Latest Folklore

There were curative wells at Cerne; one called Pill Well, now dry, and St. Austin’s Well, anciently Silver Well. Hel Well still flowing, in a marshy place covered with trees and brushwood, was not curative. A man now living, named Vincent, aged fifty-five years, had a crippled child. Every morning, for several months together, Vincent carried his child, wrapped in a blanket, to St. Austin’s Well, and dipped it into the well, and at last it was cured. Sore eyes are healed by bathing them, and feeble health is restored by drinking. A farmer used to go down to this well every morning and drink a tumblerful of the water. (Jonathan Hardy, aged 65, born at Cerne, and now sexton there.) I have not analysed the water, but can affirm that it is not chalybeate. The spring sometimes “breaks,” that is, suddenly begins to flow with increased energy. Its water never freezes.

[...]

If anyone looks into St. Austin’s Well the first thing on Easter morning he will see the faces of those who will die within the year. (--Miss Gundry.)

St Austin’s Well also seems to be called St Augustine’s well. But it’s interesting that it gets a non-religious name too? The well is just south of the Abbey, which is to the south of the Giant and Trendle hill.
From ‘Dorset Folklore Collected in 1897’ by H. Colley March, in Folklore v10, Dec 1899.

In front of a blacksmith’s shop here, occupying a vacant spot a little out of the upper road leading to Ledbury, near Colwall Green, is a mass of rough limestone rock, which bears the name of “Colwall Stone.” I observed this name inscribed on an old map of Herefordshire; but have been unable to ascertain the purport of the stone, or its origin. I should feel inclined to consider it of the Druidical age, or at any rate a boundary or manorial “hoar stone;” but Mr. Allies states [... see other Folklore post].

The tradition I myself heard respecting the stone (which would carry us back to the times of Celtic heathenism) was, that it had been a place of worship (an idolatrous stone?) before the church was erected, and that the poor of the parish formerly received pay on this stone.

From ‘Pictures of nature in the Silurian region around the Malvern Hills..‘ by Edwin Lees (1856).

How the north side [of the chamber] was formed there is no evidence to shew. If a single slab stood there, it must have been removed when a pit was dug in front of it, some years ago, by a treasure-seeker. We have here again the old story, so often told in connexion with the destruction and plundering of ancient monumental structures. A miner in the neighbourhood had long set a covetous eye on the barrow as the storehouse of great riches; and one night he had so impressive a dream, bringing vividly before him a great crock of gold, that at dawn he proceeded to the mound, and dug the pit just referred to, exposing the kistvaen, into which he got full access; but what he found there, my informant, whom I accidentally met near the spot, and who knew the miner, could not tell; and as the explorer himself has since left Cornwall, there seems now to be but little chance of ascertaining what the cell contained, a state of things much to be regretted, as from its structure and peculiar position the barrow is of more than ordinary interest.

From Archaeologia Cambrensis v13, s3 (1867).

The only existing cromlech in the parishes of Llanllechid and Llandegai is situated in the upper part of the parish of Llandegai, near a small farm called Ffynnonbach. It goes locally by the name of “yr hen allor” (the old altar), and tradition, as usual, ascribes its erection to the Druids; and the use to which it is said to have been applied, is indicated in its being called an altar. But that the cromlech was a mere burial-place, has long since been settled. The cap-stone measures in breadth 5 feet; in length, 14 ft. 5 ins.; in thickness, about 1 ft. 6 ins. throughout.

More on the state of the stones in 1867, along with associated finds, in volume 13, series 3 of Archaeologia Cambrensis, viewable at the Internet Archive.

The fort is mentioned in a miracle play written down in 1504: ‘Beunans Meriasek’ – the Life of St Meriasek. It’s been suggested that it’s a subversively anti-English. It was written in Cornish, which few toffs would understand, and the villain is called Teudar, which sounds remarkably like Tudor. Teudar is an invader who is reigning by force. Meriasek says he needs baptising but Teudar isn’t having it and wants Meriasek hanged. The saint is warned in a vision and hides easily from Teudar’s soldiers under a rock, consecrating the spring there to cure the insane, and then runs off to Britanny.

The second part of the play introduces Teudar’s nemesis, the Duke of Cornwall, who vows to get rid of Teudar for having driven away the saint.

Me yv duk in oll kernow
indella ytho ov thays
hag vhel arluth in pov
a tamer the pen an vlays
tregys off lemen heb wov
berth in castel an dynas
sur in peddre
ha war an tyreth vhel
thym yma castel arel
a veth gelwys tyndagyel
henna yv o[v]fen tregse

I am Duke in all Cornwall:
So was my father,
And a high lord in the country
From Tamar to the end of the kingdom.
I am dwelling now, without a lie,
Within the castle of Dynas
Surely in Pidar,
And in the high land
I have another castle,
Which is called Tyntagel:
That is my chief dwelling-seat.

Pydar is one of the hundreds of Cornwall. You can see the play here in Whitley Stokes’ translation, published 1872. There is much interesting discussion of it here in J P D Cooper’s ‘Propaganda and the Tudor State’ (2003).

[A mysterious cavern] at Bolleit, in the parish of Buryan, which was so large and perfect in the time of the Great Rebellion, that Cavaliers were for some time concealed there; where, like the prophets of old, they were fed by Mr. Levellis of Trewoof, until opportunity offered for them to return to the King’s army.

From the second series, volume 4 of the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of London (1868).

One day, [Sawyl] and his party broke in [to the monastery of S. Cadoc], and carried off meat and drink, but did no further damage. Cadoc was absent at the moment, but on his return learnt what had been done, and was further informed that the marauders were at a little distance, eating and drinking what they had ravished from his larder and cellars.

After they had gorged themselves with meat and ale, Sawyl and his rogues lay down to sleep. Cadoc seized the opportunity to inflict on them a stinging insult. He set his monks to shave half the heads of the drunken men, and then with the razors to slash off the ears and lips of their horses.

We are informed that Sawyl and his men had retreated to a hill-top for their carouse, and if our identification of the localities be accepted, this can have been none other than the Garn Goch. When the barbers had done their work, Cadoc and fifty of his clerics assumed their ecclesiastical vestments, and marched in procession to the hill to meet, and if possible, to mitigate the resentment of the freebooter.

What happened is veiled in fable. The earth opened and swallowed up Sawyl and his men, “and the ditch where they were engulfed is known unto this day to all the passers-by”. That nothing of the sort took place we may be pretty sure. What probably occurred was that the settlers in the neighbourhood assembled and assumed a threatening attitude, and the bully was fain to decamp.
[..] After this, Cadoc sang Te Deum, and blessed the men who had made his adversaries ridiculous, and had so barbarously mutilated the dumb beasts.

That last sentence sounds like S B-G disapproves of animal cruelty, which is pleasing. Surely saints shouldn’t be asking people to do such things. He supposes Sawyl might have been based at Pen-y-Ddinas (although that seems rather a long way to walk to go pilfering from monasteries). From The Lives of the British Saints, volume 2, by Sabine Baring-Gould (1908).

It was possibly whilst Cadoc was at Llangadog that he was annoyed by Sawyl Benuchel, who had established himself in the pleasant mountain basin of Cynwyl Gaio, where a bunch of rock, starting out of the level bottom that was once a lake bed, offered a suitable position for a caer, commanding as it did the entire basin. It bears the significant name of Pen-y-Ddinas, showing that at one time a stronghold occupied its crown, but the ruins of prehistoric fortifications have disappeared, as the hill has been converted into a rabbit-warren.

Below it stands Llansawel, leaving us to suspect that this ruffian in his old age turned saint and founder [...] The church is supposed to be dedicated to S. Sawyl Felyn ab Bledri Hir, and this may have been the chief who worried Cadoc, and later turned serious and founded the church [...]

Coflein notes that the area known as ‘the Warren’ was said to show remains of the fort at the turn of the 19th century. The hill has since been quarried.

A legend featuring Sawyl is connected with Carn Goch.

From The Lives of the British Saints, volume 2, by Sabine Baring-Gould (1908).

It’s possible this story relates to the fort (or indeed, it could relate to the Roman one of Cicucium, upriver). Whichever, you’d imagine the grain would be pretty manky. Which makes you wonder if it’s a remembrance of a real discovery somewhere here, combined with the stories of the saint?

Whilst Cadoc studied at Llanspyddid, famine raged in the land, and the master and his pupils were put to straits for food. However, Cadoc observed a mouse carrying a grain of wheat. He succeeded in catching it, and borrowing a thread from a widow, tied it to the foot of the little creature and let it run; whereupon it darted into a hole. Cadoc dug on the spot, and discovered an underground chamber stored with grain. Such secret granaries were by no means uncommon, and are found in many ancient Welsh, Irish and Scottish forts. Or it may have been that one of the hypocausts that have been discovered at Y Gaer had been used as a storehouse for grain. On this supply the master and his pupils were able to live for some time.

From ‘The Lives of the British Saints‘, volume 2, by Sabine Baring-Gould (1908).

Stoney connections and more on the well. The ‘great flat stones’ call to mind Moss’s post below.

Adjoining the church is the chapel of St. Beuno. The passage to it is a narrow vault covered with great flat stones, and of far greater antiquity than either church or chapel; which seem nearly coeval. [...] In the midst is the tomb of the saint, plain, and altar-shaped. Votaries were wont to have great faith in him, and did not doubt but that by means of a night’s lodging on his tomb, a cure would be found for all diseases. It was customary to cover it with rushes, and leave on it till morning sick children, after making them first undergo ablution in the neighbouring holy well; and I myself once saw on it a feather bed, on which a poor paralytic from Meirioneddshire had lain the whole night, after undergoing the same ceremony.

From Tours in Wales by Thomas Pennant, written in the late 18th century. By the time the edition in the link was published in the 1880s, the tomb had gone.

There are some recent photos of Ffynnon Beuno at the super Well Hopper website.

Also, a link where you can read about the offerings of special bullocks with slits in their ears in depth: in Baring Gould’s ‘Lives of the British Saints‘ here.

I admit this may be a bit unconvincing. But the Gwynedd Archaeological Trust do list it as an ‘alleged barrow’. So it may yet be there, and it may yet be something prehistoric.

Bach ab Carwed or Carwyd was the founder of Eglwys Fach [...] the parish is situated partly in Denbighshire and partly in Carnarvonshire [...] He is supposed to have been a Northern chieftain and warrior, who, retiring into North Wales, fixed upon this sequestered spot, and dedicated the close of his life to religion. [...]

Edward Lhuyd in his Itinerary of Wales (1698-9) says that Bach killed a certain wild beast which was the cause of much annoyance to the inhabitants on the banks of the Carrog near the church. The beast was a kind of wild boar, and they called it Carrog. A little after the slaughter Bach happened to kick the monster’s head, but through contact with one of its tusks bruised his foot, and died of the wound (cf. the case of Diarmait in the Irish legend). Another version represents this monstrous boar, which played the part of a mediaeval dragon, as having been killed by the united action of the inhabitants. There is yet another tradition, which attributes its slaughter to S. Beuno, who paid Eglwys Fach a special visit for the purpose. According to this, Carrog somewhat resembled a flying serpent, which made its appearance in the daytime, kidnapping and eating children. S. Beuno, from the church tower, directed an arrow to the tender spot on its throat – the only vulnerable part on its body – and this took fatal effect. There is a tumulus, called Bedd Carrog, at Eglwys Fach, which tradition points out as the monster’s grave. The word carrog means a brook or torrent and is the name of some half a dozen streams in Wales. A good number of the Welsh river names bear a “swine” signification, or are in some way or another associated by legend with swine.

From Lives of the British Saints by Sabine Baring-Gould (1907).

A bit more about St Aelhaiarn’s well, one of the springs below the fort. This is from Lives of the British Saints by Sabine Baring-Gould (1907).

S. Aelhaiarn’s well is an oblong trough of good pure water, by the road side, in which the sick were wont to bathe, and there are seats of stone ranged along the sides for the accommodation of the patients awaiting the “troubling of the waters,” when they might step in, full of confidence, in expectation of a cure.

This “troubling of the waters” is a singular phenomenon. At irregular intervals, and at various points in the basin, the crystal water suddenly wells up, full of sparkling bubbles. Then ensues a lull, and again a swell of water occurs in another part of the tank. This is locally called “the laughing of the water,” and it is said in the place that the water laughs when any one looks at it.

The Well now supplies the village with water. It was walled round and roofed by the Parish Council in 1900, after an outbreak of diphtheria in the village. The entrance is now kept locked.

Baring-Gould’s book also gives the saint’s story from the Itineraries of John Ray (1760). Please indulge me as it is so full of ancient weirdness.

“We were told a legend of one St. Byno , who lived at Clenogvaur, and was wont to foot it four Miles in the Night to Llaynhayrne, and there, on a stone, in the midst of the River, to say his Prayers; whereon they show you still the Prints of his Knees. His Man, out of Curiosity, followed him once to the Place, to see and observe what he did. The Saint coming from his Prayers, and espying a Man, not knowing who it was, prayed, that if he came with a good Intent, he might receive the Good he came for, and might suffer no Damage; but if he had any ill Design, that some Example might be shown upon him; whereupon presently there came forth wild Beasts, and tore him in pieces.

Afterwards, the Saint peceiving it was his own Servant, was very sorry, gathering up his Bones, and praying, he set Bone to Bone, and Limb to Limb, and the Man became whole again, only the part of the Bone under the Eyebrow was wanting; the Saint, to supply that Defect, applied the Iron of his Pike-staff to the Place, and thence, that Village was called Llanvilhayrne.

But for a punishment to his Man (after he had given him Llanvilhayrne) he prayed (and obtained his Prayer) that Clenogvaur Bell might be heard as far as Llanvilhayrne Churchyard, but upon stepping into the Church it was to be heard no longer; this the People hereabout assert with much Confidence, upon their own experience, to be true. The Saint was a South Wales Man, and when he died, the South Wales Men contended with the Clenogvaur Men for his Body, and continued the Contention till Night; next Morning there were two Biers and two Coffins there, and so the South Wales Men carried one away, and the Clenogvaur Men the other.”

The story of the restoration of Aelhaiarn out of his bones, one small bone being missing, is an adaptation of a very ancient myth. It occurs in the Prose Edda of Thor on his journey to Jotunhein. It is found elsewhere. The duplication of the body of Beuno has its counterpart in the triplication of that of Teilo.

Something a bit older, from ‘Memoires of the Family of Finney, of Fulshaw, (near Wilmslow) Cheshire, by Samuel Finney of Fulshaw, Esquire’, 1787. It’s printed in The Cheshire and Lancashire Historical Collector no. 11 (November 1853).

Lower down the Hill, just below the Beacon, is a Spring of very clear Sweet Water, that issues pretty plentifully out of the Rock, called the Holy Well, which, no doubt, in times of Superstition, had its Virtues, which are now unknown, though many young people, in the Summer time, resort to it in parties, and regale themselves with this water, which is still supposed to have a prolific quality in it.

There are at least nine wells at different parts of the Edge, the more conspicuous being the Wizard Well and the Holy Well. These, and especially the latter, were in ancient times connected with well-worship, and propitiatory offerings were made by people to the presiding deities, and also were frequently resorted to in Christian times, but doubtless the cult was observed here in much earlier days.

Their healing powers were considered to be unfailing; the barren, the blind, the lame, and bodily-afflicted constantly made their way thither; maidens whispered their vows and prayers over them, their lovers and their future lives being their theme. Crooked silver coins were dropped into the well, but these have been cleared out long ago.

At the present time the devotees are satisfied, in their economical habit, to offer mere pins and hairpins; the custom is not dead yet, for some of the immersed pins are still quite uncorroded and bright. Some of the sex deposit the pins in their straight and original form, others bend them only at right angle, and as many again seem to consider the charm alone to act effectively when carefully and conscientiously doubled up. Maidens of a more superficial cast just give the slightest twist to the object.

To judge from the state of corrosion, and the old-fashioned thick, globular heads, some of these pins must have been in the well for at least sixty years. We have brought three cases to show the various forms into which the visitors have tortured the pins, and classified them into groups. There are occasionally to be seen also a few white pebbles in the two wells.

From Recent archaeological discoveries at Alderley Edge by C Roeder and F S Graves, in the Transactions of the Lancashire and Cheshire Antiquarian Society for 1905 (v23). I seem to remember that Alan Garner said he got his pocket-money from (the Wizard’s?) well when he was a child.

The Lancashire and Cheshire Antiquarian Society had an outing here in May 1911. The ‘extensive prospect’ was ‘said to include thirteen counties’ (quite a claim). Sadly, ‘the summer haze prevented any such view at the time’.

Connected with Carn Brea Castle (the relic of which, now standing, bears but the shadow of the name), there has been, from a remote period of Cornish history, handed down from father to son, a legend [...] to the following effect:-
“I, John of Gaunt,
Do give the graunt
Of all my land and fee;
From me and mine-
To thee and thine-
Thou Basset of Bumberlie.”
This “John of Gaunt” was believed to be about the last of the giants (whether mystical or real) who once peopled Cornwall, and he resided in the Castle on the “Brea.” He could stride –
“From Carn Brea Castle to Tuckingmill Stile,”
a distance of several miles.

In

... the manor and see
Of Umberleigh,
And in token of my truth,
Do seal it with my tooth.”

– Umberleigh being the ancient seat of the Bassett family, near Barnstaple.

The Irish translation given on the OS map sheet 43 for Bellewstown is Baile an Bheileogaigh. Beile or bile is the name given to old inauguration trees. So the town of the inauguration tree of the Ogaigh’s (possibly another version of Haughey?)
However, on the western approach to the town is a sign that says Sliabh B.(aile) na gCailleach, the Hill of the town of the Hag.

Know locally as the Jack Stones, they are said to have been thrown to here from Tara by the legendary hero Finn MacCool.
(Throwing stones seems to have been a rather common habit of old Finn.)

Penshaw Hill is mentioned in the Mackem dialect song “The Lambton Worm” (as “Pensher Hill”), which tells the tale of the dragon:

“One Sunday morn young Lambton went
A-fishing’ in the Wear;
An’ catched a fish upon he’s heuk,
He thowt leuk’t varry queer.
But whatt’n a kind of fish it was
Young Lambton cuddent tell.
He waddn’t fash te carry’d hyem,
So he hoyed it doon a well.

cho: Whisht! Lads, haad yor gobs,
An Aa’ll tell ye’s aall an aaful story
Whisht! Lads, haad yor gobs,
An’ Aa’ll tell ye ‘boot the worm.

Noo Lambton felt inclined te gan
An’ fight i’ foreign wars.
he joined a troop o’ Knights that cared
For nowther woonds nor scars,
An’ off he went te Palestine
Where queer things him befel,
An’ varry seun forgat aboot
The queer worm i’ the well.

But the worm got fat an’ growed and’ growed
An’ growed an aaful size;
He’d greet big teeth, a greet big gob,
An’ greet big goggle eyes.
An’ when at neets he craaled aboot
Te pick up bits o’ news,
If he felt dry upon the road,
He milked a dozen coos.

This feorful worm wad often feed
On caalves an’ lambs an’ sheep,
An’ swally little barins alive
When they laid doon te sleep.
An’ when he’d eaten aall he cud
An’ he had had he’s fill,
He craaled away an’ lapped he’s tail
Seven times roond Pensher Hill.

The news of this myest aaful worm
An’ his queer gannins on
Seun crossed the seas, gat te the ears
Ov brave and’ bowld Sor John.
So hyem he cam an’ catched the beast
An’ cut ‘im in twe haalves,
An’ that seun stopped he’s eatin’ bairns,
An’ sheep an’ lambs and caalves.

So noo ye knaa hoo aall the foaks
On byeth sides ov the Wear
Lost lots o’ sheep an’ lots o’ sleep
An’ leeved i’ mortal feor.
So let’s hev one te brave Sor John
That kept the bairns frae harm,
Saved coos an’ caalves by myekin’ haalves
O’ the famis Lambton Worm.

Final Chorus

Noo lads, Aa’ll haad me gob,
That’s aall Aa knaa aboot the story
Ov Sor John’s clivvor job
Wi’ the aaful Lambton Worm.”

For the full dialect effect:

youtube.com/watch?v=XsO7SeCvgMw

Fitzcoraldo’s story appears pretty much word for word in ‘The Monthly Chronicle of North-Country Lore and Legend’ for December 1889 (p 548-550). It’s followed immediately by this:

We may observe that what is commonly known as Fairy Butter is a certain fungous excrescence sometimes found about the roots of old trees. After great rains, and in a particular state of putrifaction, it is reduced to a consistency which, together with its colour, makes it not unlike butter; hence its name. When met with inside houses it is reckoned lucky. Why so, we cannot tell.

Some of the legends about the meeting place of swords.

strathnairnheritage.org.uk/stories1.html

To the south-east of the village, near the river Codbeck, is a tumulus, popularly called “pudding pye hill;” the origin of which had long been a disputed point, some affirming it to be the remains of a watchtower pertaining to the Castle of Thirsk, others maintaining its sepulchral character. This dispute was finally set at rest in August, 1855, when Lady Frankland Russell the owner, employed a number of men, under the superintendence of Mr. James Ruddock of Pickering, to excavate the hill. [...]

The popular legend is -- that this hill was raised by the Fairies, who had their residence within; and if any person should run nine times round it, and then stick a knife into the centre of the top, then place their ear to the ground, they would hear the Fairies conversing inside.

From The Vale of Mowbray by William Grainge (1859).

When I first mentioned the Cadbury mound to my Auntie Bridie, she recounted a story from the 1950s about a man suffering a heart attack while felling one of the trees that grew upon it. This was attributed to the fairies taking retribution. More recently, I came across an account of a man who dug the ‘fairy mound’ and broke his leg. Another version of this tale tells of a strange face that appears under the branches of one of the trees at Hallowe’en and is thought to be that of a man who attempted to dig the mound and went missing that night. That these ‘suburban myths’ persist reveals much about local people’s regard for the past.

From Michael Stanley’s article ‘Chocolate and Community Archaeology’ in Archaeology Ireland (v25, no. 4, Winter 2011).

A subterranean passage was said to exist between the abbey [of Hailes] and Coscomb, and also to Beckbury, the camp above Hailes Wood; but no one in the present day can point out the whereabouts.

From the Transactions of the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society for 1884-5.

The 12th century version of the story, in William of Newburgh’s “History”, book 1, chapter 28, ‘of certain prodigies’:

In the province of the Deiri, also, not far from the place of my nativity, an extraordinary event occurred, which I have known from my childhood. There is a village, some miles distant from the Eastern Ocean, near which those famous waters, commonly called Gipse, spring from the ground at various sources (not constantly, indeed, but every alternate year), and, forming a considerable current, glide over the low lands into the sea: it is a good sign when these streams are dried up, for their flowing is said unquestionably to portend the disaster of a future scarcity. A certain rustic belonging to the village, going to see his friend, who resided in the neighboring hamlet, was returning, a little intoxicated, late at night; when, behold, he heard, as it were, the voice of singing and reveling on an adjacent hillock, which I have often seen, and which is distant from the village only a few furlongs. Wondering who could be thus disturbing the silence of midnight with noisy mirth, he was anxious to investigate the matter more closely; and perceiving in the side of the hill an open door, he approached, and, looking in, he beheld a house, spacious and lighted up, filled with men and women, who were seated, as it were, at a solemn banquet. One of the attendants, perceiving him standing at the door, offered him a cup: accepting it, he wisely forbore to drink; but, pouring out the contents, and retaining the vessel, he quickly departed. A tumult arose among the company, on account of the stolen cup, and the guests pursued him; but he escaped by the fleetness of his steed, and reached the village with his extraordinary prize. It was a vessel of an unknown material, unusual color, and strange form: it was offered as a great present to Henry the elder, king of England and then handed over to the queen’s brother, David, king of Scotland, and deposited for many years among the treasures of his kingdom; and, a few years since, as we have learnt from authentic relation, it was given up by William, king of the Scots, to Henry II, on his desiring to see it.

Online at Fordham University’s Internet History Sourcebooks Project.