Rhiannon

The Dog.

Mrs Pembro, of Bridgnorth, remembers her mother telling her a story about Titterstone Clee. Her mother was born on Titterstone Clee and one day, when she was a child of about eight or nine, she was walking, with her sister, to her uncle's house, which was about five or six miles from her home. On their journey back home it was dark. They met a huge black dog. The thing they most remembered about it was the beautiful red and green collar with jewels on it which it was wearing. They thought about approaching the dog but it would not let them go near it. Then, suddenly, it disappeared.

They mentioned the dog to their family but nothing else was said about the incident until the children were grown up. Their father then revealed that someone had been murdered at that spot and other people had seen the dog.

I do like a nice Black Dog (one of our great spooky animals). This one's mentioned in 'Some Ghostly Tales of Shropshire' by Christine McCarthy (1988).

An alternative explanation of the grooves...

So far as I can make out, for I have been unable to refer to the original, Hollinshed in his Chronicle came to the conclusion that these stones were erected as memorials to the Scots who fell in a skirmish with the two Percies and their followers at Grindonmarsh in the year 1558; and this rather strange opinion has been copied from one book to another, down almost to the present time; though how those useful persons who compile county histories, and so forth, have been able to reconcile the deep weathering to which these stones have been subjected with so comparatively recent a date as 1558 (to say nothing of the further anomaly of funeral monoliths in Tudor times) it is difficulty to see. The probability is, however, that these good people have never seen the stones in question, for even Kelly's Directory of Northumberland for 1902 seems to be unaware of the existence of the fifth stone in this group.

Tradition, however, gives an even more interesting origin for the Duddo cromlech. Among the field workers on the neighbouring farm of Grindon it is, or used recently to be, told that these stones are five men who not so very long ago – for tradition pays no regard to such trifles as a matter of centuries, and, as Chesterton says, it is the essence of a legend to be vague – brought down divine vengeance on themselves by godless behaviour which had culminated one day in going out into the fields and singling, or thinning out, a crop of turnips on the Sabbath.

Not merely were they turned into stones as they stood together on the top of the little eminence in the field where they were working, becoming a memorial for all time, somewhat after the manner of Lot's wife, but the ringleader in this desecration was knocked flat on his back, where he lies to the present day. And if you don't believe it, go and look for yourself and you'll see the cording of their trousers running in stripes down the stones!

At Grievestead farm, alongside Grindon, this tale is told too; but there they were sheep shearers who were turned into stone for working Sunday.

In 'A Border Myth – the standing stones at Duddo' by Captain W.J. Rutherfurd, in the History of the Berwickshire Naturalists' Club vol. XXIV (1919) p.98.

Pembrokeshire – in common with several other districts in Great Britain and Ireland – possesses a good phantom coach legend, localised in the southern part of the county, at a place where four roads meet, called Sampson Cross.

In old days, the belated farmer, driving home in his gig from market, was apt to cast a nervous glance over his shoulder as his pony slowly climbed the last steep pitch leading up to the Cross. For he remembered the story connected with that dark bit of road, that told how every night a certain Lady Z. (who lived in the seventeenth century, and whose monument is in the church close by) drives over from Tenby, ten miles distant, in a coach drawn by headless horses, guided by a headless coachman. She also has no head; and arriving by midnight at Sampson Cross, the whole equipage is said to disappear in a flame of fire, with a loud noise of explosion.

A clergyman living in the immediate neighbourhood, who told me the story, said that some people believed the ghostly traveller had been safely "laid" many years ago, in the waters of a lake not far distant. He added, however that might be, it was an odd fact that his sedate and elderly cob, when driven past the Cross after nightfall, would invariably start as if frightened there, a thing which never happened by daylight.

I think all that universal headlessness happening every night is a mite ostentatious. But you can't be too careful at prehistoric stones especially at liminal places like crossroads. So be careful.

From 'Stranger than fiction, being tales from the byways of ghosts and folk-lore' by Mary Lewes, 1911 (p.24).

There is one institution connected with Dartmoor that must not be passed over – Bellever Day. When hare-hunting is over in the low country, then, some week or two after Easter, the packs that surround Dartmoor assemble on it, and a week is given up to hare-hunting. On the last day, Friday, there is a grand gathering on Bellever Tor.

All the towns and villages neighbouring on Dartmoor send out carriages, traps, carts, riders; the roads are full of men and women, ay, and children hurrying to Bellever.

Little girls with their baskets stuffed with saffron cake for lunch desert school and trudge to the tor. Ladies go out with champagne luncheons ready. Whether a hare be found and coursed that day matters little. It is given up to merriment in the fresh air and sparkling sun.

And the roads that lead from Bellever in the afternon are careered over by riders, whose horses are so exhilerated that they race, and the riders have a difficulty in keeping their seats. Their faces are red, not those of the horses, but their riders – from the sun and air – and they are so averse to leave the moor, that they sometimes desert their saddles to roll on the soft and springy turf.

'A Book of the West' by Sabine Baring-Gould (1899).

... Craigshowe cave was at length reached. Some recent visitors assured us that the cave had no end, and that they had been told that it took a turn and came out at Loch Lundy on the other side of the hill.

Going in as far as we could without stooping, the rock dipped downward, and there seemed nothing but black darkness beyond; and over us came a creepy feeling lest we should be disturbing some sleeping goblin or fairy within its depths. However, doubling ourselves until our heads and knees almost met, a few yards' crawling enabled us to pass the turn and stand once more, while behind us was the light trying to pierce the gloom. A matchbox proved a handy companion, but, do what we could, the matches would not burn, but flickered and died out almost immediately, and even the attempts to obtain light by igniting the matchbox failed, so damp was the atmosphere. We managed, however, to see that we were at the end of the cave, and that the water was trickling very slowly from the rocky ceiling.

Returning to the beach, we inspected the well at the mouth of the cave, into which the water is said to fall at the rate of one drop a minute. This well is also stated to possess virtues which are said to have been proved by visitors who suffer from deafness, and instances are given where the observance of the rites have resulted in an absolute relief to the victims of this most trying complaint. One must visit the well at midnight; and, having secured a mussel shell, hold it to the drop until it has been filled, thereafter pouring it into the ear, and – well, faith does the rest.

A few paces from the cave there stands the Wishing Tree, a very flourishing and luxuriant rose tree bristling with thorns. Each visitor to this shrine of hope and fear, if desirous of obtaining some good or ill omen, ties a rag upon one of its branches, and the wish is said to be thereupon granted. It is indeed a curious sight to see the many coloured ribbons fluttering in the breeze, some of them having maybe stood the storm and sunshine more bravely than has done the faint heart that fluttered like a frightened bird as the trembling hands tied firmly to the thorny tree the little bit of gay ribbon that a minute before may have adorned the hair of a fair vision, and who may have come there to charm away the evil spirits, because -'My fause lover pa'd the rose; And, ah, he's left the thorn wi' me.'

Then, if it is felt that the tree has not yielded the desired fruit, there remaineth the wishing well, just behind, in a recess of the rock, into which one must drop a penny in order to tempt the fairies to give the donors what they sigh for. Someone must reap the benefit of this simple faith, as the clear depths of the well did not show that even the latest copper had been allowed to rust in fairyland.

Then beside the well there is a large stone, on which are distinctly marked red spots, which are said to be the indelible traces of the blood of a child that was cruelly murdered by its mother.

From 'Highland Superstitions (From a Correspondent)' in the Aberdeen Press and Journal, 12th September 1895.

Below Craid Phadrie is the detached hill called Tomnahurich, or the Watchman's Hill, some of the fields adjoining being called Balliefearie, or the Watchman's Town, and which, besides being thus a "ward hill," was also celebrated in the olden time, according to local belief, as the favourite and chief resort in the north of the tiny race of fairies, and was further used by grosser mortals as a great moat, or gathering hill, on various occasions of public importance. The magistrates of Inverness used also in ancient times to patronise horse-races run round its base.

Page 13 in volume 14 of the Statistical Accounts of Scotland (1845).

With Easter, the Feast of the Resurrection, the period of abstinence and self-denial is brought to an end. The interrupted pleasures of life are taken up once more, this time in the pleasant setting of spring. On Easter Day itself, the celebrations of the ordinary people began at (or before) sunrise, when in many districts crowds climbed to the summit of a nearby mountain to see the sun 'dancing' in honour of the Resurrection of Christ.

The Rev. John Williams, Glanmor (1811-91) remembered the inhabitants of Llangollen, Denbighshire, ascending Dinas Bran on Easter Day to greet the rising sun with three somersaults, a peculiar variation on this custom {From Bye-gones, 11th December 1895}. In other districts it was usual to take a basin of water in order to see the reflection of the sun dancing on the horizon. It is almost certain that behind this observance was the widespread belief that Christ rose from the dead at dawn on Easter Day; while, further removed from medieval practice, there lurks the hint of an earlier, pagan rite. The custom is also recorded in many English counties and in the Isle of Man and Ireland.

p84 in 'Welsh Folk Customs' by T.M. Owen (1959).

It is unclear why the two cairns were built together, but local folklore provides its own interpretations. One tale is that one of the mounds is the burial place of a great chief who owned the surrounding land. Each summer he went on a raiding mission with his men, bringing back gold, cattle and slaves. One summer he did not return when expected, but in the autumn the ships sailed slowly into the bay. The body of the chief was carried ashore on his men's shields to be buried in a huge grave, while in the bay below, his galley was ritually set alight.

Another legend holds that the mounds are built on the site of the last battle between the MacDonalds and the MacLeods, two rival clans in Skye. A thick mist descended during the fighting, resulting in carnage so complete that only women and old men were left to bury the dead. All that could be done was to make two piles of bodies, one for each clan, and cover them with stones.

In 'Prehistoric Scotland' by Ann MacSween and Mick Sharp (1989).

The Cradle Stone.

Serving as a link with the distant past, and once known to every boy and girl in Crieff, the Cradle Stone lies on the south-east shoulder of the Knock. This massive stone, believed to be of Druidical origin, at one time weighed 30 tons and had a circumference of 80 feet, but it has been suggested that during a thunderstorm it was struck by lightning and split in two.

IN days gone by the Cradle Stone was regarded with suspicion by the natives, and it was even suggested that a treasure of great value lay hidden underneath. The story is told how a simple-minded youth named James McLaren, who lived at Barnkittock, was convinced by a few wags of the immense wealth the Stone concealed. One night they persuaded him to excavate beneath the boulder, and while thus engaged the miscreants, who were secretly assembled nearby, set off a number of fireworks bursting around him. Trembling like a leaf and paralysed with fear, the demented youth jumped from the trench he had dug, dashed down the hill and never stopped running until he reached his home at Barnkittock.

A story once told to the children of Crieff by their parents was that they all originated from the interior of the Cradle Stone. (This, perhaps is the reason it acquired such a fascinating name!) Such an enchanting fairy-tale, however, has long since been refuted and it would be a very talented person indeed who could convince the modern child that he or she came from the inner recesses of the Cradle Stone. In fact, I wonder how many children today know where to find it?

Viewed from the Indicator, one of the most magnificent panoramas in the country lies open to the visitor. Extending from the Sidlaw Hills in the east, it includes the full range of the Ochils in the south, and away to the west can be seen Ben Ledi and Ben Voirlich and beyond the twin peaks of Ben More and Stobinian. And to complete this comprehensive picture, the first range of the Grampians outline the northern horizon. On a plateau at the end of the road leading to the "View of Monzie," once stood the "Wishing Tree." Very little is known of this legendary tree, which stood in absolute isolation at one of the highest points of the Knock. In days not so very long ago it became the object of veneration by the maidens of Crieff imbued with the spirit of romance, who would secretly reveal their innermost thoughts in the ardent hope that their longed-for "wish" would be speedily granted.

From 'The Knock of Crieff and its Environs' by J.B. Paterson, in the Strathearn Herald, 7th August 1965.

Local gardener finds ancient landmark.

Mystified by the appearance of a stone pillar protruding slightly through the earth as he was preparing a new layout for the lawn in front of the premises, Mr C.J. H. Lucy, of Teddington Cross Hands Garage, consulted an old ordnance map and realised he had made a discovery. When the earth around the column was removed to a depth of six feet – as yet it is not known how far the pillar is still further embedded – it was seen that the stone was 56 inches in circumference at the top and 70 inches lower down, and was deeply pitted with holes indicating that it may have borne projecting signs at an earlier date.

According to the map, it is named "Tibble Stone," and Mr D.W. Herdman, curator of the Cheltenham Museum and Art Gallery, who has made a careful examination, states that local folklore records that a giant at the back of Dixton Hill is said to have thrown this huge stone towards the Severn at Tewkesbury. His foot slipped, says the legend, and the mark remains on the side of Dixton Hill, the stone falling at Teddington Cross Hands.

Mr Herdman told the "Chronicle": "Mr Lucy is very anxious that the discovery should be dealt with sympathetically and I have suggested to him that the stone should be kept exactly in situ and raised so that it may stand prominently in the centre of what is to become the lawn in front of his garage."

[...] On reference to Bryant's Map of Gloucestershire, published in 1824, the theory [of the stone as boundary-stone] is confirmed as the stone is at the boundary of Tibaldstone Hundred.

From the Cheltenham Chronicle, 17th April 1948.

Why does this look much bigger than the existing stone (if it does?)?

About one mile south of the town of Barrhead is Duncarnock Hill which was once the site of an Iron Age fort. The hill, which is nearly 700 feet high and precipitous on three sides, is shrouded in legend. According to local folk-lore, it and the nearby Neilston Pad were formed when two prehistoric giants scooped up huge handfuls of earth and threw them at each other. The Craigie, as the mighty mound is sometimes known, is also reputed to have been the site of human sacrifices offered by the Druid priests of the Iron Age Celts to their nature gods.

In an article about the Glanderston Dam disaster in 1842 in the Paisley Daily Express, 11th December 1989.

How Thetford Got Its Hill.

It requires no inventive novelist to provide Thetford and its neighbourhood with ghostly company. According to legend indeed, this spot early made its acquaintance with beings of the other world, for local folk-lore (a field amazingly neglected by many investigators), has it that the Devil presented us with Castle Hill, cleaning his spade at Thetford after digging Fendyke, near Weeting.

The writer of this article was one day amazed to be accosted in King Street by an old countryman who, without a smile, asked to be directed to "where the Devil scraped his spade!" A blank look of interrogation brought forth the fact that the Castle Hill was the object of the old fellow's search, and he was sent happily on his way to gaze upon what he firmly believed to be literally a diabolical addition to local scenery.

Another legend attaching to the hill, and associating it with the devil, is that his Most Satanic Majesty at midnight on All Hallow E'en (the eve of All Saints Day), is wont to ride furiously round the hill twelve times on a white horse. Many motorists have thought that one-way gyratory traffic was the invention of the devil!

In the Bury Free Press, 11th June 1932.

A comeback to ward off the gremlins.

(Story: Neil Churchman)

Superstitious managers at Hinkley Point Nuclear power station are hoping a 2 1/2 foot pixie will stamp out gremlins at the plant. Problems have plagued Hinkley Point for some time and last month the station was put out of action by floods. Part of the station was once a Bronze Age burial site and a mysterious mound, known as Pixie Mount has been left there overgrown and untouched.

A model pixie handed over when the plant was opened in 1966 was removed when Prince Charles toured the station 18 months ago. But now officials have decided the pixie should be brought back – just in case he was responsible for the floods on December 13. "Pixies don't like to be moved," said station manager Mr John Outram. "I don't think we will be moving him again."

From the Western Daily Press, 6th January 1982.

Babcary Tout or Wimble Toot.

A question with regard to the traditional battle of Babcary was asked [in this newspaper] in February 1934 by a reader, who said it was believed that a battle was fought in the valley around Babcary where the trenches and a burial mound are still to be seen.

Nothing definite with regard to any such battle appears to be known, but one reader replied that "two fields at Foddington are called 'Peace' for there the peace was signed.

"The burial mound, 45 yards by 25 by 3 yards high, has fourteen large trees on it. One has fallen, but the wood is not alllowed to be used by order of the Graves Commission. Within the memory of residents there was an iron fence and gate, but they have been somehow mislaid. This big mound... has the name of 'Wimbletout.' "

[...] the word 'piece' frequently enters into field names. Is it not more than possible that the name of the fields at Foddington is 'Piece' and that this has become confused with 'Peace' and so given rise to the tradition mentioned by the correspondent quoted above? – M.

In the Taunton Courier, 30th October 1937.

"Bervie Brow," so called, is a promontory on the north side of the Bervie stream, and its very existence seems to bar any extension of the railway to the north. Another name of the "Brow" is "Craig Davie," based on the tradition that King David II landed here from France under shipwreck. This King turned the hamlet into a Royal Burgh in virtue of a charter granted in 1362, which charter again was renewed by James VI in 1595. In connection with the King David Charter a rather curious story may be related. The Royal patronage, it is said, was given on account of the kindness the inhabitants extended to the ruling monarch when his vessel struck the rocks referred to above. The tradition is that the King on reaching "terra firma" met a party of fishermen, who were cooking fish on the beach. On soliciting a share of their repast, one of the fishermen gutted a couple of fishes and put these on the fire. Another fisherman shouted out "Gut three." The King noticing this generosity addressed the former speaker in doggerel rhyme thus:

"Then Gut-three

Your name shall be."

And henceforth, it is said, the man was known as "Guthrie", a surnamme now quite common all over N.E. Scotland.

From the Montrose Standard, 22nd April 1921.

Replies To Queries. 496 – The Golden Valley.

The origin of this name goes right back to the days of the Druids – indeed, farther than that. At Upton Cheyney in the Golden Valley may be seen some stones called Druidical stones. Their tops are lichen-covered and the weather of centuries has smoothed their surface here and there, and stunted them, leaving them inviolate and deserted, sole survivors of a pagan temple.

There is a tradition that somewhere near them lies buried a golden calf. Here then is a remnant of the rite of Mithras. My father came from this district and he has told me of several attempts made to discover this golden calf.

I believe the Bath Archaeological Society found some remains here many years ago. The valley where the golden calf was worshipped many centuries ago thus keeps its name in the present name of "The Golden Valley." – S.W. Hayward, Westmead, N.S.W.

Bath Weekly Chronicle and Herald, 13th February 1937.

The field on which the [annual ploughing match of the Moulin Agricultural Association] took place was a nice slope below Baledmund House, on Pitfourie Farm, kindly granted for the occasion by Mr Charles McLauchlan, tenant of the farm. At the south end of the field stands an old monolith which has long been an object of historic interest and conjecture. This large upright block is believed to be a very old Druidical stone, which probably marked the burial ground of some ancient Pictish chief.

The ground in the neighbourhood of the stone was at one time the site of Moulin Market, which lasted for a week, and this stone was known in Gaelic as "The stone of the bargains," as when a bargain was concluded it was usual to shake hands across the stone, no doubt following some custom that has been lost in the mists of antiquity.

A little to the west of the stone is a knoll on which a few larch trees are growing, and which is known in Gaelic as "The knoll of the cattle," where the cattle were herded on the occasion of a market. An examination of this knoll, however, a few years ago showed that it was chiefly artificial, and that it had formed the site of an old fortified dwelling. The artificial mound is about ten feet high, having a breadth of about forty feet, and the top had at one time been surrounded by a palisade.

The 'Carn a' Mheanbh-Cruidh' is marked on Canmore's map, though there's no recent investigation of it to fix a date to it. I'd like to think the origin of the name is a bit more ancient and romantic than just sticking cows on it on market day (surely a trickier plan than popping them in a pen on flat ground). Mentioned in the Perthshire Advertiser, March 4th 1914.

From all I have seen myself of that kind, or read, or heard of, I know not a more singular [Rocking Stone] than that which I am describing. It stands at Castle Treryn, a promontory, consisting of three distinct piles of rocks, near the southermost part of the Land's End. On the western side of the middle pile, in a very elevated situation, lies this immense stone, so evenly poised, that a hand, nay a finger, may move it.

And what is still more singular, not any force, however applied in any mechanical way, can remove it from its present situation. It was on a holiday, not long ago, that a vast number of miners and peasants assembled together, for the purpose of hurling this prodigious rock into the sea. Every effort was exerted, and all their force applied to no purpose. The vast orb moved as if to mock their toil, but still retained its equilibrium. The people beheld it with astonishment: they concluded it was retained by superanatural agency, and returned venerating the stone.

Those who are hereafter to visit this place, and have not yet beheld this almost miraculous spectacle, will rejoice that it still keeps its centre, and resists every effort to move it. Yet if it was to fall, I much wish to be a witness of its overthrow. So huge a mass precipitated, like the stone of Sisyphus, and rolling with prodigious ruin from precipice to precipice, over rocks into the sea, must afford a very striking spectacle.

As my favourite podcaster says, "Be careful what you wish for." I'm glad they put it back up though; I think very fondly of my visit to see it and would recommend it to anyone. From E.D. Clarke's 'Tour through England and Wales in 1791.'

Near Steeple Barton is another ruined cromlech, also called the "Hoar Stone," which is now only a confused heap of small stones, having been broken up by an ignorant farmer. Some fifty years ago it was much more perfect, and two of the side stones were standing about four feet out of the ground.

"They used to say that whenever they tried to drag them two pebbles away with horses, they would roll back of their own accord. Them two pebbles growed out of little uns; at least that's my way of thinking."

- From George Nevill, of Yarnton, aged 74, March 1901.

Stray Notes on Oxfordshire Folklore by Percy Manning, in Folklore v13 (September 1902).

As country folk will tell you, that bird called the oystercatcher, boldly dressed in black and white with a long straight bright red bill, has largely taken the place of the once-common lapwing, or "peesie-weep" in our fields. It's a bird with several names – sea pie, mussel-picker, and "the bird of St Bride."

A reader tells me that when he was up Kingennie way recenty he noticed a small flock of oystercatchers busily feeding in a newly-ploughed field. 'I thought it was something of a coincidence that what are called 'the birds of St Bride' should be so near that ancient structure near Kingennie house called St Bride's Ring. The name St Bride's Ring suggests a religious site, but this is in fact a strongly-built circular hill-fort, defended on three sides by steep rocks, and I have often wondered how it came to be associated with St Bride.'

---

Replying to a query about St Bride's Ring (Kingennie), our Diarist says it is not known how St Bride became associated with what is really a hill or a headland fort. In its earliest form Kingennie is given as Kingaltenyne, and translated from the Gaelic this means "headland enclosure."

The fort, with its ring of ponderous stones, has steep rocks on three sides, and a small stream at its base. This, incidentally, is the Monifieth Burn, which has its source in a nearby quarry.

Dundee Courier, 1st March 1988 / 15th June 1992.

There's lots of tales about St Bride on Brigit's Sparkling Flame including that when someone was after her on the Hebrides, some oystercatchers kindly covered her with seaweed to hide her (and since then they are 'Gille-Bhride', servants of Bride, and even call her name). She was imprisoned by the Cailleach in Ben Nevis, and was rescued on February 1st, releasing Spring. There are many features in the Scottish landscape named after her.

A legend survives in connection with the storming of Entons Castle [at Capel], which relates that the Danes, having captured the stronghold, carried away the castle gates and bell to Anstiebury Camp, whither they also took the female captives accumulated in the course of their victorious progress through the Hundred of Wotton.

The women one night contrived to admit a number of Saxon warriors, who overcame the garrison and afterwards hung the recovered castle-bell in Capel church steeple.

Walter Moore in the Dorking and Leatherhead Advertiser, 24th June 1905.

No I don't know if this happened at the Round. But if local military pixies were going to live anywhere, you'd think it would be here. I suppose he might have meant they were wearing red clothes, like soldiers – this is a comparison you read elsewhere.

An old man at Newquay told me that a Farmer Lane, who lived near Colan about forty or fifty years ago, was riding his horse one night to his farm, when numbers of soldiers sprang up on the horse, all over it. The man said they were very small. I forgot to ask how they were known to be soldiers. – Miss Barbara C. Spooner.

The Cornish Guardian quoting the journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, 28th May 1915.

There is a way up from the beach to the mainland part of Trevelgue Island earthworks that is like a ship's gangway, between walls of rock. Up this, Bill Pierce said, the invaders drove the cattle they stole. They pastured them on the island, waiting for the ships to come that were attacking other parts of the coast. When the ships came they embarked the cattle and sailed off. I asked where he got this from, and he said, "Old history books." – Miss Barbara C. Spooner, Coombe Bank, Kingston-on-Thames.

The Cornish Guardian quoting the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, 28th May 1915.

[Bill Pierce of St Columb Minor] said that there is another Piskey Ring near the barrows in the Newquay fields. The men who fought there took their last stand fighting in a circle, back to back, and their blood, falling to the ground, formed the Piskey Ring. I asked Pierce why it was called Piskey Ring, hoping to hear more, but he didn't know! I remember hearing, about six years ago, though I do not remember if the source was reliable, that people had seen the battle fought in the air, over the Newquay fields.

The same man, Pierce, told me that if anything was thrown into a Piskey Ring at or after midnight, it would be found flung on to the grass outside before daybreak.

Barrow Fields, Newquay. My uncle says he has heard that a headless horseman rides through the air over these fields at midnight, carrying his head under his arm. He did not know who the horseman was, nor that he had even been seen as well as heard. Horses are also heard rushing over head.

Miss Barbara C. Spooner.

The Cornish Guardian, quoting the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, 28rh May 1915.

I [spoke with] an old man of St Columb Minor, called Bill Pierce, who saw Copeland Borlase open the Trevelgue barrows. On the high cliffs, at an equal distance from each of the two Trevelgue tumuli, is a Piskey Ring, with thistles growing here and there on the outer edge. Of this ring he said that it was always there no matter how much the cattle trampled on it. Indeed, I do not remember a year in which I did not notice that Piskey Ring in the same place; I certainly have seen it each summer of ten consecutive years.

The same man, Pierce, told me that if anything was thrown into a Piskey Ring at or after midnight, it would be found flung on to the grass outside before daybreak.

Miss Barbara C. Spencer, Coombe Bank, Kingston-on-Thames.

The Cornish Guardian (quoting the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall), 28th May 1915.

It is surprising what interesting things one may come across in the countryside. I was talking to a farmer acquaintance, Lionel Smart, who, apart from a brief spell as a Fleet Street journalist, has farmed all his life in the Stanton Drew area. A few days before meeting Lionel, I had been in the village and decided to walk round the lanes and across the fields. Near the end of my walk I turned right at the quaint, thatched tollhouse and noticed the sign indicating the stone circles, or the Druids' Stones, as we have always called them. [...] Lionel then told me a strange story. No matter what time of year you pass by the stones, whether it is the hottest or coldest day, or night, one always encounters a cool breeze. Of course this could have been happening even before the stone circles were put there, but, there again, it could be due to the mystery behind them, of forces there beyond our comprehension.

Brian Woodham reports sceptically in the Somerset Standard, 15th November 1974.

In the same district, near to what must be the most delightfully situated racecourse in the land is the Trundle Hill, Goodwood, which takes its name from an ancient British earthwork on the summit, where is buried Aaron's golden calf, upon which His Satanic Majesty keeps a paternal eye. To quote Clare Jerrold:

"People know very well where it is – I could show you the place any day."

"Why don't you dig it up then?"

"Oh, that is not allowed; He would not let me."

"Well, has any one ever tried?"

"Oh, yes: but it is never there when you look; He moves it away."

Hastings and St Leonard's Observer, 1st August 1936.