Latest Folklore

Disappointingly, there is a massive quarry here now. But there was a rath, a souterrain, and a naturally rocky craggy place.

Cleena had one of her palaces in the centre of a great rock, situated about five miles from Mallow, still well known by the name of Carrig-Cleena, and there is a legend attached to it, recounted by Windele, from which Cleena’s moral character appears to have been doubtful. A market or fair was held in the neighbourhood; and on these occasions she came out of her abode and carried off every good-looking young man at the fair who pleased her. It was told how a peasant one evening had seen the whole space about the rock brilliantly lighted up, the entrance door thrown open, and a fair lady standing within. Some people cultivated the ground around th rock with potatoes; but Cleena was heard within piteously wailing, as if lamenting the desecration, and the men desisted.

[...] Even Cleena had a more estimable side to her character. Some of the peasantry of the country around Carrig Cleena regard her in the light of a benefactress. In her neighbourhood no cattle die from the influence of the evil eye, nor the malignant power of the unfriendly spirits of the air. Her goodness preserves the harvest from the blights which dissipate the farmer’s hopes. The peasantry are the children of her peculiar care. She often appears, disguised in the homely garb of a peasant girl, to announce to some late wayfarer the expulsion from her dominions of invading spirits, and the consequent certainty of an abundant harvest.

From Traces of the Elder Faiths of Ireland by W G Wood-Martin (1902).

The NMS record quotes ‘Berry 1905’ “A wild and romantic spot... a rude elevation, surrounded by a rampart of huge rocks, towering over the country round, and enclosing about two acres of very green ground” – there was a soutterrain inside the fort which was ‘said locally’ to connect the rocks and the fort.

The quarriers didn’t get it all their own way though. This forum has someone saying “I rem as a child hearing it had a quarry and the machinery used to break down, go on fire etc. and it was blamed on Clíona, queen of the fairies and it didn’t stop until a mass was said there. ” and another person recalls the mass being about 30 years ago.

There are many variations on the fairy queen’s name of Clíodhna. Anne Ross (’Pagan Celtic Britain’) connects her with the British Rhiannon, as they both have three otherworldly birds as assistants (as you may see here and here).

In the townland of Carrigmoorna, county Waterford, there is a conical hill, crowned by a large rock, in which dwells the enchantress Murna. When the wind blows strongly in certain directions it produces in some crevices of the rock a loud roar, and the country people state that this sound is the humming of Murna’s spinning wheel.

From Traces of the Elder Faiths of Ireland by W G Woodmartin, 1902.

There is a standing stone 30m E of the summit of the hill. The NMS record says it is diamond shaped in cross section and 1.15m high.

Mr. W. J. Knowles, M.R.I.A., secretary for county Antrim to the Council of the present Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, states that he knew instances where the posessor of a few flint implements refused to part with them, as he found it more profitable to hire them out to neighbours, for the purpose of curing cattle, than it would be to sell them. Theis writer also remarks that, in reference to the employment of flint arrow-heads and spear-heads in curing cattle, he received recently an account from an aged man, who lives not far from Ballymena, of how the ceremony of cattle-curing was carried on in his young days:-

“He had a neighbour, a very respectable farmer, who was a cow-doctor, and who had a considerable number of beautiful flint arrow-heads, by means of which he effected cures in the case of cattle which were ill. This cow-doctor invariably found that the animal was either ‘elf-shot’ or ‘dinted,’ or it might be suffering from both troubles. When ‘elf-shot,’ I suspect the arrow had pierced the hide; and when ‘dinted,’ I imagine there was only an indentation, which the doctor could feel as easily as the holes. When he was called in to see a cow which was ill, he would feel the hide all over, and find, or pretend to find, holes or indentations, and would call on anyone present to feel them. He would then assure the owner that he would very soon cure the cow. My informant told me that the man’s usual expression when he found the holes was, in his own local language, ‘Begor, we hae found the boy noo,’ meaning that he had found the cause of the beast’s ailment. Some gruel would now have to be prepared, into which he would put a few of his arrow-heads, a piece of silver, usually a sixpence, and he would also add some sooty matter which he had previously scraped from the bottom of the pot. When all had been boiled well together, and was ready for use, he would take a mouthful and blow it into the animal’s ears, another mouthful and blow it over her back, and then he would give the remainder to the cow to drink, and would go away, assuring the owner that she would soon be better. I understand he was generally successful in effecting cures, and was held in high estimation as a cow-doctor. My informant said he was often sent for by Lord Mountcashel’s agent, when he lived in Galgorm Castle, to prescribe for cattle which were ill. There must, however, have been sceptics in those days, as I am told that the poor cow-doctor was often jocularly asked to examine a cow that was in perfectly good health, and that there was considerable merriment when he pronounced her to be both ‘elf-shot’ and ‘dinted’. ”

From Traces of the Elder Faiths of Ireland‘ by W.G. Wood-Martin (1902).

An interesting section follows about the market in passing off faked arrow-heads as the real thing.

Knuck Fierna.
The hill of the fairies. This is the loftiest mountain in the county abovenamed, and lifts its double peak on the Southern side, pretty accurately, I believe, dividing it from Cork. Numberless are the tales related of this hill by the carmen who have been benighted near it on their return from the latter city, which is the favourite market for the produce of their dairies. That there is a Siobrug or fairy castle in the Mount, no one in his senses presumes to entertain a doubt. On the summit of the highest peak is an unfathomable well, which is held in very great veneration by the peasantry. It is by some supposed to be the entrance to the court of their tiny mightinesses. A curious fellow at one time had the hardihood to cast a stone down the orifice; and then casting himself on his face and hands, and leaning over the brink, waited to ascertain the falsity of this supposition by the reverberation, which he doubted not would soon be occasioned by the missile reaching the bottom. But he met with a fate scarce less tragical than that of poor Pug, who set fire to the match of a cannon, and then must needs run to the mouth to see the shot go off. Our speculator had his messenger returned to him with a force that broke the bridge of his nose, locked up both his eyes, and sent him down the hill at the rate of four furlongs per second, at the foot of which he was found senseless next morning.

From The Literary Gazette v8, 1824.
A much longer version is told in ‘Fairy Legends and Traditions‘ by Thomas Crofton Croker (1825).

Williamstown.

On the farm of Mr. Watchorn in this townland there is a very fine stone with rounded corners. It is marked ‘Gallan’ on the Ordnance map. Its height is six feet six inches and its greatest girth is thirteen feet two inches. There are two groovings on the west face, one very large on on the south, and three on the east. The large grooving on the south is two feet six inches long, and one foot wide at the top. The others vary in length from two feet six inches to one foot eight inches.

Locally this stone is called ‘the six Fingers.’ There is a tradition that it was thrown there by Finn Mac Cumhail from the top of Eagle Hill, Hacketstown.

Another tradition states that it rolls down occasionally to get a drink at the River Derreen, which flows close by. The same story is told by John McCall in his History of Clonmore about Killahookaun Big Stone, a large natural boulder of granite on the county boundary on Killalongford Hill.

From ‘A group of grooved standing stones in North Carlow’ by E O’Toole and G F Mitchell, in The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, v9 no2 (Jun 30th 1939).

Cloghstuckagh.

This stone stands in the townland of Glenoge, parish of Grangeforth, on the farm of the late Mr. Dunne. The name is spelled variously. In the Field Name Book it is written Cloghstuckagh, and translated by O’Donovan as ”Cloch Stucach, or Standing Stone”; in the Co. Carlow Ordnance Survey Sheets it is marked Glochstathagh, and locally it is called Cloughstodagh (cloch stadadh), the ‘Five Fingers,’ and the ‘Giant Stone.‘

The reference to the stone in the O.S. Letters is as follows:--

“A stone called Cloch Stucach stands on Mr. Dunne’s farm in the townland of Glinnogue which tradition says was thrown by a giant [Finn Mac Cumhail] from Mount Leinster. There are indents on it which are said to be the tracks of his fingers.”

The stone, which is a remarkable one, is flat on the south side and curved on the north. It is 5 1/4 feet in height and on the north side has five groovings or indents which bear a rough resemblance to the traces left by the fingers of a man’s hand. The indent representing the longest finger is six feet in length, five inches wide and four inches deep; the others are in proportion.

An urn and a 6” ‘bone needle’ were found when Mr. Dunne dug around the stone.
From ‘A group of grooved standing stones in North Carlow’ by E O’Toole and G F Mitchell, in The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, v9 no2 (Jun 30th 1939).

This massy Stone measuring 12 Feet one way and 6 another, which must from the specifick Gravity of like Solids, weigh betwixt 30 and 40 Ton-weight; by the Inhabitants of the Country is called the Giant’s Load, and the Native Irish tell a strange Story about it, relating how the whole was brought all at once from the neighbouring Mountains, by a Giant called Parrah bough McShagjean,and who they say was buried near this Place.

The Grave or Cell of Stone-work they shew for it is about 20 Feet long and 5 Broad, and several Bones of a monstrous Size they affirm to have been dug up there.

From ‘Louthiana’ by Thomas Wright (1758).

In ‘The Legend of Proleek’ J H Lloyd is appalled by the “barbarous spelling” of the giant’s name above. He deduces from the following story that it may really be ‘Para beaj Mac Seroin’ *here as below I am having to use the English versions of the Gaelic letters. I think he tries to explain the discrepancy by saying ‘beaj (beag)’ is ‘small’ and mor is ‘large’, it’s a sort of ironic / sarcastic name to call a giant ‘small’.

[The legend] is recorded in the Ordnance Survey Letters of Co. Louth. The names of the two humble, painstaking scholars who noted it down should be mentioned. They are T. O’Conor and J. O’Keeffe, to whom the antiquarian work in Co. Louth was entrusted. Their letter, dealing with the Parish of Ballymascanlan, contains the following:-

“In Proleek T. L. (*Prailic) is a Giant’s grave 7 yards long, 2 1/2 yds. broad at the shoulders, and 1 1/2 yds. at the feet. The head points to the S. and the feet to the N. Large stones fixed in the ground defend the grave on every side; there is one large stone across the feet which
--“scarce ten men could raise,
Such men as live in these degen’rate days.”

They say it is the grave of (*Para burde mor Mac Seordin), a Scotch giant, who came to challenge Fin Mac Coole, and of whom they tell a story similar to the story of Feardhiadh. Para buidhe mor asked Fin’s wife where he (Fin) used to eat; Fin, she told him, when he was hungry would kill one of those bullocks (pointing to them), roast him and eat him. Para went and did the same; the spot on which he killed, roasted, and ate the bullock, is pointed out yet; it is a hollow in a green field a little to the South of the grave. When he had eaten he went to the river which runs near the spot, to satisfy his thirst; but Fin threw the poison into the river, by which means he despatched him.

A little to the North of the grave there is a large stone computed by the people to be 60 tons weight, supported on three smaller rude stones. It is in some places 6 ft. from the ground, in others 8 ft., and it is said to have been fixed by Fionn Mac Cumhail and Para buidhe mor Mhac Seoidin.”

The Legend of Proleek, JH Lloyd. In ‘Journal of the County Louth Archaeological Society’ vol 1, no.3, Sept 1906.

In the same volume there’s an article on ‘Louthiana: Ancient and Modern’ by Henry Morris. He says:

The small stones seen in the illustration on the top of Proleek Cromlech have been thrown up there in obedience to a curious belief. Young unmarried people, chiefly of the fair sex, throw up three stones on the cromlech in order to find out if they will get married within a year. Owing to the rounded back of the cromlech it is very difficult to fix a stone on the top, but if the consultor of this oracle succeeds in placing the three stones on the top he or she is almost certain of marriage; one or two placed above denotes a probability, while if all the stones fall the chances are nil.

It’s only a short walk from the circle to a holy well, which curiously has the type of don’t-mess-with-stones folklore that you’d often associate with prehistoric stones themselves. So that’s my excuse for adding the following:

The well of St. Cuby [or Cybi] was a spring of water on the left-hand side of the [road which leads from Sandplace to Duloe Church], which flowed into a circular basin of granite, carved and ornamented round the edge with the figures of dolphins, and on the lower part with the figure of a griffin; it is in shape somewhat like a font, with a drain for the carrying off of the water.
The well at one time was very much respected, and treated with reverence by the neighbouring people, who believed that some dire misfortune would befal the person who should attempt to remove it. Tradition says that a ruthless fellow once went with a team of oxen for the purpose of removing the basin; on reaching the spot one of the oxen fell down dead, which so alarmed the man that he desisted from the attempt. In spite of this tradition, however, the basin has been moved, probably when the new road was cut, and was taken to the bottom of the woods on the Trenant estate; it is now placed in Trenant Park.

From Ancient and Holy Wells of Cornwall by M and L Quiller-Couch (1894).
There are some photos on the Megalithic Portal including the interesting carvings on the moved font, which is now in the church.

Beyond the Nine Maidens seaward is the great serrated range of granite rocks, Carn Galva, so conspicuous an object for several miles in nearly every direction. Somewhere amongst the rocks in this carn is the Giant’s Cave, in ages long gone by the abode of a giant named Holiburn. My informant could not point out the locality of this cave, her knowledge of it having been derived from hearing her “old man,” now dead, speaking about it some thirty or fourty years ago. It is of the rarest occurrence to hear the name of a giant mentioned in the recital of any oral tradition in this district; and, as a general rule, even those who best remember the stories current in their childhood have no recollection of ever having heard the giants alluded to by distinctive names.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the footsteps of the giants

, by J O Halliwell (1861).

In the parish of Sancred there is a Well whose Water rises in the same kind of soil as Madern Well; and as a witness of its having done remarkable cures, it has a chapel adjoining to it, dedicated to St. Euinus; the ruins of which, consisting of much carved stone, bespeak it to have been formerly of no little note. The Water has the reputation of drying humours, as well as healing wounds and sores. It gives no perceivable evidence of any mineral impregnation; neither need it to produce the effect attributed to it, for certain it is, that the mere coldness of Water will work surprizing cures; wounds, sores, aches, disordered eyes, and the like, are often cured by that quality only; the cold by bracing up the nerves and muscles, and strengthening the glands, promotes secretion and circulation, the two great ministers of health.

In the northern kingdoms they are so sensible that all extraordinary defluxions of humours are owing to too great a relaxation of the parts, that they keep carefully the water of snow gathered in March, and apply it as a general remedy for most diseases: but the common people (of this as well as other countries) will not be contented to attribute the benefit they receive to ordinary means; there must be something marvellous in all their cures.

I happened luckily to be at this Well upon the last day of the year on which (according to the vulgar opinion) it exerts its principal and most salutary powers: two women were here who came from a neighbouring parish, and were busily employed in bathing a child: they both assured me, that people who had a mind to receive any benefit from St. Euny’s Well, must come and wash upon the three first Wednesdays in May. But to leave folly to its own delusion, it is certainly very gracious in Providence to distribute a remedy for so many disorders in a quality so universally found as cold is in unmixed Well-water.

Cynicism from William Borlase, in his Natural History of Cornwall, 1758.

Borlase was less impressed. But he was the reverend at Ludgvan. So he probably couldn’t be officially doing with too much superstitious behaviour.

The soil round Madern Well, in the parish of Madern, is black, boggy, and light, but the stratum through which the Spring rises, is a grey moorstone gravel, called, by the Cornish, Grouan. Here people who labour under pains, aches, and stiffness of limbs, come and wash, and many cures are said to have been performed, although the Water can only act by its cold and limpid nature, forasmuch as it has no perceivable mineral impregnation. Hither also upon much less justifiable errands come the uneasy, impatient, and superstitious, and by dropping pins or pebbles into the Water, and by shaking the ground round the Spring, so as to raise bubbles from the bottom, at a certain time of the year, Moon, and day, endeavour to settle such doubts and enquiries as will not let the idle and anxious rest. Here therefore they come, and, instead of allaying, deservedly feed their uneasiness; the supposed responses serving equally to increase the gloom of the melancholy, the suspicions of the jealous, and the passion of the enamoured. As great a piece of folly as this is, ‘tis a very ancient one. The Castalian Fountain, and many others among the Grecians, was supposed to be of a prophetic nature.

From The Natural History of Cornwall by William Borlase (1758).

There was formerly a place also called the Giant’s Chair near the Beacon in Sancreed, a cromlech, the covering-stone of which had slipped down, and so formed a sort of wide seat.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by J O Halliwell (1861).

A fine Cromlech near the Beacon, whose appearance, in consequence of the upper stone having slipped off at its back, entitled it in the opinion of the country people to the name of the “Giant’s chair” has been broken up within the last five years.

in the Royal Cornwall Gazette, 22nd December 1843.

About two miles from Colurrian is the fine and picturesque granite hill, Trecrobben, from the top of which are perhaps seen the most extensive views of the country to be met with in any spot in the whole district [...] The entrance into this enclosure from the Hayle side is in a tolerably perfect state, being nearly twenty feet wide, with large upright blocks of granite at the inner corners. Opposite to this, on the other side, is another entrance of a similar character. The large vallum does not form a perfect circle, but is turned out of its regular course in order to unite it with two carns, between which was another entrance nearly opposite Trink hill, and which we may call the principal gateway. On the largest of these carns are some rock-basons, known respectively as the Giant’s Chair, the Giant’s Cradle, and the Giant’s Spoon.

[...] Outside the vallum at Trecrobben, or, as it is called by the rustics, Trancrom, is the Giant’s Well; and on the fourth side of the hill is a large block of granite, known as the Twelve o’ Clock Stone, – a sort of natural sun-dial, on which the rays of the sun fall in such a manner, that the miners of the neighbourhood can tell the hour of noon by the direction of the shadows. There is another stone so called on the brow of Trink hill. About half-a-mile from Trecrobben hill, at Beersheba, is a large stone known in the neighbourhood as the Giant’s Bowl.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the footsteps of the giants by J O Halliwell (1861).

Giant’s Chair, Godolphin Hill.
On the S.W. slope of this hill is a very fine mass of rock, which has naturally assumed the shape of a chair. The back gradually slants off into an angle and surmounts the seat, which is much smoothed by attrition from the frequent use to which it has been put for sitting purposes by the neighbouring inhabitants. The seat is large enough to hold three persons, comfortably, and therefore we may reasonably suppose that the giant from whom it takes its name was three times as large as an ordinary human being. And he must have been at least as large as this, if, as the legend tells, he were able to hurl huge blocks of granite as far as Prospidnick, (where they formed the staple of the adjoining granite quarries,) a distance of close upon four miles, as the crow flies. He chose this rock as his chair to repose his wearied limbs after his exertions. The chair faces the hill so that there was no prospect to distract the giant’s attention from sleep.

From Cornish Chairs by the Rev. S. Rundle, in v14 of the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall (1900).
I can’t see this marked on maps. But maybe it’s noticeable if it’s still there? The Bronze/Iron age people that lived here must have known it at least.

At Hangman’s Barrow in St. Crowan, (which is really Men-an, the stone), a legend has been coined to suit the title. A man murdered a man and his wife, and tried to take the life of their little son, but the little boy took refuge in a “cundered” (culvert), and so escaped with his life. Many years afterwards, when the boy had grown to man’s estate, and was driving a cart, he overtook a tired way-farer, and gave him a lift. It happened that their journey took them past the very place where the murder had been perpetrated, and the traveller, becoming garrulous, pointed to the spot, and said “Years ago, it was there I killed a buck and doe, but their young got into that cundered, where I could not get at him, and so he escaped.” The feelings of the son may be well imagined when he heard his parent’s murder so brutally and callously alluded to, but he said nothing until he could procure assistance, when he delivered the ruffian into the hands of justice. Soon after he was sentenced to death by the lingering mode of exposure in an iron cage. And from this very circumstance, though not even according to the above facts, the carn of stones took the name of “Hangman’s Barrow.”

Surely in the running for ‘most useless megalithic folklore story’, this is from Rev. S Rundle’s Cornubiana in the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall v14 (1899-1900).

.. on the beach at the foot of the hill is the “Chapel Rock” whereon once stood an oratory of which Leland speaks of “a little chapel yn the sande nere by the towne toward the Mount,” and where (on what authority I know not) many of our local histories tell us pilgrims were wont to halt before making the ascent.

But the Chapel Rock has other interests than that derived from the building that once stood on it. Having already carried off the top of the neighbouring hill of Trencrom, to make the Mount itself, Cormoran was in want of further stones wherewith to build his castle, and sent his wife to fetch them from the same place. She, thinking (womanlike) that any other stone would do as well, fetched this one from the nearer hill of Ludgvan-lees. Angry at her conduct, the monster slew her with his mighty foot, and the great rock rolled from her apron and fell where we now see it; a silent witness to the lady’s strength and the truth of the narrative.

Maybe the hill of Ludgvan-lees is the one at Castle-an-Dinas. From Notes on St. Michael’s Mount by Thurstan C Peter, in the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall v14 (1899-1900).

Maderne, called also St Maderne, a parish situate under the craggie hills north of Penzance, nere which is a well called Maderne Well, whose fame in former ages was great; for the supposed vertue of healinge, which St Maderne had therinto infused: And manie votaries made annale pilgrimages unto it, as they doe even at this daye unto the well of St Winifride, beyounde Chester, in Denbigheshire, whereunto thowsands doe yearly make resorte: But of late St Maderne hath denied his or hers (I know not whether) pristine ayde; and as he is coye of his Cures, so now are men coye of cominge to his conjured Well; yet soom a daye resorte.

From the Cornwall section of Speculi Britanniae, by John Norden (written 1610 but published 1728).

At Chapel Uny will be found a copious spring of as clear water as was ever seen. The only remains that can be identified, as having belonged to its ancient chapel, are a few dressed stones near the well. These, from their shape, would seem to have formed part of an arched door or window.

Near by there is also a large circular Fogou, or artificial cavern, walled on both sides and partly covered with long slabs of moorstone. The Holy Well is, hoever, the most celebrated object in this vicinity; a few years ago, it was resorted to on the first three Wednesdays in May by scores of persons who had great faith in the virtue of its waters, which were considered very efficacious for curing most diseases incidental to childhood, and many ricketty babes are still bathed there at the stated times when the spring is believed to possess the most healing powers.

Belonging to this well and its neighbourhood there is a somewhat curious story, which we will relate just as it has often been told us by old people of the West Country.

Hence follows the ultimately rather sad story of ‘The Changeling of Brea Vean’. From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

Old traditions say that the headlands of Castle Treen, or rather Trereen, on which the Logan Rock carn and adjacent crags stand, was raised out of the sea by enchantment. This portion of the stronghold, enclosed by the inner line of defence, running directly across the isthmus, is generally spoken of as The Castle, and that between it and the outer or landward embankments is usually called Treen Dynas.

It is not known what powerful magician raised this giant’s hold, though it was believed that its security depended on a magic stone called “the key of the Castle,” respecting which Merlin had something to say, as well as about many other remarkable stones in the neighbourhood. Castle Treen, however, must have stood where it is long before Arthur and his magician visited West Cornwall.

The key was an egg-shaped stone, between two and three feet long, which was contained in the cavity of a rock with a hole facing the sea, through which it might be turned round; and the opening appeared large enough for it to be passed through. Many attempted to get it out, but they always found it to hitch somewhere; and lucky (according to old folks’ faith) that it did, because the sage Merlin prophecied that when the key of the Castle was taken out of the hole, Men Amber (the holy rock) would be overthrown, the Castle sink beneath the ocean, and other calamities occur.

The key was situated near the bottom of a deep chasm called The Gap, which is passed on approaching the Logan Rock by the usual path. It required a sure-footed climber, of strong nerve, to reach it, and this could only be done from land, at low water, or nearly so.

Surging waves occasionally changed the position of this magic stone, and from the direction of its smaller end, as it lay in a trough of water, prognostics were drawn with regard to the seasons, &c.

Few persons had sufficient hardihood to descend the precipitous cliff and risk being caught in The Gap by a flowing tide; and the key of the Castle remained a mysterious and venerated object till Goldsmith’s mischievous tars, or the dockyard men who were employed in erecting machinery to replace Men Amber (as the stone they overthrew was formerly called) heard of it and the traditions connected therewith. Then, one day, some of these wretches, on farther mischief bent, entered The Gap in a boat, and, being provided with crow bars, they broke away the edges of the rock that enclosed the key, ripped it out, and tumbled it down among the sea-washed pebbles! Some calamity has surely befallen these wretches ere this, or Bad Luck is a mere name, and powerless as an avenging deity.

Part of Merlin’s prophecy was fulfilled, however, yet not in the order predicted.

The venerated nodule was what is called, among miners, a “bull’s eye,” or “pig’s egg,” of large size. It appeared to be a closer-grained and harder stone than what surrounded it.

From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

Immediately afterwards is a long (long) story about the giants of Castle Treen. And something about the fairies there too. And finally, about the witches that used it as a flying-off point. Pretty crowded spot.

Many years ago, on Midsummer’s eve, when it became dusk, very old people in the West Country would hobble away to some high ground, whence they obtained a view of the most prominent hills, such as Bartinney, Chapel Carn-brea, Sancras Bickan, Castle-an-Dinas, Carn Galver, St. Agnes Bickan, and many other beacon hills far away to north and east, which vied with each other in their Midsummer’s blaze. They counted the fires and drew a presage from the number of them. There are now but few bonfires to be seen on the western heights; yet we have observed that Tregonan, Godolphin, and Carn Marth hills, with others away towards Redruth, still retain their Baal fires. We would gladly go many miles to see the wierd-looking, yet picturesque, dancers around the flames on a carn, or high hill top, as we have seen them some forty years ago.

From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

I was told that some remarkable cures had been effected [at the Holed Stone at St. Constantine] only a few weeks since. The ceremony consists of passing the child nine times through the hole, alternately from one side to the other; and it is essential to success that the operation should finish on that side where there is a little grassy mound, recently made, on which the patient must sleep, with a six-pence under his head. A trough-like stone, called the ‘cradle’, on the eastern side of the barrow, was formerly used for this purpose. This stone, unfortunately, has long been destroyed. That holed stones were not originally constructed for the observance of this peculiar custom is evident, for in some instances the holes are not more than five or six inches in diameter.

A few years ago, a person digging close to the Tolven, discovered a pit in which were fragments of pottery, arranged in circular order, the whole being covered by a flat slab of stone. Imagining that he had disturbed some mysterious place, with commendable reverence he immediately filled up the pit again.

From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

Not long since a tinner of Lelant dreamt, three nights following, that a crock of gold was buried in a particular spot, between large rocks within the castle, on Trecroben hill. The next clear moonlight night he dug up the ground of which he had dreamt. After working two or three hours he came to a flat stone which sounded hollow; whilst digging round its edges, the weather became suddenly dark, the wind roared around the carns, and looking up, when he had made a place for his hands to lift it, he saw hundreds of ugly spriggans coming out from amidst the rocks gathering around and approaching him. The man dropped his pick, ran down the hill and home as fast as he could lay foot to ground; he took to his bed and was unable to leave it for weeks.

When he next visited the castle he found the pit all filled in, with the turf replaced; and he nevermore dug for the treasure.

I think this is better and more frightening than Robert Hunt’s more flowery version. From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

In a croft belonging to Lanyon farm, and about half a mile north of the town-place, there is a remarkable group of three stones, the centre one of which is called by antiquaries the Men-an-tol (holed stone), and by country folk the Crick-stone, from an old custom – not yet extinct – of “crameing” (crawling on all fours) nine times through the hole in the centre stone, going against the sun’s course, for the cure of lumbago, sciatica, and other “cricks” and pains in the back. Young children were also put through it to ensure them healthy growth. [..] The notion is that going against the sun will backen a disease but in all other cases the sun’s course must be followed.

From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

On passing over a stile and entering the moor in which the well is situated, cross the moor at a right-angle to the hedge, and a minute’s walk will bring one to the noted spring, which is not seen until very near, as it has no wall above the surface, nor any mark by which it can be distinguished at a distance.

Much has been written of the remarkable cures effected by its holy waters, and the intercession of St. Madron, or Motran; when it was so famous that the maimed, halt, and lame, made pilgrimages from distant parts to the heathy moor.

It is still resorted to on the first three Wednesdays in May, by some few women of the neighbourhood, who bring children to be cured of skin diseases by being bathed in it. Its old repute as a divining fount has not yet quite died out, though young folks visit it now to drop pebbles or pins into the well, more for fun and the pleasure of each other’s company, than through any belief that the falling together, or the separation of pins or pebbles, will tell how the course of love will run between the parties indicated by the objects dropped into the spring; or that the number of bubbles which rise in the water, on stamping near the well, mark the years, in answer to any question of time; but there was not such want of faith, however, half a century ago.

A short time since I visited an elderly dame of Madron, who was a highly reputed charmer for the cure of various skin ailments; I had known her from my childhood; and my object was to glean what I could about the rites practised, within her remembrance, at Madron Well, the Crick-stone, and elsewhere.

She gave the following account of the usages at Madron Well about fifty years ago. At that time, when she lived in Lanyon, scores of women from Morvah, Zennor, Towednack, and other places, brought their children to be cured of the shingles, wildfires, tetters, and other diseases, as well as to fortify them against witchcraft or being blighted with an evil eye.

An old dame called An’ Katty, who mostly lived in the Bossullows, or some place near, and who did little but knitting-work, picked up a good living in May by attending at the well, to direct the high country folks how they were to proceed in using the waters.

First she had the child stripped as naked as it was born; then it was plunged three times against the sun; next the creature was passed quickly nine times around the spring, going from east to west, or with the sun; the child was then dressed, rolled up in something warm, and laid to sleep near the water; if it slept, and plenty of bubbles rose in the well, it was a good sign. I asked if a prayer, charm, or anything was spoken during the operations? “Why, no, to be sure,” my old friend replied, “don’t ‘e know any better, there mustn’t be a word spoken all the time they are near the water, it would spoil the spell; and a piece rented, not cut, from the child’s clothes, or from that of anybody using the well must be left near it for good luck; ever so small a bit will do. This was mostly placed out of sight between stones bordering the brooklet, or hung on a thorn that grew on the chapel wall. Whilst one party went through their rites at the spring, all the others remained over the stile in the higher enclosure, or by the hedge, because if a word were spoken by anybody near the well during the dipping, they had to come again.”

The old woman, An’ Katty, was never paid in money, but balls of yarn, and other things she might want, were dropped on the road, outside the well-moors, for her; she also got good pickings by instructing young girls how to “try for sweethearts” at the well. “Scores of maidens” – the dame’s words – “used, in the summer evenings, to come down to the well from ever so far, to drop into it pins, gravels, or any small thing that would sink.” The names of persons were not always spoken when the objects which represented them were dropped into the water; it sufficed to think of them; and as pins or pebbles remained together or separated, such would be the couple’s fate. It was only when the spring was working (rising strongly) that it was of any use to try the spells; and it was unlucky to speak when near the well at such times.

The old woman that I visited said she had never heard that any saint had anything to do with the water, except from a person who told her there was something about it in a book; nor had she or anybody else heard the water called St. Madron’s Well, except by the new gentry, who go about new naming places, and think they know more about them than the people who have lived there ever since the world was created. She never heard of any ceremony being performed at the old Chapel, except that some persons hung a bit of their clothing on a thorn tree that grew near it. High Country folks, who mostly resort to the spring, pay no regard to any saint or to anyone else, except some old women who may come down with them to show how everything used to be done.

There is a spring, not far from Bosporthenes, in Zennor, which was said to be as good as Madron Well; and children were often taken thither and treated in the same way.

Such is the substance of what the dame related; and she regarded the due observance of ancient customs as a very solemn matter.
In answer to the questions of “What was the reason for going round the well nine times? Leaving bits of clothing? Following the sun, &c.?” It was always the same reply, “Such were the old customs, and everybody knew it was unlucky to do any such work, and many things besides, against the sun’s course; no woman, who knew anything, would place pans of milk in a dairy, so as to have to unream (skim) them, in turn, against the sun, nor stir cream in that direction to make butter.

By following down the well-stream or hedge, mentioned above, we come to the Chapel. [...]

From Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall by William Bottrell (1873).

My Curiosity having led me twice to Glastonbury within these two Years, and inquiring there into the Antiquity, History and Rarities of the Place, I was told by the Inn-keeper, where I set up my Horses,who rents a considerable Part of the Inclosure of the late dissolved Abbey, “That St. Joseph of Arimathaea landed not far from the Town, at a Place, where there was an Oak planted in memory of his landing, called the Oak of Avalon: That he and his Companions march’d thence to a Hill, near a Mile on the South side of the Town, and there being weary rested themselves, which gave the Hill the Name of Weary all Hill [...]”

and in the very Place where they rested there sprung up a miraculous Thorn Tree, which every Year at Christmas in the coldest Year and Weather, Frost, Snow or what ever else, never failed budding forth Leaves and Flowers [...]

The Holy Thorn of Glastonbury, mentioned [..] to bud and blow Yearly upon Christmas Day, grew on the South Ridge of Weary all Hill, at present called Werrall Park, a Ground now, or lately belonging to William Stroud, Esq. Whether it sprung from St. Joseph of Arimathaea’s dry Staff, stuck by him on the Ground, when he rested there, I cannot find; but, beyond all dispute, it sprung up miraculously.

It had two Trunks or Bodies till the Reign of Queen Elizabeth, in whose days a Saint like Puritan, taking offence at it, hewed down the biggest of the two Trunks, and had cut down the other Body in all likelyhood, had he not bin miraculously punished (saith my Author) by cutting his Leg, and one of the Chips flying up to his Head, which put out one of his eyes.

Though the trunk cut off was separated quite from the Root, excepting a little of the Bark, which stuck to the rest of the Body, and laid above the Ground above thirty years together; yet it still continued to flourish, as the other Part of it did which was left standing; and after this again, when it was quite taken away and cast into a Ditch, it flourished and budded as it used to do before. A Year after this, it was stolen away, not known by whom or whither; as many old Persons affirmed to Mr. Broughton, who went on purpose to Glastonbury to see this, and the other Curiosities and Antiquities of the Place.

The remaining Trunk and the Place where it grew Mr. Broughton describes, and says, “That it was as great as the ordinary Body of a man; That it was a Tree of that kind and species, in all natural respects, which we term a White Thorn; but it was so cut and mangled round about in the Bark, by engraving Peoples Names resorting thither to see it, that it was a wonder, how the Sap and Nutriment should be diffused from the Root to the Boughs and Branches therof, which were also so maimed and broken by Comers thither, that he wondred, how it could continue any Vegetation, or grow at all, yet the Arms and Boughs were spread and dilated, in a circular Manner, as far or farther, than other Trees, freed from such Impediments of like Proportion, bearing Hawes (Fruit of that kind) as fully and plentifully as others do. In a word, That the Blossoms of this Tree were such Curiosities beyond Seas, that the Bristol Merchants carried them into Foreign Parts; That it grew upon (or rather neer) the Top of an Hill, in a Pasture bare and naked of other Trees, and was a Shelter for Cattle feeding there, by reason whereof, the Pasture being great and the Cattle many, round about the Tree the Ground was bare and beaten as any Highway, Floor, or any continued trodden Place: yet this Trunk was likewise cut down by a Military Saint, as Mr. Andrew Paschal calls him, in the Rebellion which happened in King Charles the first’s time;

however, there are, at present, divers Trees from it by grafting and Inoculation preserved in the Town and Countrey adjacent. Amongst other Places, there is one in the Garden of a Currier named [blank] living in the principle Street; a second at the White Hart Inn; and a third in the Garden of William Strode, Esq. There is a Person about Glastonbury, who has a Nursery of them, who (Mr. Paschal tells us, he is informed) sells them for a Crown a peece, or as he can get.

From The History and Antiquities of Glastonbury p1, 7 and 109, published by Thomas Hearne (1722) (and written by Richard Rawlinson?).

Glastonbury also had a famous walnut tree, which always flourished for St Barnabas’s day, 11th June (details of this are on p112).