Latest Folklore

I don’t know if this truly has to do with the stones. But there are so many stones round here. And the very name Kirksanton suggests the sort of sacred nature of the spot. So I don’t know where this refers to exactly.. perhaps you do. But I inflict the story on you in the interests of landscape folklore – and that there are circles like Sunkenkirk with a similar sunken story, and also barrows like the Music Barrow where you must listen to the earth.

Another tradition associated with West Cumberland is that at Kirksanton. There is a basin, or hollow, in the surface of the ground, assigned as a place where once stood a church that was swallowed up by the earth opening, and then closing over it bodily. It used to be believed by the country people that on Sunday mornings the bells could be heard far down in the earth, by the simple expedient of placing the ear to the ground.

In ‘Bygone Cumberland and Westmorland’ by Daniel Scott (1899).

In a piece on Badbury Rings in the Proceedings of the Dorset Natural History and Antiquarian Field Club (v11, 1890), Dr Wake Smart tells of the Roman coins and other artefacts found at and near the site (including a sword allegedly used as a ‘cheese-toster’ by its 17th century finders). He says:

“But all these treasures would be eclipsed if the golden coffin which the villagers believe is buried between Badbury and Shapwick were to be discovered! What a prize for Dorset Museum!”

A very straight road connects the well defended W entrance of the fort with the Stour River at Shapwick. Stands to reason it must originally be a Roman idea, surely. Iron age people would never have walked in straight lines. I could be wrong :)

According to TJ Westropp’s 1916 ‘Antiquities of Limerick and its neighbourhood’ Magh Adhair is a well preserved place of ancient repute and ceremonial... Legend mentions Adhar son of Umor, brother of Aenghus the Firbolg chief...

When the High King, Flann Sionna, invaded Thomond, in 877, he marched ‘to the green of Magh Adhair’ and played chess to insult the Dal gCais, ‘at the very place of inauguration.‘ So offensive. The surrounding inhabitants and the local chiefs were on him before he’d even finished his game. They were too polite to kill him though, and in a Celtic fashion just stole his best poet.

Other records (beside a vague allusion to a pillar) mention a Bile or venerated tree which the High King Maelsechnaill cut down, and had the roots dug out, in AD981, to insult King Brian Boroimhe. Apparently another tree was planted but someone later childishly chopped that down too for similar reasons.

A long succession of Kings of Thomond were inaugurated here down to the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and ‘Iraghts’ of considerable local importance were held, down to the great famine, and were remembered even about 1890. In that year people only recalled besides that the mound was a place where a king was buried...

The mound stands in a small plain, in a natural amphitheatre, formed by a low crag called ‘the Beetle’s Crag’ or Cragnakeeroge, beside the strangely named ‘Hell Bridge’ and ‘Hell River’. There are traces of a semi-circular fence, between which and the mound lies a large block of conglomerate of dull purple, with red and pink pebbles of porphyry and quartz; two basins are ground in it.

An inauguration ceremony took place around 1200 which was (it seems) documented: The carn or mound was palisaded, with a gate, guarded by three chiefs, a fourth alone ascended the carn with Cathal Craoibhdhearg and gave him the whit rod. The other chiefs and the comharbs stood below, holding the Prince’s arms, clothes and horse. He faced the north, and on stepping down from the inauguration stone on the mound, turned round thrice, as is still the custom in Co. Clare on seeing a new moon. He then descended from the mound and was helped to robe and remount.

Folklore says that Ströböhög was created by a giant, who was coming
from the Dalarna , carrying a sack with gravel. When the giant
arrived to this place, he stopped and looked over the lake Mälaren.
When he stood there, there was leaking so much gravel from his sack,
so the barrow was created.

According to another folklore, which was written on paper in 1667,
there is a cottage made of oakwood inside the barrow, where a light burns sometimes.
The key to the cottage is kept in the Nyckelberget (Key mountain).
Also there a light burns sometimes. A dragon is watching over
Ströböhög, and it’s sometimes flies over to the Nyckelberget.

This is actually from a letter from William Borlase to William Stukeley:

There being no other stones in this plain within some hundreds of yards, I imagine that these several stones were brought together and placed in such a mysterious manner in order to compose this efficacious (as the vulgar think) and salutiferous monument.

A farmer of the neighbourhood, then with me, assured me gravely that he had known many persons who had crept through this hole for pains in their back and limbs, but with what success he could not then recollect.

However, on looking attentively on a little wrinkle, in the top of the Men-an-tol he perceived 2 pins lying cross each other, by which we soon concluded that they were deposited there by some one under so much anxiety, that we thought it would be great pity any way to interfere and defeat his enquiries, and so left the pins as we found them.

From p59 of ‘The family memoirs of the Rev. William Stukeley’ published 1883. The letter is from November 1749.

The central mound is termed by the townspeople the “High Castle Hill,” and the ascent may be made by various paths, two of which are called the “running path” and “the steps.” One of the ramparts is called the “wooded hill,” and the others are known as the “little hills.” [...]

On the summit of the Castle Hill there is a strange depression from 8 to 10 feet below the surrounding ramparts, and in this five elms were planted in 1823 and still flourish. [...] Almost every person who visits this hill after a lapse of years is convinced that the depression at the top has been greatly lowered in the interval, but for this there appears to be no foundation in fact.

[...] It has been supposed that the ballast from the ditches would not have sufficed to build up the ramparts and mound – the latter alone being nearly 1000 feet in circumference at the base – and local tradition says that the big Gallows’ Pits a few hundred yards away were partly excavated for this purpose.

Tradition throws little light upon the possible origin of the Castle Hill. It is said that after the devil completed the long dykes at Narborough and Newmarket – both are mentioned – he jumped to Thetford, swirled round on one foot and made the earthworks. He is still alleged to haunt a depression – sometimes a muddy pool – in the moat north-east of the wooded hill, and will appear if one walks around seven times at midnight.

One tradition states that there was formerly a splendid royal castle on the site of the hill. It was filled with treasures, which at some period were in danger owing to the raid of a neighbouring tribe. The king, therefore, assembled his mighty men, and by their united efforts the castle and treasure were hidden beneath this huge mound of earth. Tradition, unfortunately, does not state why they were left there. Perhaps, however, the most general belief concerning the hill is that beneath it are seven silver bells, brought hither from the church of the Cluniac Priory, a tradition implicitly accepted by many inhabitants of the town.

From ‘Thetford Castle Hill’ by W G Clarke, in ‘Norfolk Archaeology’ v16, 1907.

[Someone] in visiting Corstorphine for the purpose of inspecting both church and village, obtained this piece of local tradition, believed to relate to the church of 1429.

“Of this (church), in November 1881, an intelligent native assured the writer that it was ‘wonderfully ancient, built by the Hottentots, who stood in a row and handed the stones on one to another from Ravelston quarry’ – on the adjacent hill of Corstorphine.”

Yes this sounds most unlikely, but the author points out that stories of the Picts doing this to build various ancient structures from various hills are quite widespread, and that the curious use of ‘Hottentot’ implied a ‘savage and inferior’ ancestor.
I know people have to get their stones from somewhere but when you’re building a church maybe it’s especially significant. Oh, bear with me please.

From the Archaeological Review v4, 1889-1890, in an article about ‘British Dwarfs’ p188.

The Piper’s Hole is at the north east of these cairns.

Under the cliffs of Peninnis Head on St Mary’s there is a cavern, termed the Piper’s Hole, which extends a long distance under ground, and is absurdly said to communicate with another cave of the same title, the entrance to which is in the island of Tresco. This legend would make the length of the cavern at least four miles; and the inhabitants of the locality tell you of dogs let in at the one entrance coming out, after a time, at the other with most of their hair off, so narrow are some parts of the cave. So there is a tradition in Scotland of a man getting through a similar cave, but paying the penalty in the loss of all his skin.

From ‘Rambles in Western Cornwall’ by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

“It may be mentioned that Buzza Hill was formerly the resort of fairies, but I believe that no traces of traditions respecting them are now to be found.”

From ‘Rambles in Western Cornwall’ by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

We pitch’d upon a hill where there are many of these barrows, and, as the common story goes, giants were buried, with a design to search them; and on Wednesday, June the third, 1752, having hired some soldiers, proceeded to open them. [...]

In the afternoon it rained excessively hard, so that we could not proceed in our inquiries. The wind blew, and about mid-night it was the most violent storm, while it lasted, I ever knew.

You that are curious will think very innocently of our searching these repositories of the dead for the satisfaction of the living, but will you not be surprised if I tell you it appeared in a very different light to the poor people of Scilly? The story may make you smile.

Thursday morning [...] I met a person who soon began to talk about the weather, and to complain of the bitterness of the last night’s hurricane, that it had almost ruined him and many of his neighbours, that their potatoes and corn were blasted, their grass burnt quite black, and their pease utterly destroyed. I little suspected what the man drove at, but believing him to be in distress, pitied and endeavoured to comfort him, then went [to a house where he was going to stay].

[On making polite conversation with the landlady] she told me that a few days before they were in hopes of a plentiful crop, paying their rent, and providing meat and clothes for themselves and children, but that the last night’s storm was very outrageous; then asked me whether we had not been digging up the Giants’ Graves the day before, and smiling with great good humour, as if she forgave our curiosity though she suffered for it, asked whether I did not think that we had disturbed the giants; and said that many good people of the islands were of opinion that the giants were offended, and had really raised that storm[...]

An extract from Borlase’s ‘Antiquities of Cornwall’, that I found quoted in ‘Rambles in Western Cornwall’ by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861). He himself says, The appearance of the barrows which now remain gives the idea that most of them have been ransacked at some period, most likely in the hope of discovering treasure. The country people still believe that valuables are hidden under some of them, and one was recently destroyed clandestinely, in consequence of a man dreaming there was gold in it.

On the western shore of the isle, near Scarrel Point*, exists a cave designated “The Piper’s Cave,” which the natives believed to be the opening to a subterranean passage through Eenan Hill to Carnbaan or Achavulig (Ach-a-bhuilg), where its exit was. Supernatural beings inhabited this dark retreat, which no mortal dared enter. A bold piper essayed this forlorn-hope, and was heard by his friends gaily piping underground until his slogan became hushed in the depths of the mountain. As he passed under the hearthstone of Lenihall farmhouse, he was heard lamenting that he had not a sword-hand as well as two for his pipes, and he would have routed the ogres and demons attacking him (“Da lamh air son a Phiob agus lamh air son a chlaideamh.“). Then the music ceased – forever.

*Is this near Michael’s Grave? Quote from ‘The Isle of Bute in the olden time” by J K Hewison, 1893.

W B Gerish’s frustratingly brief “Folk-lore of Hertfordshire” (1911) says ‘Huge black dog seen near “The Six Hills” and Whomerly Wood, also in avenue leading to church.

The Luton Paranormal website has more, which sadly makes it sound mundane.
https://www.lutonparanormal.com/hertfordshire/popups/stevenage.html

In 1910 W. B. Gerish, a local historian received a letter telling him of a local encounter with a massive black dog. The tale involved a gamekeeper who was heading home in the direction of Whomerley Wood after visiting a friend. As he passed a field gate which led onto a byway to The Avenue he saw the same black dog. The dog is said to have rushed passed him and through the closed gate heading in the direction of the Six Hills. The gamekeeper continued on his way but as he neared the woods the dog reappeared and seemed to be following him. He described the dog as having its nose to the ground and its tail bent back. The gamekeeper became very afraid so he turned round and headed back in the direction of his friends house.

But even so, it’s nice to think that a Black Dog could be associated with the two sites in the other folklore (below). The website also suggests the hills are haunted by a whole pack of Black Dogs. Now isn’t that just over-egging the pudding a bit. Don’t be greedy.

Found quoted in ‘History of the parish and manor of Wookey’ by Thomas Scott Holmes (1885).

William of Worcester visited this neghbourhood with Symon Simeon about the year 1470, and gives a description of [the river Axe...] The wonders of the cave at Wookey-hole seem to have especially struck him, his account of it being as follows:

Below the parish at Wookey-hole, about half a mile from Wells, there is a certain narrow entrance (into the rock) where at the beginning is an image of a man who goes by the name of the porter, and it is the duty of the people who desire to enter the hall of Woky to ask permission of the porter, and they carry in their hands torches, which are called in English ‘shevys of reed-sedge,’ for the purpose of lighting up the hall. The hall is about as large as Westminster Hall, and there hangs from the vaulted roof wonderful pendula of stone. The passage from the entrance to the hall is about half a furlong long, and is arched with stones of plane work hanging down from the roof. And there is a certain broad piece of water between the ‘tresance’ and the hall for the distance of five stepping stones, which stepping passage is about twenty feet wide, and if a man goes beyond the stepping stones he falls into the water, which is on all sides about five or six feet deep.

There is a kitchen in a chamber near the entance to the hall of immense breadth, and roofed in stone. There is also a chamber called an ost, for the purpose of drying barley grain to make beer, &c., and the figure of a woman is there clad, and holding in her girdle a spinning distaff.

And thence people pass on a hundred paces, and a man may go along it with dry feet over the stones. And then the chamber called the parlour follows, which is a round appartment built of huge rocks, about twenty paces broad, and in the northern part of the said parlour there is what is called in English a ‘holie-hole’, and in the said well, which is fairly arched over, there is abundance of the clearest water, the depth of which water no one is able to say. Moreover, from the said Woky-hole comes forth a great torrent, which runs into the mere, near Glastonbury, for the space of two miles.

It sounds like the tourist trade was doing well even then, even if the stone figures hadn’t been interpreted as witches. I’m not sure why he would be saying “in English” but that’s no doubt just my ignorance. Reverend Holmes insists that the locals call the hole from which the water flows ‘Wookey Hole Witch’, with witch / wych being a local word for a break in the rocks. But is this his reluctance to deal with unChristian goings-on? I dunno. I can’t see this use of the word in the OED. But then it’s not a dictionary of Somerset dialect.

In “Excavations at Carnac” by James Miln (1877) he describes some mounds (the ‘bossenno’ or Caesar’s Camp) to the east of Carnac, which seem to be the ruins of Roman houses. Interestingly, from page 16...

It happened one day when I was absent during the dinner hour of my workmen, that an English lady and her son came to see the diggings. The latter amused himself in working with a pick about that part of the construction in the room No. 1 which resembled a chimney, where he discovered a polished stone celt of a white colour, which he showed to his mother: neither of them, however, was aware of its value, and it was flung aside amongst the debris to be carted away. It was not until the following day, when I happened to show them the polished stone celts in the museum in Carnac, that they informed me of their discovery, and regretted that they had not known better. Exertions were made to recover the lost axe, but without success.

The discovery of a stone axe in what appeared to be a chimney was all the more interesting from its crrelation with a custom still observed at Carnac, that of building into the chimney of the dwelling-house a stone celt which is supposed to preserve the house from being struck by lightning. It is to be noted also that the name of the stone axe or celt in the Breton language is Mein-Gurunn, that is to say, the Thunder Stone.

According to a leaflet in Kirkinner Church, quoting ‘Old Wigtown’ by Jack Hunter, the stone is called the Old Bridal Stone, and couples used to use it to make a marriage contract by joining hands through the hole. The C10th cross in the church was similarly used, which raises the possibility that the hole is a later addition to the stone.

“Picts used the promontory of Cleaved Head as a safe refuge. On the promontory they built a wooden fort with ditches at the landward end. Below the fort the Picts used the beach as a natural harbour. The Picts were known as great fishermen. Many carved symbol stones from the Pict Age show a “Pictish Beast” which is thought to be a dolphin.”

Banffshire Maritime and Heritage Association.

(Another example of later peoples using something that was already there.)

“There was once a hawthorn tree called the ‘Wishing Tree’ around which children danced.

....

Here there was once a shelter for the use of those who came to drink or bathe in St Walm’s spring water to cure their skin diseases or sore eyes or rheumatism.”

From “The Healing Wells of Herefordshire” – Jonathan Sant (Moondial 1994).

Another legend connected with the island is a Romeo and Juliet-esque yarn, of a local girl and a Viking Prince. They got married and lived in a tower on the island. They were very happy but the prince’s Viking friends needed him back on the longboat. The couple hatched a plan involving black and white flags that would be displayed on his return to indicate whether they were dead or alive. When the prince sailed back he flew his white flag. But his princess had devised some daft method of testing his feelings, involving pretending to be dead. You can guess the rest. They’re supposed to be buried on the island.

Told at length in ‘Gairloch in North west Ross-shire’ by John Dixon (1886).

When you walk to the dun from the road, you may well go through a little dip in the ground called ‘Leabaidh na Ba Baine’ – the bed of the white cow. It’s said to have been scooped out by Fingal himself to provide a comfy spot where his white cow could calve.

Mentioned in ‘Gairloch in North-west Ross-shire’ by John Dixon (1886).

“Was never in Scotland heard or seen,
Such dancing or deray,
Neither at Falkland on the Green
of Peeblis at the play,
As was of wowarls as I seen-
At Christ’s Kirk on a day.”

King James 1. Christ’s Kirk On The Green.

More on

https://www.kinnethmont.co.uk./history.htm

By the side of this Trackway, in the parish of Sulgrave, and seven miles and a half N.E. by E. from Banbury, is a Tumulus or Barrow still called Barrow Hill, the use of which as an exploratory mount may be correctly conceived from Morton’s description of it. Here, he says, “no fewer than nine counties do present themselves to one view, that is, the counties of Northampton, Warwick, Worcester, Oxford, Gloucester, Berks, Bucks, Bedford, and Hertford; and ‘tis thought that a part of Wiltshire or Hampshire is likewise to be seen from thence.“*

*Morton’s Northamp., 1712, p22

The base of this Tumulus is 25 yards by 19, and the summit 12 yards by 10. Upon it grows a great Ash tree, now going to decay, which is considered to be four centuries old.

There is a tradition respecting this mount and the Ash tree, that the spot was the scene of the revels of witches, and that when the Sulgrave people went to cut the tree down, they saw their village in the vale beneath apparently wrapped in flames, and therefore returned home. While they were absent from the tree on this false alarm, the witches made good the injury that had been done to the tree, and thus it was preserved.

p16 in ‘The History of Banbury’ by Alfred Beesley [1841?] (online at the Internet Archive).

Yet another rumour for the site:

At Enstone [...] is another Druidical remain, a ruined Cromlech, popularly called the “Hoarstone.” [...] There is a tradition that a city once existed near this spot, and the remains of wells have been found in the neighbouring fields.* An ancient trackway, marked in some old maps as the “London Road” (communicating with the country about Worcester and Hereford), runs westward from the Hoarstone, passing near several Tumuli which will be mentioned hereafter.

*Information from the Rev. E. Marshall of Enstone.

Page 8 in ‘The History of Banbury’ by Alfred Beesley [1841?] (online at the Internet Archive).

Forvie’s Curse

“Near the salmon fishing station at Rockend are the remains of a medieval settlement. You can see the ruins of Forvie’s 12th century kirk, which was built on the site of a previous chapel that possibly dated back to the 8th century. The whole settlement had disappeared under sand by the 15th century.

According to local legend, the village was overwhelmed when three sisters placed a curse on it. They’re said to have been cast adrift in a leaky boat to deny them their inheritance. In a fit of rage they screamed: “Let nocht bee funde in Furvye’s glebes/Bot thystl, bente and sande” When the sisters evenually reached dry land the curse whipped up a storm that continued for nine days and nights. By the time it ended the sand had buried the village.”

Forvie National Nature Reserve Booklet

Scottish Natural Heritage

(and a good job they do, unlike the mob at Balmedie dunes!)

Moel yr Eglwys (“bare summit of the church”) is the highest point of Arenig Fawr. It’s crowned by a large prehistoric kerbed cairn, but according to Coflein, the stones from this have been incorporated into a modern memorial and shelter.

Or take the following, from J. H. Roberts’ essay, as given in Welsh in Edwards’ Cymru for 1897, p. 190: it reminds one of an ordinary fairy tale, but it is not quite like any other which I happen to know:--In the western end of the Arennig Fawr there is a cave: in fact there are several caves there, and some of them are very large too; but there is one to which the finger of tradition points as an ancient abode of the Tylwyth Teg. About two generations ago, the shepherds of that country used to be enchanted by one of them called Mary, who was remarkable for her beauty. Many an effort was made to catch her or to meet her face to face, but without success, as she was too quick on her feet. She used to show herself day after day, and she might be seen, with her little harp, climbing the bare slopes of the mountain. In misty weather when the days were longest in summer, the music she made used to be wafted by the breeze to the ears of the love-sick shepherds. Many a time had the boys of the Filltir Gerrig heard sweet singing when passing the cave in the full light of day, but they were subject to some spell, so that they never ventured to enter. But the shepherd of Boch y Rhaiadr had a better view of the fairies one Allhallows night (ryw noson Galangaeaf) when returning home from a merry-making at Amnodd. On the sward in front of the cave what should he see but scores of the Tylwyth Teg singing and dancing! He never saw another assembly in his life so fair, and great was the trouble he had to resist being drawn into their circles.

From chapter 8 of ‘Celtic Folklore, Welsh and Manx’ by John Rhys (1901), which you can read at the Sacred Texts Archive.

The placenames on the 1:25,000 map certainly suggest this is the right place:

Let us now come to the treasure caves, and begin with Ogof Arthur, ‘Arthur’s Cave,’ in the southern side of Mynydd y Cnwc in the parish of Llangwyfan, on the south-westem coast of Anglesey. The foot of Mynydd y Cnwc is washed by the sea, and the mouth of the cave is closed by its waters at high tide, but the cave, which is spacious, has a vent-hole in the side of the mountain [*] . So it is at any rate reported in the Brython for 1859, p. 138, by a writer who explored the place, though not to the end of the mile which it is said to measure in length. He mentions a local tradition, that it contains various treasures, and that it temporarily afforded Arthur shelter in the course of his wars with the Gwyddelod or Goidels. But he describes also a cromlech on the top of Mynydd y Cnwc, around which there was a circle of stones, while within the latter there lies buried, it is believed, an iron chest full of ancient gold. Various attempts are said to have been made by the more greedy of the neighbouring inhabitants to dig it up, but they have always been frightened away by portents. Here then the guardians of the treasure are creatures of a supernatural kind...

[*] All said by natives of Anglesey about rivers and mountains in their island must be taken relatively, for though the country has a very uneven surface it has no real mountain: they are apt to call a brook a river and a hillock a mountain, though the majestic heights of Arfon are within sight.

From chapter 8 of ‘Celtic Folklore, Welsh and Manx’ by John Rhys (1901), which you can read at the Sacred Texts Archive.