of all days of the week. Fortunately of late years the observance has almost entirely declined, and though a few people still keep up the old custom by walking up the hill and walking down again, no harm is now known to result from their so doing. It was stated that the old observance was to be revived on Sunday last by the Salvation Army, who, it was understood, intended to hold an open air service of a very demonstrative kind upon the top of Cley Hill. It had been feared that such a proceeeding might have revived the old abuses of the day to a certain extent, and it is therefore probably a matter for thankfulness that the Salvation Army did not carry out any such intention.

The usual practice of setting fire to various parts of Cley Hill on Palm Sunday was again observed this year. On the Warminster Downs, too, a fire was kindled in the afternoon, leaving a big black patch.

Altadavin - St. Patrick's Altar and Chair.

Altadavin though belonging to this parish of Errigal Truagh is situated in the County Tyrone. It is a picturesque wooded glen. Various explanations of the name have been given:- "The high place of Daimen." Daimen was high King of Airghialla 513 AD. It also means "Glen of the Gods" or "Glen of the Demons."

The glen is entered by a narrow path running by a clear stream, the precipitous sides being clothed with a dense growth of under wood surmounted with stately forest trees. About midway down the glen, a vast mass of rock, some three or four hundred yards long, covered with wood of natural growth, rises up leaving a choice of paths in the two narrow ravines. Keeping to the right a little green velvet lawn opens out before us. Right under the rock, that rises sheer and steep from the green sword, is a spring well issuing from a stone.

This lovely glen has an interesting history, a mingling of the older and the newer faiths. Tradition has it that in Pagan times the glen was sacred to the rites of Druidism. It is a very reasonable probability that St Patrick, on one of his visits to Clogher, made it his object to overthrow this centre of Druidical Cult, and following his usual course, dedicated this home of heathenism to the true God. Here, surrounded by tangled under wood is a rude altar formed of solid rock. The ledge that forms its table is four feet high, six feet long and two feet wide. Towards its centre is roughly chiselled to a smooth surface. It shows no other tool marks.

Opposite the Gospel side of the altar is a large rock, in the form of a high-backed chair, known as St Patrick's chair. The seat of this natural chair is about four feet high from the present ground level, and the back rises to a height of eight feet from the ground.

On a rocky platform overlooking the stretch of green, and some twenty feet above it, is a large square stone about five feet high in the top of which is scooped out a basin fourteen inches in diameter and twelve inches deep. There is a detached boulder sitting on other detached boulders, yet the basin on the driest summer day is to be found half full of water. It is affirmed that as often as it is emptied, it will, with in half an hour, fill up to the same level, and except as a result of rainfall, will not rise to a higher level. Science has not yet explained whence the water comes, or why it rises to a certain height. That it does so is an undoubted fact, and equally undoubted is the fact that no natural source of supply can be discovered.

Local tradition affirms that when St Patrick turned this stronghold of Druidism to Christianity, he was attended by a great concourse of people. Having converted large numbers of them, he proceeded to baptise them. Water was necessary. Here at hand was a font, and what surer method of strengthening the faith of those who still wavered, than by drawing water from a rock. He did so and the font has never since dried up.

The wooded glories of Altadaven have departed, the venerable timber that shaded the glen and that lent enchantment to the scene have been cut down and turned into money. However the Department of Forestry of the Government of 'N. Ireland' have replanted Altadavan, but many, many years must elapse ere the charm of by gone days can return.
Altadaven still holds a high place in the popular respect for many miles around, when crowds assemble at the time that the blae-berries are ripe, which usually falls about the last Sunday in July and first Sunday in August, known in the district as "the Big Sundays".

Last Sunday was one of the "big Sundays". I was there and I saw crowds and crowds of boys and girls all enjoying themselves, laughing, courting, singing, and dancing, some picking the ripe blae-berries, some climbing up to see St Patricks altar and chair, all wearing happy faces and enjoying themselves to their hearts' content. I went to see St Patrick's Well. It is near the chair, but a little further down in the rocks. There was a great number of pins and needles and hair pins in it, also a few coppers left by those who made a "Wish" at the Well.

Cathleen Sweeney 4th August1938.

About a mile to the north-east of Loch Loch, among the hills of Ben-y-Gloe in Perthshire, is a cairn known generally as Mackintosh's Cairn, sometimes as Comyn's Cairn (Carn a'Chuimeinich). It is said by tradition to mark the spot where, some centuries ago, a great chief of the Comyns was killed by a certain Mackintosh, who raised the stones as a monument of his act.

The story of the feud which culminated in the erection of this cairn has been told more than once. The main incidents, asa narrated on the authority of local tradition by Col. J. A. Robertson (author of Gaelic Topography and other works) in a small volume entitled The Earldom of Atholl, privately printed in 1860, are as follows: - The Comyns, on obtaining a footing in Atholl, at once commenced their usual practice of attacking their neighbours. Among these were the Mackintoshachs, or Mackintoshes, descendants of the old Toshachs or Thanes of Glentilt, who were attacked by the Comyns at a feast and all murdered, except a young child in a cradle. This child, Ewen, also called "Sherigan," grew up, and some fifteen years after the massacre attacked the Comyns at a place called Toldamph (Tolldamh, near Blair Atholl) and defeated them. The Comyns fled up Glentilt, and turned in at the stream which issues from Loch Loch, but Ewen, taking a near way through the hills of Ben Gloe, by a stream called Cromaldun, met their leader at Loch-na-diodd, and shot him. Colonel Robertson says that these events are supposed to have taken place about or soon after 1260, and that Ewen had a son named Angus, who obtained a "bounding charter" to his lands.

There is near the 'Cat and Fiddle' on the hill a large boulder stone known as Cock-Crow Stone, and it is said of the stone that every time it hears the cock crow it gets up and turns round.
An attempt was once made to move this stone, for it is believed that there is hidden beneath it a crock of gold. The stone, however, resisted all attempts of a team of horses to move it. When old houses are being pulled down it is a very common question to ask for 'the Crock.' Hoards of money have, indeed, been found which were hidden away in stormy times.

Simon's Barrow, Wellington.
The Devil's Lapful. The Blackdown Hills.
The Devil was carrying a load of stones to drop on Wellington Church. He had so many in his apron that he carried a few in his glove as well. Just on the top of the hills the strings of his leather apron broke, and the stones, scattered over an acre of ground, formed the Devil's Lapful, while in his flurry he dropped the rest, which formed the five small barrows known as the Devil's Glove.

There is a crock of gold buried somewhere near, but no one has found it. Many have tried, just as many have taken away the stones to make walls and gateways; but the Devil always brings them back, and inflicts some terrible punishment for disturbing Simon's Barrow.

On the Black-down Hills, just above the town, is a place named Symonsborough. Local tradition ascribes the name to the supposed fact that a British chieftain named Simond or Symmond fell in battle just at this spot. It used to be confidently asserted by the people living near the place that the barrow could never be lessened, because as fast as the stones composing it were drawn away more would miraculously come to fill their places. A man named James Bale, who died only a few years since, tested the correctness of the old legend, with the result that now neither the barrow nor any sign of it exists; but the spot is remembered in the name of Symonsborough hamlet, Great and Little Symonsborough farms, and the field names of Great Barrow Close and Little Barrow Close. A story which alternates with the foregoing in connexion with Symonsborough is that the stones were brought there by the Evil One in his apron. The place is, therefore, known to many as the 'Devil's Lapful'.

Many of the stones and most of the barrows are supposed to have treasure buried under them or near them, but it is dangerous to look for it and there are many stories of foiled attempts. The Caractacus Stone, for instance, standing on Winsford Hill, Exmoor, is said to be haunted by a ghostly team and their foolhardy driver who tried to uproot and drag the stone away to get at the treasure it conceals. The stone overturned the waggon and team and crushed the greedy waggoner. On foggy nights they are still to be heard and met.

Belfast without the Cave Hill, the Cave Hill without Belfast: Killarney without its lakes: the causeway without guides or specimens. We love the old mountain still, but the attention which was paid it in days of yore has ceased, I am afraid, for ever. The al fresco feasts, the joyous junketings, and the explorations of its wonderful caves no longer take place on its breezy slopes. Time was, and not so long ago, when the Cave Hill was famous for its Easter Monday revellings. The vicinity was thronged with country cousins, who gazed with awe at the Corsican's Head or scaled the dizzy height towards McArt's Fort [...]

A few years ago, when a local geologist discovered a marvellous diamond - a ponderous stone which weighed pounds avoirdupois instead of orthodox carats - I thought it would boom the Cave Hill into activity again. This matchless diamond was stated at the time to be a relic of Finn McCoul, the head of his breastpin in fact, but personally I do not believe the giant cared for, or wore such an adornment as a breastpin. I don't believe he even wore a waistcoat [...]

One might have supposed that a belief in magic and spells and fairies had all died away, and that in this very vulgar and materialistic and somewhat sceptical age, none could have been found, at least in this part of Ulster, to credit the tales of our grandmothers, and to act upon them. But there are some good people in Sandy-row who still retain the elder faith on these subjects - and, if works can prove the sincerity of conviction, theirs must be very sincere indeed. [...]

It is not gold, scattered about in dust or even in "nuggests," which formed the object of this search, but compactly laid up in chests - deposited, as the fairy records say, upon the summit of the "hill" by the Danes, in those days when they were compelled to make a hasty retreat from this part of the isle.

More than once have these gold-seekers struck upon these iron chests, but, just at that moment, the propitious influence was absent, and a kind of mysterious darkness and confusion fell upon their eyes. They believe, too, they heard a voice - "procul, o procul este profani" of the ancients. However this be, the chests still remain precisely where the Danes placed them, and these indefatigable Sandy-rowites are, at the present time, making inquiry, far and wide, for the seventh son of a seventh son, gifted with seventh sight, and possessing the power, as the legends tell, to take off the spell which has for ages rested upon this gold.

[...] You must not suppose that I am calling upon my imagination in this narrative. I give you the facts in my own way, it is true, but in substance exactly as I learned them from a person most intimately connected with one of these gold-seekers. [...]

The Torbarrow Legend at Cirencester.

Barrows in particular have been the objects of superstition. They have been looked upon as haunted by supernatural beings. They have been regarded as dwellings of ogres, or magicians, or the spirits of the dead. In the Bodleian library at Oxford is preserved an account printed in 1685 of the opening of a barrow near Cirencester. It is to the following effect:

"Two men digging a gravel pit at the foot of the hill or barrow, having sunk four yards deep, discovered an entrance into the hill, where they found several rooms with their furniture, which, being touched, crumbled to dust. In one of them were several images and urns, some with ashes, others full of coins, with Latin inscriptions on them. Entering another, they were surprised at seeing the figure of a man in armour, having a truncheon in its hand, and a light in a glass-like lamp burning before it. At their first approach the image made an effort to strike; so at the second step, with greater force; but at the third it struck a violent blow, which broke the glass to pieces and extinguished the light.

Having a lantern, they had just time to observe that on the left hand lay two heads emblamed, with long beards, and the skin looking like parchment, when hearing a hollow noise like a groan they hastily quitted those dark apartments, and immediately the earth fell in and buried all the curiosities."

We may perhaps regard this as a highly-sensational account of a real incident, but as we could not for a moment admit the existence of the magical statue and the lamp, we must suppose that the idea of such things had been floating about in people's minds ready to root itself upon any convenient spot.