Latest Folklore

Garnwnda (Carn Gwnda) is named after Saint Gwyndaf Hen (Gwyndaf the Aged), who presumably used it as a nice quiet spot for a bit of hermitage and religious introspection. He lacked some of the sympathy for nature that some of the other Celtic saints had. He was returning from Fishguard one day and was just crossing one of the (many) streams in the area, when a fish leapt up and frightened his horse. Poor Gwnydaf was thrown to the ground and broke his leg. He cursed the brook so no fish would ever live in it again.

(mentioned in volume 3 of Baring-Gould’s ‘Lives of the British Saints’ 1913).

I like the idea that this stone was used as a marker for travellers who arrived by sea... an early lighthouse, perhaps?

Mind you, this theory doesn’t follow if it was indeed part of a larger complex.

Could the outcrop be the quarry in the following story? Ever hopeful. Bear with me.

A man in the parish of New Deer was returning home at night. On reaching an old quarry much overgrown with broom he heard a great noise coining from among the broom. He listened, and his ear caught the words “Mak’ it red cheekit an red lippit like the smith o’ Bonnykelly’s wife.” He knew at once what was going on, and what was to be done, and he ran with all his speed to the smith’s house and “sained” the mother and her baby--an act which the nurse had neglected to do. No sooner was the saining finished than a heavy thud, as if something had fallen, was heard outside the house opposite to the spot where stood the bed on which the mother and her baby lay. On examination a piece of bog-fir was found lying at the bottom of the wall. It was the “image” the fairies were to substitute for the smith’s wife.

from Notes on The Folk-Lore of the North-East of Scotland By Walter Gregor [1881], online at the Sacred Texts Archive.
sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/nes/index.htm

The Devil was crossing this area when a high wind tore at his apron strings and he dropped all the stones he was carrying. Well if this hadn’t happened, the bridge at Kirkby Lonsdale might have been wider..

You see, an old woman’s cow had strayed over the River Lune. By the time she realised and went looking for it, the river was in spate and she couldn’t get across. As she stood there cursing under her breath, the Devil appeared. Being a very considerate creature, he offered to build her a bridge by the morning. Great! How generous. Ah, but there was a price – he would take the soul of the first living thing that crossed the bridge. The old woman nodded. So the Devil started work. He took off his collar as it was a bit tight. You can see this if you look down the river – it’s on the right bank between the old bridge and the new bridge, apparently. You can also see his fingernail marks on a coping stone in the second recess on the right of the bridge when heading towards Casterton. And of course at some point he had to get some more stones – which is what you see at ‘The Devil’s Apron Strings’, or the Apron Full of Stones.

Well the next morning dawned and the bridge was ready. The Devil rubbed his hands together as he saw the old woman approaching. She appeared to be alone. But as she walked up she suddenly produced a bun from her bag and lobbed it across the bridge. The Devil barely had time to gasp ‘Eh?’ before a tiny dog leapt from inside the woman’s shawl and started legging it towards the bun.

The Devil couldn’t bear to watch. He couldn’t even be bothered to collect the dog (which was by this time stuffing itself with bun) and turning on his heel, left in disgust.

(This story mentioned by the Rev. John Hutton of Kendal in 1870 – I read it in Marjorie Rowling’s ‘Folklore of the Lake District’ (1976)).

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An older version:

The bridge at Kirbylonsdale was built by an architect of high antiquity: the legend of it relates, that the devil one very windy night was crossing the high mountain on the side of the Lune, with an apronfull of stones; either the blast, or the weight of the stones, broke the string fo the apron, and out fell half the load; with the remainder Old Nick proceeded to the river, and with those stones built the bridge; but not having the whole of his burden, the bridge could not be erected higher than it is. The spilt stones still lie in a heap on the mountain top.

A Companion, and Useful Guide to the Beauties of Scotland, p27, by Sarah Murray (1799).

Stuart Piggot’s paper, linked to below, mentions there were rich silver mines in the 17th century on the SE slope of Cairnpapple Hill. Martin’s folklore about a ‘silver man’ on the SE slope is thus put in a different light? The location just seems a bit of a strange coincidence. Is the story a modern reworking of a different older story, the ‘silver’ element translated into something more space age? Or is it even a modern version of a subterranean mine fairy-type creature?

Gwladys was one of (Saint) Brychan’s many sons and daughters. She was very pretty and attracted the attention of the ruler of the next-door kingdom, Gwynllyw. Gwynllyw asked Brychan if he could marry her, but Brychan wasn’t having any of it. Rather impolitely Gwynllyw decided he was going to marry her anyway, so took three hundred of his men over to Brychan’s place and snatched her. They rode off in a hurry with Brychan in hot pursuit.

They finally got to Fochriw* which was the border between the two kingdoms. Who should be sitting there playing dice but King Arthur and two of his knights, Cai and Bedwyr. Arthur ‘was immediately seized with love towards the lady’ and was about to rescue her, but it was pointed out to him that Gwynllyw was now on his own territory, and was persuaded against it (never mind that the poor woman had been kidnapped). In fact Arthur and his knights joined in with rushing against Brychan’s men, who ran off. Gwynllyw then took his ‘prize’ to his palace at Allt Wynllyw (now in Newport).

“Four lamps were seen shining every night with great brightness in the four corners of the house where she remained, until she brought forth her first born son”. This was Cadoc, who was later a saint. Gwladys got to be a saint too. It ran in the family.

*also called Vochriw and Boch Riu Carn hill, in Baring-Gould’s ‘Lives of the British Saints’ (Vol 3, 1911).

After wee haue quitted Restormel, Roche becomes our next place of soiourne, though hardly inuiting, with promise of any better entertainement, then the name carieth written in his forehead, to wit, a huge, high and steepe rock, seated in a playne, girded on either side, with (as it were) two substitutes, and meritorious (no doubt) for the Hermite, who dwelt on the top thereof, were it but in regard of such an vneasie climing to his cell and Chappell, a part of whose naturall wals is wrought out of the rock itselfe.

Neere the foote of Roche, there lyeth a rock, leuell with the ground aboue, and hollow downwards, with a winding depth, which contayneth water, reported by some of the neighbours, to ebbe and flowe as the sea. Of these, as another Cornish wonder.

You neighbour-scorners, holy-prowd,
Goe people Roche’s cell,
Farre from the world, neere to the heau’ns,
There, Hermits, may you dwell.
Is’t true that Spring in rock hereby,
Doth tide-wise ebbe and flow?
Or haue wee fooles with lyers met?
Fame saies it: be it so.

From The Survey of Cornwall by Richard Carew (1602), online at project Gutenberg
gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/srvcr10.txt
Scroll down to 139.

You can see that the area around Oliver’s Castle has attracted a lot of folklore over the years. It seemingly continues to collect Strange Stories.

Oliver’s Castle is (according to Miller and Broadhurst’s book ‘The Sun and the Serpent’) one of those spots where the country-traversing Michael and Mary Leys cross each other. “There was a node just yards from the prehistoric dew pond, in the middle of the central enclosure.”

It’s also a focus for people into UFOs – a quick google will transport you into the convoluted discussions about a video that was allegedly shot there in 1996, showing supposed balls of light flying about a crop circle. (If you want your croppie illlusions shattered, then see the video here:
uk.youtube.com/watch?v=otQ-U6IIkb4&feature=PlayList&p=1D2C0DD2789F5507&index=29 )

Not that you have to believe any of it, of course. But maybe some places just keep attracting such rumours.

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Here’s a recent and aesthetically pleasing* crop circle just behind the fort:
cropcircleconnector.com/2007/oliverscastle/oliverscastle2007.html
*the farmer may not have agreed.

Has the same habit as the Wheebin Stone of taking a drink from a loch in the wee hours of New Year’s Day.

The vitrified fort on Knock-Farril, in Ross-shire, is said to have been one of Fin McCoul’s castles;[32] and Knock-Farril, or rather “a knoll opposite Knock-Farril” is remembered as the abode of the Fairies of that district.[33]

[32] Proceedings of Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, vol. vii. p. 294, note.

[33] See, for example, an article on “Scottish Customs and Folk lore,” in The Glasgow Herald of August 1, 1891

From ‘Fians, Fairies and Picts’, by David MacRitchie, 1893.

The book is online at Project Gutenberg
gutenberg.org/files/17926/17926-h/17926-h.htm#Footnote_32_32

Saint David and his mates were living at Carn Llidi, but something made them decide to move south to here – perhaps it was a bit too exposed there. They struck camp in the valley and lit a fire. Up above lived Boia, an Irish freebooter, who had settled there with his wife and was currently terrorizing the neighbourhood. Boia spotted the smoke curling up but had just put his slippers on after a day of pillaging, so decided to ignore it. Next morning however his wife spotted the remains of the fire and nagged at him to go down and get rid of the newcomers. Boia eventually walked down to have a word. David easily pacified him, and after a nice conversation Boia said it would be fine if David and his friends stayed at the valley bottom. Boia returned to the top. His wife was unimpressed, particularly when she found out they were monks.

Boia’s wife, who was called Satrapa, had a cunning idea. She sent her maids down to the river in their sexiest gear and instructed them to strip off and bathe. After popping their eyes back in their heads, some of the monks went to St David to complain. They said they found this ‘an intolerable nuisance’ as it was clearly distracting them from Higher Things. In fact they said that it would make the place unendurable if it happened every day. “Just ignore them. They’ll get fed up of it and go away,” said St. David.

Meanwhile, Boaia was becoming a regular guest at their camp, and even decided to get baptized in the river. This was the last straw for Satrapa. She decided she would have to make a sacrifice to the Siddi, the underground divinities. She asked her stepdaughter Dunawd to come with her to gather some nuts. When they were resting, Satrapa asked to look at Dunawd’s head (’You seem to have some nuts in your hair’??) and when the stepdaughter put her head in Satrapa’s lap, the woman seized her hair and cut it off. This was ‘tantamount to adoption’ (so it says) and she quickly cut the girl’s throat, letting her blood pour out onto the ground for the gods.

Frightened at what she’d done (though possibly she should have thought about this before) Satrapa ran away. Things didn’t get any better for the family that night, as another Irish pirate, Lisci, turned up and slew Boia in his sleep. Then ‘fire fell from heaven’ and consumed the castle.

Dunawd was seen as a martyr: “A clear fountain arose in the place where her blood flowed to the ground, which abundantly cured many diseases of mankind.” Ffynnon Clegyr Boia and Ffynnon Llygad are both near the site: no doubt the spring is one of those?

(retold from the sources in Baring-Gould’s ‘Lives of the British Saints’ p298)

Foel Fenlli is a high conical hill topped by a hill fort – it’s the highest in a chain of hillforts that run along the Clwydian range. The summit has a cairn, and nearby is “a never failing crystal spring”. The fort is named after Benlli Gawr. Nennius describes him as the ‘wicked and tyrannical king’ of Powys. Perhaps he was, perhaps he wasn’t. Whichever, Saint Germanus was in the neighbourhood, and he and his friends turned up at the front door of the fort demanding to see the man. They just wanted to convert him to Christianity. For his own good, you know. It wasn’t an evangelical competition to convert the naughtiest pagan they could find or anything. A message was sent to Benlli. He sent back his response: Not Today Thankyou – they could stand on his doorstep for a whole year if they liked, but they weren’t coming in.

Well. That night, ‘fire fell from heaven and consumed the citadel and all the men that were with the tyrant; they were never seen more’. Sounds very like arson to me. And to add to the suspicious circumstances, Germanus then took it upon himself to make Benlli’s swineherd the new king of Powys. Just because he’d been nice to Germanus, made him a cup of tea and agreed to become a Christian. What a set-up.

(Nennius’s tale described in vol 2 of ‘Lives of the British Saints’ by Baring-Gould (1913), p255.)

Not sure of any dispute about antiquity? The Wroth Silver Ceremony has been held at this stone on the autumnal quarter day since at least 1170. It is an administrative ‘rent collection’ event where the local parishes pay their dues to The Duke of Buchleuch (formerly the Crown). Please see website wrothsilver.org.uk for more information and you can buy our book ‘Wroth Silver Today’ Possibly the book described in the first posting but not published by the Strettin parish historical society. Here we describe it as a tumulus (round barrow) on the top of Knightlow Hill on which there is the remains of a Mediaeval cross. Look forward to seeing you (hope not too early in the morning for you all, but fortify yourself with a glass of hot rum and milk before). Meet the Mayor of Rugby etc. Join us for breakfast after and hear the history from David Eadon. If you have unresolved questions let me know and I will add to the FAQ section of the website. Best wishes William (co author of the book and co organiser plus webmaster)

In ‘Skye – The Island and its Legends’, Otta Swire has a lengthy account of the legend which states that this Dun is the source of the famous ‘Fairy Cup’ of Dunvegan Castle.

Condensed version –

A member of the Macleod clan, out at night searching for stray cattle, sees ‘the door of Dun Osdale open and the Little People come out, a long train of them, and begin to dance on the green knoll near by’. He sneezes, and is dragged into the dun (abducted if you will!), by the fairies. Inside is lit by ‘that strange green light associated with fairyland’. Although offered wine which forms part of the fairy banquet, in a beautiful cup, he knows better than to drink. His mother is a witch, and he knows that to eat or drink in the Dun will mean he’s in the power of the Daoine Sithe. So he does the old tipping the drink inside his coat ruse, and once the fairies lose interest in him, makes his escape from the Dun with the cup.

Though chased by the fairies he makes it back home, where his mother puts a spell on him to protect him from the fairies. This spell has to be renewed every time he leaves the house. However, she forgets to put a spell on the cup.

The fairies put their own spell on the cup, which makes anyone who sees it or hears of it obsessed with aquiring it, even if they have to kill the owner. When, inevitably, the young man leaves the house without renewing his mother’s spell, he is murdered for the cup by a friend.

On hearing of this, the chief of the Macleods orders the cup stealer hanged, and takes the cup into his possession, as the curse is now lifted. And to prove the story, the cup can still be seen at Dunvegan Castle.

So much folklore attached to one small stone. This version of events comes from Baring-Gould’s source and is in ‘Lives of the British Saints’ v4 p 293 (1913).

About a mile from the church, in the corner of a field near the Holy Wells of SS Cybi and Seiriol, on Clorach farm, is a celebrated maen hir, a little over four feet high, called Lleidr Tyfrydog, Tyfrydog’s Thief, which has the appearance of a humpbacked man.

The local tradition is that a man who sacrilegiously stole the church books, whilst carrying them away, was suddenly converted by the saint [Saint Tyrnog that is, the patron saint of the church] into this red sandstone pillar. The lump to be seen on one side of the stone represents the sack which contains his theft, lying over his shoulder.

His soul, at stated intervals, is compelled to go three times madly round the field and back to the stone, in the dead of night, being pursued by demons with red hot pitchforks.

Baring-Gould also relates this tale: In 1098, Hugh, Earl of Shrewsbury (for some reason) put some dogs into the church overnight. When they were let out the next day they’d gone mad. And it didn’t do Hugh much good either – he was killed by a Norse pirate within the month. Giraldus Cambrensis ascribed it to ‘the vindictive nature’ of the Welsh saints. Well maybe they just don’t want dog hair (and worse) all over their churches, eh? And they don’t want their books nicked. Is that so unreasonable?

To be quite frank I do not know anything about this earthwork (and there are no details yet on Magic). It comes with its own megalithic folklore though, which is well brought to life in the following extract:

As [Saint] Samson and his party were about to descend from Laneast Down, they observed a bald hill on the left, now Tregeare.. The hilltop was thronged with people engaged in an idolatrous revel. Samson recalled what Winiau [his cousin] had said to him, that the natives were still immersed in devil worship, and he at once descended from his wagon, and taking with him two of his monks.. made for Tregeare, and in his zeal, ran up the hill.

He found the people dancing round an upright stone, and the chieftain of the district was looking on with approval. Samson remonstrated. The people good-humouredly explained that no harm was meant; they were merry-making as was their immemorial custon; but some advised Samson to mind his own business. Certain of the company were angry at his interference.

Samson persisted.. at this moment a boy of noble birth who was mounted on an unbroken colt, and was careering about the hill, was thrown, fell on his head, and lay stunned on the sod. This drew off the attention of the revellers. Samson went to the lad, made people stand back, and prayed for the child’s recovery. Happily, the boy opened his eyes and stood up.

The people, supposing that the Saint had raised him to life [like heck they did] became more willing to listen to him. Instead of destroying the menhir, Samson cut a cross upon it. The revellers gave up their dancing for that year, to resume it on the next anniversary [my italics].

The stone is no longer on Tregeare height, but a very rude granite cross stands by the wayside from Laneast Down to Tregeare.

From p 156 of Baring-Gould’s ‘Lives of the British Saints’ (1913). The text is a translation of an older document. Samson was supposed to have lived c500AD.

St Neot was a keen evangelist and was trying to convert the unenthusiastic masses of Hamstoke (now, one imagines, the village retitled as ‘St Neot’).

Local tradition, fondly clung to still, tells how they one and all made excuse, alleging that the crows came down in such flights on their fields as to destroy the prospect of crops, and that accordingly they could not spare the time from watching their fields to attendance on his discourses.
Then Neot summoned the crows to him and empounded them in the old Roman camp on Goonzion Down, and bade them remain there during the time of Divine worship and instruction. And they obeyed.

footnote: The entrenchment is now called ‘Crow Pound’. The woman at S. Neot who told the story to the writer said: ‘Some people doubt that this was so. But S. Neot was a very holy man. There is Crow Pound, and there on the opposite side of the valley is the Rookery.‘

From p7 in ‘The Lives of the British Saints’ volume 4, by S Baring-Gould and John Fisher (1913).

This is very wordily reported in Impounding Wild Birds
Wm. Pengelly
The Folk-Lore Journal, Vol. 2, No. 1. (Jan., 1884), pp. 19-20.
in which he quotes the Parochial History of Saint Neots in Cornwall, by James Michell, 1833, p137-8. The name of the village is given as Guerryer Stoke (now St. Neots).

Baring Gould (in the 1913 v4 of ‘the lives of the British Saints’) quotes from Pugh’s 1816 ‘Cambria Depicta’:

According to another version Twrog was a giant, who dwelt in the mountain. The villagers had incurred his wrath, and he flung the huge stone down with the intention of killing some of them, which , though it hit the church, did no damage. The imprint of his five fingers are still visible on it!

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A stained glass window in Maentwrog church shows St Twrog holding a book in one hand and leaning on the stone with the other. (the book is Buchedd Beuno, the book of St Beuno, which Twrog wrote. It’s also known as Tiboeth, from di-boeth, ‘unburnt’, because it escaped Clynnog church burning down three times – it was handily encased in iron).

Pen Pumlumon Fawr finds its place in legend as the dwelling of a reaver giant who often waylaid unwitting travellers and became notorious throughout the land. In King Arthur’s hunting of the monstrous boar Twrch Trwyth, as told in the tale of Cullhwch and Olwen, a great hunting hound named Drudwyn was needed. Unfortunately no leash in the world could hold such a powerful hound save one manufactured from the beard of this robber giant of Pumlumon. Here is the extract from Lady Charlotte Guest’s translation of the Mabinogion that details the events which were said to have taken place here.

‘As Cai and Bedwyr sat on a beacon carn on the summit of Pumlumon, in the highest wind that ever was in the world, they looked around them, and saw a great smoke towards the south, afar off, which did not bend with the wind. Then said Cai, “By the hand of my friend, behold, yonder is the fire of a robber!” Then they hastened towards the smoke, and they came so near to it, that they could see Dillus Farfawc scorching a wild boar. “Behold, yonder is the greatest robber that ever fled from Arthur,” said Bedwyr unto Cai. “Dost thou know him?” “I do know him,” answered Cai, “he is Dillus Farfawc, and no leash in the world will be able to hold Drudwyn, the cub of Greid the son of Eri, save a leash made from the beard of him thou see yonder. And even that will be useless, unless his beard be plucked alive with wooden tweezers; for if dead, it will be brittle.” “What thinkest thou that we should do concerning this?” said Bedwyr. “Let us suffer him,” said Cai, “to eat as much as he will of the meat, and after that he will fall asleep.” And during that time they employed themselves in making wooden tweezers. And when Cai knew certainly that he was asleep, he made a pit under his feet, the largest in the world, and he struck him a violent blow, and squeezed him into the pit. And there they twitched out his beard completely with the wooden tweezers; and after that they slew him altogether.‘

I was intrigued by this, having seen it apparently mentioned in the Mabinogion: “And by force of strength, and fierceness, and by the magic and charms of Gwydion, Pryderi was slain. And at Maen Tyriawc, above Melenryd, was he buried, and there is his grave.“* Felenrhyd is just downstream, and the stone that marks his grave stands in the churchyard of Maentwrog.

‘Maen Twrog’ however implies ‘Twrog’s stone’ – Twrog being the celtic St Twrog. The stone stands beside the church in Maentwrog. A website about the church suggests the stone marks St Twrog’s grave.

It would be interesting to know how old the church is (the current one seems Victorian?). The wikipedia doesn’t say where it gets its version of the legend from, but suggests Twrog was trying to destroy a pagan alter with reckless stone throwing from a mountain, and that explains why Maen Twrog and the church are where they are.

It also mentions the belief that “if one rubs this boulder one is fated to return to the village in the future.”

Moss’s kind researches from ‘Welsh Saints’ by Breverton turned up the information that:

At Maentwrog, a huge stone different to local rocks (possibly a glacial boulder) is attached to the angle of the church, and is known as Maen Twrog. It was supposed to have been thrown by Twrog from the top of the mountain of Moelwyn.

*(from Math, son of Mathonwy, online at the sacred texts archive
sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/mab/mab26.htm#page_413

users.netmatters.co.uk/davidbryant/C/mainsite/ChHist.htm

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maentwrog

Links to lots of folklore at the Clare County Library website (much of which relates to the ancient sites of Clare).
clarelibrary.ie/eolas/coclare/folklore/index.htm

Lady Guest suggests in her notes to the Mabinogion story ‘Math the son of Mathonwy’ (online at the Sacred Texts Archive,
sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/mab/mab27.htm
that Pen-y-Gaer is the location of Caer Dathyl, where Math is supposed to have held his court. The story does include lots of geographical spots / placenames, so this could be more than just a wild guess.

Castle hill is a a univallate Iron Age fort with wide views across the Thames valley. Alfred Williams spoke to two haymakers from Lus Hill, who believed the camp was built by Oliver Cromwell. Cromwell’s men were also supposed to have had a shot at the Highworth church from here, with the cannonball that made the hole in the tower hanging in the church yet. * Highworth is a Long Way Away though!

*This from ‘Round About the Upper Thames’ by Williams (1922), quoted by Katy Jordan in her ‘Haunted Wiltshire’ (2000).

Arthur Shuttlewood records (in his imaginative ‘UFOs Over Warminster’ 1979) that “tradition has it that an early Saxon chieftain and his family were interred in the bald patch of earth on the top of the mound in the midst of tree growth” – neatly combining two common story themes – to ascribe prehistoric barrows to Saxons, and the idea that vegetation will not grow on certain graves.

the Doctor [Dr Bird, who’d been present at the opening of the Nympsfield Park barrow] stated that an old friend of his had told him many a time he and other boys had gone to [Uley] tumulus and had a fight with the “giants’ bones” in the chambers.

The clergyman of the parish, some time afterwards, had all the human bones collected and buried in the corner of the churchyard.

From v2 of the Bath Field Club proceedings, 1870-2.