Latest Folklore

I don’t know what’s here but it sounds interesting.

Mr. James Murton forwarded the following notice of the “Buck Stone” at Silverdale, near Lancaster:

“I send a pencil sketch and also a photograph of a curious monument of a past age, which ihas not been noticed in any archaeological work that I am aware of, and may, perhaps, be considered worth mentioning in our Journal. It is known locally as the ‘Buck Stone’, and the Ordnance surveyors calle it ‘The Rocking Stone’ in their maps. It would probably be unsafe to attempt to make it oscillate; but it may be classed among those mysterious remains of antiquity termed ‘logan stones’ or ‘rocking stones’. It is situated in an open field, on a gentle slope which a few yards lower down becomes more steep. This ban appears to have been originally part of a scar or cliff, from which the rock has been worked away, leaving the ‘Buck Stone’ isolated in its present position. In a line with this slope, about twenty-five yards distant, the cliff remains, and is about on the same level as the top of the slope [..] The stone is about 10 ft. high, 33 ft. 6 ins. in girth horizontally, and probably weighs about thirty-five tons.

There are various rude legends connected with this stone, of which the following is one. About three hundred yards distant there is a small, deep lake or tarn called ‘Haweswater’; and the story goes, ‘that in times past an enormous eel or serpent was wont to come up from the lake, and coil itself round the ‘Buck Stone’, and that it devoured sheep from that field.’ The name ‘Buck Stone’ suggests that the knoll on which it stands was a resort of the red deer, which formerly were plentiful here, as is evidenced by frequent discoveries of the antlers of these animals in the sand of the estuary and in the peat mosses of the district.”

From the Journal of the British Archaeological Association for 1874.

Two little phrases about the hill:

When Simonside puts on his cap, rain is sure to follow.

and

Simonside may lee, but Cartington Hill never.

(I suppose the latter means Simonside is sometimes alright weatherwise, but Cartington Hill is always appalling?! A better interpretation might be required.)

– mentioned in ‘Upper Coquetdale, Northumberland: its history, traditions, folk-lore and scenery’ by D D Dixon (1903).

[From] the lucid notes of Capt. Hedley [...]

“A fine entrance to this camp may be seen at the S.E. corner, where a ledge of rock forms an excellent passage to the hill face overhanging Rothbury. This gateway may have had some connection with a rampart and ditch, which, first seen near the County Hotel, run up the hill face towards the camp, and join in a portion of their course a deep gully known as Anton’s Letch, which once used to harbour a ghost [..]”

“A large oblong rock, jutting out from the southern face of the hill on which the camp stands, is known as “Kate’s Kist.” It has a horizontal cleft near its top. Whether this curious name is a freak of modern local nomenclature, or whether it enjoyed a more extended use, going back to pre-Roman times, it is not for us to suggest [..]”

Below the camp also is Cartington Cove, a recess or cave which, local tradition says, is connected by a subterranean passage with Cartington Castle, three miles distant! The rock at Cartington Cove had at one time a series of incised concentric circles and central hollows, which were called in the locality “Cups and Saucers.”

Captain Hedley’s words were originally in Arch. Aeliana vol 13. Quote from ‘Upper Coquetdale, Northumberland: its history, traditions, folk-lore and scenery’, by D D Dixon, 1903.

A short distance below Windyhaugh the Coquet has cut for itself a pasage through the solid rock, forming a long deep pool, known as “The Wedder Loup,” famous for its big fish, but dangerously near the road that skirts its brink.

The tradition attached to this pool is, that during the later moss-trooping days, when that respectable border profession was on the wane, a “lifter” one night carried off a nice plump wedder from the flock grazing on the slopes of Shillhope Law. The daring sheep-stealer had not proceeded very far ere the loss was discovered. Immediately the owner and his men gave chase.

The “Hot Trod” proved short but decisive. Handicapped by the wedder tied round his neck, hill fashion, he was run to bay at this particular spot. To leap the chasm was his only chance of escape; therefore all was risked in one desperate bound. His feet touched the opposite bank; he clutched and struggled, but in vain – the wedder around his neck proved a very millstone to the fugitive, dragging him with his ill-gotten booty backwards into the murky depths of the pool below. Since then its name has been “The Wedder Loup.”

Nah not hugely megalithic, other than the sheep came from Shillhope Law. But the story is one attached to a number of ‘hangman’s stones’ across the country, where the struggling be-shouldered sheep (being balanced on a stone) pulls its thief to a similar doom. It’s called ‘Wedder Leap’ on the modern map.

From ‘Upper Coquetdale, Northumberland: its history, traditions, folk-lore and scenery’, by D D Dixon, 1903.

From “Mysterious Wales” – Chris Barber (Paladin 1983):

This stone, 7 feet high and 5 feet broad, stands in the middle of a field to the west of Llanfihangel Rogiet church. One historian suggests that it was placed in the field to mark the height to which the water rose on the occasion of the Severn flood in 1606. The legendary origin is much more interesting. It was hurled from Portishead, or some other spot on the far side of the Bristol Channel, by the Devil in a fit of temper!

Sadly Barber doesn’t give any source for this legend.

Taken from D.P. Sullivan’s “Old Stones of the Cotswolds & Forest of Dean” (Reardon Publishing)

A note from Mr J.C. Wood (Transactions of the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society vi., 1881-2 357), quoted by Crawford says ..
“The first halting place was at a remarkable monolith by the side of the highway ... This monolith is of unhewn stone, and stands 8ft above the ground, and probably is as deep beneath it. It is known as the ‘Long Stone’. No tradition conserning it remains except if it be pricked by a pin exactly at midnight, it will bleed.”

There are no visible traces of an associated mound or any other stones in the vicinity. Ray Wright quotes a source from 1857 telling of a carving of a mask on the side of the stone facing the road. I have been unable to find this piece of Victorian vandalism, but have, by photographic accident, noticed a bizarre simulacrum on the side of the stone facing towards Staunton. In the right conditions it is possible to discern the image of a human form on the surface of the stone, with arms outstretched in the manner of a crucifixion.

The Long Stone forms the important centre point of Ray Wright’s ‘Leyline Cross’, as described in Secret Forest.

(D.P. Sullivan)

Some time in the early 1970s, Mr R’s mother and father to-be were driving past Cley Hill with two friends. It was night, and it had been snowing and the fields were covered. They saw lights silently firing out of the ground like a train with its lit-up windows running vertically into the sky. Obviously they thought it was totally strange but Mr R’s rational father tried to think of sensible explanations.. I can’t remember what those might have been, but they watched it for some time. The next day they went back but (And this is the clincher) there were no traces in the unbroken snow where they’d seen the lights. The silence is a weird thing too – and this was way before the lazer shows we might blame now.

Yes it’s easy to misunderstand lights in the sky round modern Warminster what with all the military goings-on in the vicinity. But the snow makes for an extra weird tale. I’d love to hear more of local people’s recent experiences here.

Slightly longer extract from “Romances of the Peak” by W.M. Turner (London 1901), including local “bravery”:

“... coming away from a visit there in the year 1897, I accosted a young herdsman who was attending some cattle grazing by the wayside. After touching on several points I came cautiously to the Druidical circle business. I wanted to know how it came there and its purpose and so forth. He could not tell. It had been there undisturbed for generations and according to the account given him by the old people, and that was all, excepting, there may have been a battle there and people buried about the place.

‘How did he come to know that?’ ‘Well, you see’, he said, ‘the folks round about never go that way at night for fear of boggarts. Several have been seen prowling about, and it is the common talk that people must have been buried there’. ‘Did you ever go that way at night?’ I asked. He said that he had not, but he bravely added, he would not mind, for he did not believe in such things.”

I can’t work out where this ‘cromlech’ can be, I’m wondering whether it is in fact this stone. If not, it must have been close by (but I can’t find one on an old OS map)?

Last summer I came across a native of the neighbourhood of Carnarvon, who told me of a cromlech which interested me[..] The cromlech is called Coetan Arthur, that is to say, Arthur’s Quoit, and it stands in the parish of Llanrug, on a hill-slope belonging to a farm called Y Fodlas (i.e., Hafod-las), and about four miles from Carnarvon.

The spot is commonly called Parc Smith, but the proper name of the mountain is Y Cefn Du. The Cefn Du is exposed, especially to winds from the north and the east [..] and it is on the north-eastern corner of it, on the left of Y Fodlas, that the cromlech is to be seen. There used to be two or three meini hirion near it, but my informant does not know whether they are still in situ.

Now, there was a saying which he heard scores of times from old people, that whoever slept under the cromlech through the night of St. John’s Festival (Nos dydd Gwyl Ifan) would rise in the morning either a giant in point of strength, or else as weak as a dwarf. Instances used to be adduced to prove it, such as old Ffowe of Ty Du, and Margret ‘ch Ifan of Cwmglas, who owed their remarkable strength to the origin here indicated. Others, who were supposed to show traces of the contrary effect of the pernoctation were the Siontwms of the Fuches Las and the Deios of Cwm Brwynog.

My informant does not tell me why the cromlech is called Coetan Arthur, though he intimates that there was a story current which explained it [..]

A letter by John Rhys in Archaeological Cambrensis, January 1888.

From ‘Exploration of a second mound near Stonyhurst’ by the Rev. J R Luck:

Many legends find currency among the country people concerning it. According to one, a powerful chieftain, robed and seated in a chair, was entombed within; another told of a casket of gold lying beneath; while a third relates that Oliver Cromwell, or at least some of his troopers were buried in it. However, the most generally received tradition is that the followers of Wada, slain in the battle between that rebellious chief and King Eardwulf, were buried here, while those slain of the king’s army were buried in the other mound. The victims of the routed army being more numerous than those of the victorious, of course accounts for the greater size of this mound.

Transactions of the Lancashire and Cheshire Antiquarian Society, v13 (1896).
The Rev dug into the mound and concluded it was a natural feature left behind by glaciers, but the modern SMR is more forgiving.

In the cliffs at the west end of Lleyn is a wishing-well called Ffynnon Fair, or St. Mary’s Well; where, to obtain your wish, you have to descend the steps to the well and walk up again to the top with your mouth full of the water. Viewing the position of the well from the sea, I should be disposed to think that the realisation of one’s wish at that price could not be regarded as altogether cheap.

This spring is in the cliff just beneath the stone, it would seem.
From an article on ‘Sacred Wells in Wales’ by John Rhys, in The transactions of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion for 1892/3.

At the highest point of this hill is a cairn, with traces of a kerb. It does look a little bit Odd, from this geograph photo by Ken Craig:
geograph.org.uk/photo/534761
Or is that just because of the hint of mist?

The gudeman of Siggie Taft had been at Ori with his oil teind and when returning home in the humin riding on a grey mare and leading a red staig he had to pass Stakkaberg, a feat which in those days required both nerve and hardihood. But Siggie Taft possessed both in a remarkable degree for it was said of him that he neither feared man nor deil in light or mirk.

As he rode slowly along he heard a voice saying “Du ‘at rides de grey and rins de red tell Tona Tivla ‘at Fona Fivla is faan i’ de Velyna Vatyna.” On coming to his house, as he passed the byre door, he called out the strange words he had heard and was surprised to see an “uncan” woman jump up from the side of his cow and in her hurry she left a pan of curious workmanship standing in the bizzi (stall in a byre). As the woman disappeared through the byre lum she explained “O care an’ dol, dat’s my bairn ‘ats faan i’ de kirnin watter.”

The milk pan thus secured was kept in the house of Taft for generations and always brought luck. But it had to be sained every night and left hanging in de ringalodi [crock and links for suspending a pot over the fire]. One night this duty was neglected and in the morning the pan had disappeared. After this the Trows seemed to have taken a spite at the people of Siggie Taft.

Noted down from the narration of William Laurenson, Aith, Fetlar, by E.S. Reid Tate.

From the Shetland Folk-book II, but I have copied it from Katherine Briggs’s ‘Dictionary of British Folk-Tales’.

A staig is a young horse. I know this because of the interesting book here
archive.org/details/glossaryofshetla00angu – a glossary of Shetland words from 1913. There are some really good ones.

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

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

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

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

From v7 of the Transactions of the Bristol and Gloucestershire Archaeological Society (1882/3), in a piece by the Rev. David Royce about an excursion to Stow on the Wold.

Trellyffant apparently means Toad’s Town, and I had come across a story some time ago that said a chief had been buried at the cromlech who had been eaten by toads.

Well there is a different version of the story and the man eating toads. In this version Giraldus Cambrensis tells of a young man called Cecil Longlegs who “during a severe illness, suffered as violent a persecution from toads, as if the reptiles of the whole province had come to him by agreement; and though destroyed by his nurses and friends, they increased again on all sides in infinite numbers; being wearied out, he was drawn up in a kind of bag into a high tree, stripped of its leaves; nor was he there secure from his venomous enemies, for they crept up the tree in great numbers, and consumed him to the very bones”

Poor old toads no wonder the witches were always boiling them up! taken from

Myths and Legends of Wales; retold by Tony Roberts

The stones here are recorded on Coflein as a ‘stone setting’ and apparently align with a third on the skyline. There is a four stone row and a pair of stones nearby.

[Here are] two unhewn blocks of white quartz, almost certainly placed by artifice, with a small natural outcropping boulder midway between them, to which the local tradition points as marking the site where Owen Glyndwr “held parley, and made his covenant.” The boulders are on the north-western slope of Plynlumon, 100 yards above the right bank of the river Hyddgen [..] Each stone is 2 feet high, and shows no trace of tooling. They are 60 feet apart and are aligned exactly north and south. Though not placed in an elevated position, they can be seen from afar, and show up conspicuously in the sunlight.

From ‘An inventory of the ancient and historical monuments of the county of Montgomery’ (1911).

Your post made me think, Carl. Maybe this stone is the one that features in the folklore about Wibdon Broad Stone about a stone throwing contest (which is where Ike’s thought should have led me before).

According to Coflein there are quite a few cairns on this hilltop. Perhaps you will be able to see which is most suitable for a king to sit on if you visit.

On an eminence bordering with Garvock, called Kinchet, or, more properly, King’s Seat hill, there is a large heap of stones, where, according to tradition, a king used in ancient times to sit in judgment.

Among other complaints here preferred to him, many were lodged against Melville of Allardice, at that time sheriff of the county, for his oppression. The royal judge, either wearied with the complainers, or enraged at the offender, exclaimed, “I wish that sheriff were sodden and supped in brose!” Such was the savage barbarity of the times, that the barons, who were little accustomed to the formalities of a trial, laid hold on these words, and put them literally in execution.

The place where the deed was perpetrated, a the bottom of the hills, on the side next Garvock, is not unlike the cavity of a kiln for drying corn, and still retains the name of the Sheriff’s kettle.

In the Statistical Accounts of Scotland 1791-99 for the parish of Benholme.

On the summit of the nearest hill to the sea, except one, bordering with the parish of Cyrus, and commanding an extensive prospect, stands a rough stone, in the circumference of a stony circle, commonly called the Cloach stone. It is more than a foot thick, measure 8 feet along the ground, and rises nearly 6 above its surface, in an inclined direction towards the north.

As there is no place in the neighbourhood, except one at the South corner of the parish, close by the shore, where stones of the same quality are found, it appears to have been brought from thence, not without considerable difficulty, the intervening space being a pretty steep ascent of more than a mile. It would seem therefore to have been erected for some useful purpose, perhaps with a view to perpetuate some memorable event.

Tradition says, a battle was fought near this place, and the number of flint heads of arrows, found on the side of the hill where it stands, affords some reason to credit this report. Between this and the coast, a great quantity of human bones has been dug up, in the course of improving the land, for nearly the space of a mile along the rising ground above Johnshaven. The bottom and sides of the graves, containing these bones, were all lined with rough stones.

The writer then admits that although lots of bodies could result from a battle, no-one would probably dig them all careful graves. From volume 15 of the Statistical Account of Scotland (1793).

The Canmore record has this as a recumbent stone circle (and that sounds like an impressive recumbent stone, and it’s flanked by upright pillar stones) but also seems to waver also with categorising it as a special sort of cairn: “one of a group in the area which have well-built kerbs and an associated large stone.”

This fort is well protected by sheer cliffs here on Ashie Moor.

In the parish of Dores, and about three miles from Loch ness, are vestiges of a fort called Castel-Dunreachan, or Castal-Dun-richuan, i.e. Castle of the King of the Ocean*, a name perhaps imposed when the king of Norway was master of the sea. To the eastward of that fort, are several cairns, one of which, called Ashi’s hill, is fabled to be the spot where Fingal killed Ashi, son of the Norwegian monarch.

*Yes this all sounds highly unlikely. But names need explanations. From ‘The Topographical, Statistical, and Historical Gazetteer of Scotland’ (1819)

You can see a photo of the fort on Geograph.

Canmore mentions the remains of a cairn here, 35m east of the summit. This hill is also where one of those excellent carved stone balls was found, carved with a spiral and chevron patterns.

It was first designed to build the church [for Fordoun] on the top of the Knock-hill, about a mile or more north-east of the village – a most inconvenient, and the reverse of a central situation; and there the work was actually commenced. As usual, whatever was erected during the day by the masons was destroyed at night by some supernatural beings, who took this method of testifying their aversion to the undertaking. After some time, when both builders and destroyers had perhaps become weary of their respective labours, a supernatural voice was heard to cry,-

Gang farther doun
To Fordoun’s toun.

The hint was taken; and in order to determine the proper site of the church, a mason was desired to throw his hammer at random. The hammer judiciously alighted on the beautiful mound where Paldy’s chapel was already pitched, and there the work was carried into effect without farther interruption.

It would be a very odd place for a church for Fordoun. From ‘The Topographical, Statistical, and Historical Gazetteer of Scotland’ (1845).

On the steep side of Great Finn, an insulated rock that is split and rent into parts rises like the ruins of a castle from out the thick underwood with which the hill is covered: this shapeless mass is called Hob’s House, and tradition states, that it was inhabited by a being of a gigantic stature, who was possessed of great and mysterious powers, and who was known by the name of Hob. This extraordinary personage never appeared by day; but when the inhabitants were asleep in their beds, he traversed the vales, entered their houses, thrashed their corn, and in one single night did the work of ten day-labourers, unseen and unheard, for which service he was recompensed with a bowl of cream, that was duly placed upon the hearth, to be quaffed on the completion of the task he had voluntarily imposed upon himself. This is a tradition by no means confined to the neighbourhood of Monsal-Dale; a similar one prevails in many parts of the kingdom, and particularly in the northern districts...

From ‘Peak Scenery, or the Derbyshire Tourist’ by Eberneezer Rhodes (1824).

In speaking of the rebel laird of Blelack, it may be added that the fairies abode in the Seely Howe, a hollow in the Carne Hillock, upon that property; and, before leaving for the wars of the ‘45, the laird, determined to dislodge them from his lands, employed for that purpose a reputed magician, named John Farquharson, tacksman in Parks. The fairies, however, refused to obey his spell until he should assign them some other place of abode, which he did by sending them to the Hill of Fare, near Banchory! But, disliking their new quarters very much, the superstitious aver that the fairies pronounced this imprecation upon Gordon:--

“Dool, dool to Blelack,
And dool to Blelack’s heir,
For drivin’ us from the Seely Howe
To the cauld hill o’ Fare!”

The malediction of the fairies against Farquharson was still more eldritch:--

“While corn and girs grows to the air,
John Farquharson and his seed shall thrive nae mair!”

It is added that Farquharson, whose circumstances went to the bad from the day he dislodged the fairies, left his native country and was never again heard of. Matters also went ill with the Gordons. The rebel laird died without lawful issue, when the estate passed to Charles Rose, a sister’s son...

From ‘Epitaphs and inscriptions from burial grounds and old buildings in the north-east of Scotland’ by Andrew Jervise (1875).

I would imagine the cavern mentioned could be Kinder Low cavern, very near to this cairn.

At a meeting of the Society of Manchester Scientific Students, Sept. 27, 1882, the members visited Hayfield. On leaving Hayfield railway station the party proceeded to the edge of Leygate Moor. From thence they reached the Old Oak wood near the lower house. A short walk from here is the Downfall. Near here is the Mermaid’s Pool, of which the natives have a tradition that a beautiful woman lives in the side of the Scout; that she comes to bathe every day in the Mermaid’s Well, and that the man who has the good luck to behold her bathing will become immortal and never die. The old people of Hayfield, moreover, tell a long story of a man who, sometime in the last century, went from Hayfield over the Scout, and was lucky enough to meet this mountain nymph, by whom he was conducted to a cavern hard by. Tradition adds that she was pleased with this humble mortal, and that he lingered there some time, when she conferred on him the precious gift of immortality.

From the Notes and Queries section of v1/n1 of the Folk-Lore Journal (1883).

A bit more to Drew’s story:

There died one hundred and fifteen years ago a Mr. Alexander Hogg of London, merchant, leaving among other benefactions to his native parish of Durris, Kincardineshire, ten shillings a year to the herds around the hill of Cairnshee (Fairies’ Cairn) for the purpose of making a Midsummer bonfire, in remembrance of the fact that he as a boy herded cattle there. A further sum was left to provide barrels of ale, cheese, and bread for those who assemble to witness the celebration. This curious observance is duly followed every year, and forms one of the attractions of the district. As many as half a dozen musicians resort to the hill, and dancing is kept up till midnight or longer.

Can it be doubted that Mr. Hogg thus gave new life to an old custom which had been known to his boyhood? [*] Let us note some particulars that go to prove its connection with prehistoric times.

The fire must be lit on the twenty-fourth of June just as the last limb of the sun disappears beneath the horizon.
The height on which the fire is lit is the highest eminence in the district from which the beholders come, and thus the sun would be seen at the last possible moment.
The herds must, according to the conditions of the will, collect the fuel themselves, each bringing as many bundles as possible so that a large fire may result. As there are ten lads on the surrounding farms.. the pile is often of considerable dimensions.

The young men are in the habit of pushing each other through the smoke and flames. This may arise from a belief that the person so “passed” would be charmed against disease during the coming year. Some would see in the action an indication of early human sacrifice. [**] I have been at many ‘herds’ fires’ (about ten I think) and have invariably seen it done. It is possible, however, that in this instance it is nothing but a display of animal spirits. But in any case I think there is enough evidence to show that the rite is a relic of pagan times...

* Possibly not. Victorians were even more desperate to find Traces of Our Pagan Past than we are.
** Some would see in the action an indication of a large number of pissed young men.
Nevertheless, it all sounds like a lot of fun and should be reinstated immediately.

From ‘Midsummer Bonfires’ by A. MacDonald, in Folklore, Vol. 15, No. 1 (Mar. 25, 1904), pp. 105-106

This could be the place:

Often sickness among a herd followed the removal of a stone. Near Auchleven in Premnay, once stood a stone circle now destroyed. The farmer, who moved the stones, soon after lost many of his cattle and was ruined.

From ‘Primitive Beliefs in the Northeast of Scotland’ by J M McPherson (1929).