Latest Folklore

On the north-west I was much struck with the singular appearance of a vast rock, called Craig Eglwyseg, or the Eagle’s rock, from the tradition of some eagles having formerly had their aerie here. Leland seems to have mistaken this for the rock, on which the castle stands, where he says, “there bredith every yere an egle. And the egle doth sorely assault hym that destroyeth the nest; goying down in one basket, and having another over his hedde, to defend the sore stripe of the egle.”

For more than half a mile this rock lies stratum upon stratum in such manner, as to form a kind of steps, parallel with the horizon, which the naturalists call Saxa sedilia. The inhabitants of Llangollen say, that somewhere about this rock is an opening, from whence there is a long arched passage under ground, supposed to lead to the castle. I scarcely gave any credit to this report, for I could not, upon enquiry, hear of any person who had seen it, or who could tell whereabouts it was.

The castle is Castell Dinas Bran. From A Tour Round North Wales performed during the summer of 1798, by the Rev. W. Bingley.

I noticed that elsewhere on the internet people say the stone was in a different church, St Nidan’s in Llanidan. So I started wondering why I’d thought the church at Llanedwen. But there’s definitely books that mention it. This is from ‘The history of Wales‘ by John Jones (1824). Mr Rowland died in 1723 – he was the vicar at both Llanidan and Llanedwen, which makes for more confusion.

Llanedwen.
Near this place, on the banks of the Menai, is the greatest Cromlech in Anglesey, and supposed to be an altar on which the Druids offered to the Sun the sacrifice of human victims. The church of Llanedwen is said to have been erected in A.D. 640 – about A.D. 1440 would be nearer the truth. The Rev. Mr. Rowland, author of the Mona Antiqua, lies buried here, under a tomb-stone of Anglesey black slab, bearing a Latin inscription, written by himself.

The wandering stone, Maen Morddwyd, is secured in the wall of this church, and deprived of its locomotive impositions.

A History of the Island of Mona, or Anglesey, by Angharad Llwyd (1833), suggests the Llanedwen church, since it mentions nearby Porthamel. And why would you say that if you meant Llanidan – I’d just say Llanidan?

Thus “Maen Morddwyd” (concerning which there has been so many marvellous stories related) “is now well secured in the wall of the church,” at Porthamel, not far from Llanidan, famed for being the place where Suetonius landed, in 61.

The Latin of this note has been translated as follows:

Here also, in the church-yard wall, the thigh stone, commonly called Maen Morddwydd, which has been so curiously and largely described by Giraldus Cambrensis, obtained a place for itself a long time ago; but of late years it was pulled off and carried away, either by some papist or other, or by some ignorant person, (its miraculous virtue not displaying itself as formerly, having entirely languished or exhausted itself by age,) with no loss indeed to the place, nor any gain to him who took it away.

The thing is, just before this excerpt, the church of St Aidan is specifically mentioned – that’s the other church! But I can’t work out what this document is or who wrote it? Everything is so contradictory. Pennant’s Tour In Wales is from 1770 and also says the stone is at Llanidan. But did he really go there, or is he just reporting the legend? I sense the parish name vs the specific church confusion arising again.

But at least here’s some straightforward folklore. Here (on page 136) in the National Library of Wales journal, there is an extra bit of the Itinerary translated. It’s not included in the other translations I’ve seen, possibly for reasons of rudeness this time. The original latin can be seen here. It says:

If a lustful act be committed near the stone it immediately breaks into sweat. So, too, if a man and woman commit adultery there. If intercourse be had nearby no conception follows, and so the cottage that once stood there has fallen into ruin and the fateful stone alone remains.

Geraldus’s 13th century Itinerary reads somewhat like the Fortean Times, it’s full of bizarre stuff and you wonder if any of it was true. But the idea that an actual stone existed seems to stick. I can’t see any reports of people who’ve actually looked for it on the church or churchyard walls. But judging by the pages on the 21st century internet, people still want it to be there.

There seem to be a lot of water in the vicinity, what with the water under the stone being ‘seldom dry’, and the same book mentions springs dedicated to St. George and the Blessed Virgin in nearby Reynoldston. This is something about the holy well just to the south of Maen Ceti.

There is also on Cefn y Brynn a remarkable Well, called Holy Well, a very copious Spring, which has the remains of Antiquity about its square Inclosure: Tradition hands down its celebrity for great cures, and it has been customary for the adjacent Neighbourhood to resort to it on Sunday Evenings to drink its water, and pay the tribute of throwing in a pin.

A topographical dictionary of the dominion of Wales (1811).

The three cairns here are close to Llyn Llech Owen. ‘Llech’ is a slab of rock. So indulge me with this stone-related folklore of the lake.

In 1884 I took [the tradition] down from my grandfather, Mr. Rees Thomas (b. 1809, d 1892), of Cil Coll, Llandebie – a very intelligent man, with a good fund of old-world Welsh lore – who had lived all his life in the neighbouring parishes of Llandeilo Fawr and Llandebie.

The following is the version of the story (translated) as I had it from him: – There was once a man of the name of Owen living on Mynydd Mawr, and he had a well (’fynnon’). Over this well he kept a large flag (’fflagen neu lech fawr’: ‘fflagen’ is the word in common use now in these parts for a large flat stone), which he was always careful to replace over its mouth after he had satisfied himself or his beast with water. It happened, however, that one day he went on horseback to the well to water his horse, and forgot to put the flag back in its place. He rode off leisurely in the direction of his home; but, after he had gone some distance, he casually looked back, and, to his great astonishment, saw that the well had burst out and was overflowing the whole place.

He suddenly bethought him that he should ride back and encompass the overflow of the wate as fast as he could; and it was the horse’s track in galloping round the water that put a stop to its further overflowing. It is fully believed that, had he not galloped round the flood in the way he did, the well would have been sure to inundate the whole district and drown all. Hence the lake was called the Lake of Owen’s Flag (’Llyn Llech Owen’).

As Mr Rhys explains, this is a similar story to one explaining the formation of Lough Neagh in Ireland – it also has an overflowing well and a magic horse.

From his article on Sacred Wells in Wales, in The Transactions of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion, 1892-3.

I spotted this in ‘The Age of the Saints‘ by William Copeland Borlase (1893).

Between Armagh and the Navan Fort (the ancient Emain of the romances), beside an ancient paved track, is a famous rag-well sacred to St. Patrick. When we visited it a few years since the thorns which spread over it were literally covered with strips of cloth of all colours and of all ages, from a rotten tatter to one affixed that very day. In Ireland the idea present to the mind in offering rags seems to be that the particular disease should be left behind with the shred. Mr Windle* has preserved the following ritual words: ‘Air impide an Tiarna mo cuid teinis do fhagaint air an ait so,’ meaning ‘By the intercession of the Lord I leave my portion of illness on this place.’ The original idea of votive offerings became inseparable from the sequel that with the presentation of the sacrifice the object for which it was made was gained [sic].

*MSS. R.I. Acad. 15. Cork East and West, p. 852. Again, he says, ‘Rags are not offerings or votive. They are riddances. Thus, you have a headache: you take a shred and place it on the tree, and with it you place the headache there.’ Ibid. 16. Topography of Desmond, p. 802.

The well is indeed about half-way between Armagh and the fort, on a direct and old road. Today it’s amidst a housing estate called St Patrick’s Park and the view on Google Maps makes it look very neglected. But when the houses were built it was excavated. There’s a photo on the NISMR that shows a digger going round it- the archaeological report from the time says ‘the builders showed the utmost respect for the well and particularly its ‘fairy thorn’. It also says that it was traditionally visited on the feast of St Peter and St Paul, the 29th June. So that’s interesting, that it’s not about St Patrick himself. And so the report tentatively suggests a pre-christian connection, what with the day being close to the solstice. But who knows.

Anyway I post this in the hope that someone might like to visit it if they were at Navan Fort – they have an interpretation centre there with a roundhouse, and who can resist a real life roundhouse.

The failure of the wrong person to secure [treasure] is illustrated by a story given by Mr. Derfel Hughes in his Antiquities of Llangedai and Llanllechid, pp. 35-6, to the effect that a servant man, somewhere up among the mountains near Ogwen Lake, chanced to come across the mouth of a cave with abundance of vessels of brass (pres) of every shape and description within it.

He went at once and seized one of them, but, alas! it was too heavy for him to stir it. So he resolved to go away and return early on the morrow with a friend to help him; but before going he closed the mouth of the cave with stones and sods so as to leave it safe. While thus engaged he remembered having heard how others had like him found caves and failed to refind them. He could procure nothing readily that would satisfy him as a mark, so it occurred to him to dot his path with the chippings of his stick, which he whittled all the way as he went back until he came to a familiar track: the chips were to guide him back to the cave.

So when the morning came he and his friend set out, but when they reached the point where the chips should begin, not one was to be seen: the Tylwyth Teg had picked up every one of them. So that discovery of articles of brass – more probably bronze – was in vain.

But, says the writer, it is not fated to be always in vain, for there is a tradition in the valley that it is a Gwydel, ‘Goidel, Irishman,’ who is to have these treasures, and that it will happen in this wise:--

A Gwydel will come to the neighbourhood to be a shepherd, and one day when he goes up the mountain to see to the sheep, just when it pleases the fates a black sheep with a speckled head will run before him and make straight for the cave: the sheep will go in, with the Gwydel in pursuit trying to catch him. When the Gwydel enters he sees the treasures, looks at them with surprise, and takes possession of them; and thus, in some generation to come, the Gwydyl will have their own restored to them.

Ancient bronze objects in Celtic Folklore, Welsh and Manx by John Rhys (1901).

Towards the weste there stands a highe hill called Roseberry Toppinge, which is a marke to the seamen, and an almanacke to the vale, for they have this ould ryme common,
“When Roseberrye Toppinge weares a cappe
Let Cleveland then beware a clappe.”
For indeede yt seldome hath a cloude on yt that some yll weather shortly followes yt not, when not farre from thence on a mountayne’s syde there are cloudes almoste contynually smoakinge, and therfore called the Divell’s Kettles, which notwithstandinge prognostycate neither good nor badde.

That is for shappe, scyte, and many raryties, more excellent then any that I have seene; yt hath somtymes had a hermitage on yt, and a small smith’s forge cut out of the rocke, together with a clefte or cut in the rocke called St. Winifryd’s Needle, whither blynde devotyon led many a syllie soule, not without hazard of a breaknecke tumblinge caste, while they attempted to put themselves to a needlesse payne creepyng through that neede’s eye.

Out of the toppe of a huge stone neere the toppe of the hille drops a fountaine which cureth sore eyes, receavinge that vertue from the minerall.

From a letter by ‘H. Tr.’ to Sir Thomas Chaloner (so possibly from around 1600?), printed in v2 of the Topographer and Genealogist, 1853.

Another group of barrows on Lake Down used to be called the Prophets’ Barrows, not from supposed prophets buried in them, but on account of a company of Hugenots, exiles from their native land, who in 1710 set up a standard on the largest of the group – a huge flat-topped mound – and preached from it to the country people, who named them the French Prophets.

It is interesting to think of the grave voice of the coming Methodism lifted up here in this large down country, where there is little to distract the mind from the great issues of life; with Stonehenge on the one hand and the spire on the other. The preachers are said to have roused the listening crowds to enthusiasm, but what abiding impression they made is not told.

According to Aubrey, on the downs, where the shepherds labour hard, the people have not “leisure to contemplate of religion, but goe to bed to their rest, to rise betime the next morning to their labour.” Whereas in North Wiltshire “(a dirty, clayey country) where the people feed chiefly on milk meates, which cooles their braines too much,” they “are more apt to be fanatiques.”

Aubrey should have known, he was born in North Wiltshire. From ‘Salisbury Plain‘ by Ella Noyes (1913).

Orgarth Hill Farm is on the opposite side of the road to these barrows.

The Ghost of Orgarth Hill. – This hill, a few miles south of Louth, some 40 years ago was haunted by a man riding on a shag or shaggy horse, which suddenly appeared without any warning, and kept up with persons until they were terrified, but usually it appeared to people riding or driving, who did not notice the horse and its rider, until they looked to see what had terrified their horses, which stood trembling with fear, until they bolted down the hill.

From Lincolnshire Notes and Queries volume 2, page 272. The implication seems to be that this apparition might be connected with the shagfoal or tatterfoal, a kind of furry horsey supernatural cousin of the more widely known big black dogs like Shuck.

The Stone used to lie in the field where the civil war Battle of Winceby took place. It’s marked on a map of 1880 but then seems to disappear.

There was the large stone in Winceby field, where soldiers had sharpened their swords before the battle. This was a stone of fearful interest, for much treasure was supposed to have been buried under it. Numerous attempts have abeen made to get at this treasure, but they were always defeated by some accident or piece of bad luck. On the last occasion, by ‘yokkin’ several horses to chains fastened round the stone, they nearly succeeded in pulling it over, when, in his excitement, one of the men uttered an oath, and the devil instantly appeared, and stamped on it with his foot. ‘Tha cheans all brok, tha osses fell, an’ tha stoan went back t’ its owd place solidder nur ivver; an’ if ya doan’t believe ya ma goa an’ look fur yer sen, an’ ya’ll see tha divvill’s fut mark like three kraws’ claws, a-top o’ tha stoan.’ It was firmly believed that the lane was haunted, and that loud groans were often heard there. -- Notes and Queries, vol. ix., p. 466.

[The Big Stone at Slash Lane, near Winceby]This stone cannot be moved, at least all attempts have so far failed, especially on one occasion, when it was with much difficulty reared up by ropes pulled by men and dragged by horses, for on a man saying, ‘Let God or devil come now, we have it,’ the stone fell back, dragging over the men and horses who were hauling at the ropes, and something appeared standing on the stone, doubtless Samwell the Old Lad, that is the Devil, who had been so rashly defied. -- Lincolnshire Notes and Queries, vol. ii., p. 235.

Copied from ‘County Folk-lore v.VII: Lincolnshire’ collected by Mrs Gutch and Mabel Peacock (1908).

This article in ‘Horncastle News’ (10th April 2002) describes that the stone got buried for many years in the field, but that in 1970 Frank Scott and his colleagues on the farm finally moved it out of the way – it took heavy lifting gear though. “Me and my mate were in that hole as quick as we could and dug down as far and fast as possible but we never found any treasure, nor devils either. By the number of broken ploughshares all around, we thought it was quite likely the stone was cursed, by every farmer and farm hand involved no doubt.”

The folklore is similar to many prehistoric stones in that it’s connected to the battle, has treasure lurking under it, and is said to be immovable. It’s even got supernatural marks on it from the devil. Pretty much a stoney folklore full house.