Rhiannon's Latest Posts

Reporter lays the Sheffield "ghost"!
Early to-day I learnt the truth about the Wincobank ghost - there isn't one! All the "ghost's" visitations, beginning eight weeks ago with "a white form standing rigid under a gas lamp," can be accounted for. The "apparitions," like the figure under the gas-lamp, are now declared to have been really live persons ignorant of the scare they were creating.

[...] The "ghost" that disappeared from the top of a banking or ridge on Newman road was undoubtedly a man who had been collecting some white flowers from a garden and had tripped on the banking and fallen backwards. There is not the slightest doubt that a man did fall in this manner at the same place where the "ghost" was seen, and at the same time, and some time later this same man was helped home by a friend. I talked this morning with some of the searchers, who were of the opinion that mysterious "objects" which they had seen were nothing more than the result of white smoke from a smoldering garden fire shimmering against the background of the trees.

[...] But Wincobank is a place with a history, and there are some who will never allow their "ghost" to escape them. If you talk to some of the oldest residents you will hear tales of the old Roman settlement and the ghosts of Roman soldiers which march up and down, and of ghosts of more recent days which are connected with old Wincobank Hall, which is said to have been full of secret passages and panels.

BUGLEY FAIR. - There was a very small attendance of pleasure seekers at this fair, which as usual was held on Cley Hill on Palm Sunday. It is to be hoped that next year a still smaller number will be present.

Whether a relic of Druidism, or whether merely the vestige of some observance of Roman Catholic times, it has been a well-known custom for many generations to hold certain festivities on Palm Sunday upon Cley Hill, Bidcombe Down, and other lofty elevations in this neighbourhood. Crowds used to assemble in times past on these hills upon this particular Sunday, and amuse themselves in a variety of rough sports, from backsword playing to harmless competitions in rolling down the hill. It may be well imagined that such proceedings were not always of the most orderly kind, and that they were not particularly desirable on Sunday of all days of the week. Fortunately of late years the observance has almost entirely declined, and though a few people still keep up the old custom by walking up the hill and walking down again, no harm is now known to result from their so doing. It was stated that the old observance was to be revived on Sunday last by the Salvation Army, who, it was understood, intended to hold an open air service of a very demonstrative kind upon the top of Cley Hill. It had been feared that such a proceeeding might have revived the old abuses of the day to a certain extent, and it is therefore probably a matter for thankfulness that the Salvation Army did not carry out any such intention.

The usual practice of setting fire to various parts of Cley Hill on Palm Sunday was again observed this year. On the Warminster Downs, too, a fire was kindled in the afternoon, leaving a big black patch.

Altadavin - St. Patrick's Altar and Chair.

Altadavin though belonging to this parish of Errigal Truagh is situated in the County Tyrone. It is a picturesque wooded glen. Various explanations of the name have been given:- "The high place of Daimen." Daimen was high King of Airghialla 513 AD. It also means "Glen of the Gods" or "Glen of the Demons."

The glen is entered by a narrow path running by a clear stream, the precipitous sides being clothed with a dense growth of under wood surmounted with stately forest trees. About midway down the glen, a vast mass of rock, some three or four hundred yards long, covered with wood of natural growth, rises up leaving a choice of paths in the two narrow ravines. Keeping to the right a little green velvet lawn opens out before us. Right under the rock, that rises sheer and steep from the green sword, is a spring well issuing from a stone.

This lovely glen has an interesting history, a mingling of the older and the newer faiths. Tradition has it that in Pagan times the glen was sacred to the rites of Druidism. It is a very reasonable probability that St Patrick, on one of his visits to Clogher, made it his object to overthrow this centre of Druidical Cult, and following his usual course, dedicated this home of heathenism to the true God. Here, surrounded by tangled under wood is a rude altar formed of solid rock. The ledge that forms its table is four feet high, six feet long and two feet wide. Towards its centre is roughly chiselled to a smooth surface. It shows no other tool marks.

Opposite the Gospel side of the altar is a large rock, in the form of a high-backed chair, known as St Patrick's chair. The seat of this natural chair is about four feet high from the present ground level, and the back rises to a height of eight feet from the ground.

On a rocky platform overlooking the stretch of green, and some twenty feet above it, is a large square stone about five feet high in the top of which is scooped out a basin fourteen inches in diameter and twelve inches deep. There is a detached boulder sitting on other detached boulders, yet the basin on the driest summer day is to be found half full of water. It is affirmed that as often as it is emptied, it will, with in half an hour, fill up to the same level, and except as a result of rainfall, will not rise to a higher level. Science has not yet explained whence the water comes, or why it rises to a certain height. That it does so is an undoubted fact, and equally undoubted is the fact that no natural source of supply can be discovered.

Local tradition affirms that when St Patrick turned this stronghold of Druidism to Christianity, he was attended by a great concourse of people. Having converted large numbers of them, he proceeded to baptise them. Water was necessary. Here at hand was a font, and what surer method of strengthening the faith of those who still wavered, than by drawing water from a rock. He did so and the font has never since dried up.

The wooded glories of Altadaven have departed, the venerable timber that shaded the glen and that lent enchantment to the scene have been cut down and turned into money. However the Department of Forestry of the Government of 'N. Ireland' have replanted Altadavan, but many, many years must elapse ere the charm of by gone days can return.
Altadaven still holds a high place in the popular respect for many miles around, when crowds assemble at the time that the blae-berries are ripe, which usually falls about the last Sunday in July and first Sunday in August, known in the district as "the Big Sundays".

Last Sunday was one of the "big Sundays". I was there and I saw crowds and crowds of boys and girls all enjoying themselves, laughing, courting, singing, and dancing, some picking the ripe blae-berries, some climbing up to see St Patricks altar and chair, all wearing happy faces and enjoying themselves to their hearts' content. I went to see St Patrick's Well. It is near the chair, but a little further down in the rocks. There was a great number of pins and needles and hair pins in it, also a few coppers left by those who made a "Wish" at the Well.

Cathleen Sweeney 4th August1938.

About a mile to the north-east of Loch Loch, among the hills of Ben-y-Gloe in Perthshire, is a cairn known generally as Mackintosh's Cairn, sometimes as Comyn's Cairn (Carn a'Chuimeinich). It is said by tradition to mark the spot where, some centuries ago, a great chief of the Comyns was killed by a certain Mackintosh, who raised the stones as a monument of his act.

The story of the feud which culminated in the erection of this cairn has been told more than once. The main incidents, asa narrated on the authority of local tradition by Col. J. A. Robertson (author of Gaelic Topography and other works) in a small volume entitled The Earldom of Atholl, privately printed in 1860, are as follows: - The Comyns, on obtaining a footing in Atholl, at once commenced their usual practice of attacking their neighbours. Among these were the Mackintoshachs, or Mackintoshes, descendants of the old Toshachs or Thanes of Glentilt, who were attacked by the Comyns at a feast and all murdered, except a young child in a cradle. This child, Ewen, also called "Sherigan," grew up, and some fifteen years after the massacre attacked the Comyns at a place called Toldamph (Tolldamh, near Blair Atholl) and defeated them. The Comyns fled up Glentilt, and turned in at the stream which issues from Loch Loch, but Ewen, taking a near way through the hills of Ben Gloe, by a stream called Cromaldun, met their leader at Loch-na-diodd, and shot him. Colonel Robertson says that these events are supposed to have taken place about or soon after 1260, and that Ewen had a son named Angus, who obtained a "bounding charter" to his lands.

There is near the 'Cat and Fiddle' on the hill a large boulder stone known as Cock-Crow Stone, and it is said of the stone that every time it hears the cock crow it gets up and turns round.
An attempt was once made to move this stone, for it is believed that there is hidden beneath it a crock of gold. The stone, however, resisted all attempts of a team of horses to move it. When old houses are being pulled down it is a very common question to ask for 'the Crock.' Hoards of money have, indeed, been found which were hidden away in stormy times.

Simon's Barrow, Wellington.
The Devil's Lapful. The Blackdown Hills.
The Devil was carrying a load of stones to drop on Wellington Church. He had so many in his apron that he carried a few in his glove as well. Just on the top of the hills the strings of his leather apron broke, and the stones, scattered over an acre of ground, formed the Devil's Lapful, while in his flurry he dropped the rest, which formed the five small barrows known as the Devil's Glove.

There is a crock of gold buried somewhere near, but no one has found it. Many have tried, just as many have taken away the stones to make walls and gateways; but the Devil always brings them back, and inflicts some terrible punishment for disturbing Simon's Barrow.

On the Black-down Hills, just above the town, is a place named Symonsborough. Local tradition ascribes the name to the supposed fact that a British chieftain named Simond or Symmond fell in battle just at this spot. It used to be confidently asserted by the people living near the place that the barrow could never be lessened, because as fast as the stones composing it were drawn away more would miraculously come to fill their places. A man named James Bale, who died only a few years since, tested the correctness of the old legend, with the result that now neither the barrow nor any sign of it exists; but the spot is remembered in the name of Symonsborough hamlet, Great and Little Symonsborough farms, and the field names of Great Barrow Close and Little Barrow Close. A story which alternates with the foregoing in connexion with Symonsborough is that the stones were brought there by the Evil One in his apron. The place is, therefore, known to many as the 'Devil's Lapful'.

Many of the stones and most of the barrows are supposed to have treasure buried under them or near them, but it is dangerous to look for it and there are many stories of foiled attempts. The Caractacus Stone, for instance, standing on Winsford Hill, Exmoor, is said to be haunted by a ghostly team and their foolhardy driver who tried to uproot and drag the stone away to get at the treasure it conceals. The stone overturned the waggon and team and crushed the greedy waggoner. On foggy nights they are still to be heard and met.

Belfast without the Cave Hill, the Cave Hill without Belfast: Killarney without its lakes: the causeway without guides or specimens. We love the old mountain still, but the attention which was paid it in days of yore has ceased, I am afraid, for ever. The al fresco feasts, the joyous junketings, and the explorations of its wonderful caves no longer take place on its breezy slopes. Time was, and not so long ago, when the Cave Hill was famous for its Easter Monday revellings. The vicinity was thronged with country cousins, who gazed with awe at the Corsican's Head or scaled the dizzy height towards McArt's Fort [...]

A few years ago, when a local geologist discovered a marvellous diamond - a ponderous stone which weighed pounds avoirdupois instead of orthodox carats - I thought it would boom the Cave Hill into activity again. This matchless diamond was stated at the time to be a relic of Finn McCoul, the head of his breastpin in fact, but personally I do not believe the giant cared for, or wore such an adornment as a breastpin. I don't believe he even wore a waistcoat [...]

One might have supposed that a belief in magic and spells and fairies had all died away, and that in this very vulgar and materialistic and somewhat sceptical age, none could have been found, at least in this part of Ulster, to credit the tales of our grandmothers, and to act upon them. But there are some good people in Sandy-row who still retain the elder faith on these subjects - and, if works can prove the sincerity of conviction, theirs must be very sincere indeed. [...]

It is not gold, scattered about in dust or even in "nuggests," which formed the object of this search, but compactly laid up in chests - deposited, as the fairy records say, upon the summit of the "hill" by the Danes, in those days when they were compelled to make a hasty retreat from this part of the isle.

More than once have these gold-seekers struck upon these iron chests, but, just at that moment, the propitious influence was absent, and a kind of mysterious darkness and confusion fell upon their eyes. They believe, too, they heard a voice - "procul, o procul este profani" of the ancients. However this be, the chests still remain precisely where the Danes placed them, and these indefatigable Sandy-rowites are, at the present time, making inquiry, far and wide, for the seventh son of a seventh son, gifted with seventh sight, and possessing the power, as the legends tell, to take off the spell which has for ages rested upon this gold.

[...] You must not suppose that I am calling upon my imagination in this narrative. I give you the facts in my own way, it is true, but in substance exactly as I learned them from a person most intimately connected with one of these gold-seekers. [...]

The Torbarrow Legend at Cirencester.

Barrows in particular have been the objects of superstition. They have been looked upon as haunted by supernatural beings. They have been regarded as dwellings of ogres, or magicians, or the spirits of the dead. In the Bodleian library at Oxford is preserved an account printed in 1685 of the opening of a barrow near Cirencester. It is to the following effect:

"Two men digging a gravel pit at the foot of the hill or barrow, having sunk four yards deep, discovered an entrance into the hill, where they found several rooms with their furniture, which, being touched, crumbled to dust. In one of them were several images and urns, some with ashes, others full of coins, with Latin inscriptions on them. Entering another, they were surprised at seeing the figure of a man in armour, having a truncheon in its hand, and a light in a glass-like lamp burning before it. At their first approach the image made an effort to strike; so at the second step, with greater force; but at the third it struck a violent blow, which broke the glass to pieces and extinguished the light.

Having a lantern, they had just time to observe that on the left hand lay two heads emblamed, with long beards, and the skin looking like parchment, when hearing a hollow noise like a groan they hastily quitted those dark apartments, and immediately the earth fell in and buried all the curiosities."

We may perhaps regard this as a highly-sensational account of a real incident, but as we could not for a moment admit the existence of the magical statue and the lamp, we must suppose that the idea of such things had been floating about in people's minds ready to root itself upon any convenient spot.

The members of the Isle of Man Natural History and Antiquarian Society have had a pleasant and interesting excursion to the South of the Island. [...] The weather was delightfully fine and the excursion on that account proved most enjoyable. [...]

Making their way with some little difficulty along rocky paths and muddy lanes, the party passed Bradda Mountain Fairy Hill, which rises abruptly from a flat and rather boggy piece of land between Port Erin and the Rushen parish church. The origin of this mound is a matter of dispute. Geologists and antiquarians both claim it as their own, and until the mound is properly explored it is difficult to say whether it falls within the province of the one or the other, though certainly the theory that it was artificially formed appears the more probable one.

[...] Dr. Tellet remarked that it had been said the mound had been put up to commemorate the death of Reginald, son of Olave the Black, King of Man, who was slain in 1249, - Mr. Kermode said he thought it was Cumming who had first suggested that, but so far as he (Mr. Kermode) knew there was no authority for it.

[...] Mr. Kelly, of Ballaquinnea, some months ago had given them a sort of fairy story about this hill, which was known as Cronk Howe Mooar, which meant "The Big Hill." Howe was simply the Scandinavian word for cronk or hill.

The story was to the effect that a man, wandering about at night, saw a brilliant light on the hill and came there, when he saw great festivities going on amongst the fairies. He was invited to drink some wine, but a friendly voice whispered to him not to do so. He threw the cup to the ground, and immediately the lights were extinguished and the fairies rushed at him. He dashed along in an easterly direction through the bog followed by the fairies, and made his way towards one of the farms in the neighbourhood. In crossing the water he purposely stepped in the water and not on the dry stones. The fairies were calling out to him to keep on the stones and not in the water, but he was careful not to obey them.

[...] Mr. Kermode went on to refer to the tradition of the mound having been opened early in the present century, and said that might account for the deepening of the hollow in the centre of the top of the mound, nevertheless it seemed probable that the place had been fortified by the erection of a rampart round about the mound. The mound (he said) was private property; and on that account great difficulty had beenexperienced in trying to obtain permission to explore it.

[...] It afterward transpired that the land belonged to Mr. Turnbull, of Port Erin. Mr. Turnbull is himself interested in archaeological research, and would raise no objection to the opening of the mound, but objections have been raised - ostensibly on the ground of the injury it would cause to the adjacent fields. There is reason to think, however, that some superstition may underlie the difficulty encountered in regard to the proposed exploration of this interesting mound. [...]

The Kempstonehill, the scene of this grim legend, is a moor several hundred acres in extent, about 432 feet above sea level. It is on the Cowie estate, and lies about two miles south of Stonehaven. On the summit of the ridge two unchiselled stones have stood up for untold centuries, and it is from these that the hill derives its name.

Tradition says that a battle was fought on the moor, and there can be little doubt that tradition in this instance is correct, though it is not necessary to agree with the belief strongly held by Robert Barclay of Ury that it was here that Galgacus was defeated by Agricola.

One of the stones, according to an immemorial legend, marks the spot where a chief of the defending army had his head cut off, and the other indicates the spot where he fell, after traversing the intervening eighty yards on horseback and headless.
J. D.

By the Rev. Thomas Hannan.

The recent announcement that the proprietor of the small estate of the Burg has given or bequeathed it to the National Trust for Scotland recalls to my mind many journeys which I have made from my summer quarters at Lochbuie, on the south shores of Mull, to the wild and interesting peninsula on the west side of the island which bears the name of Ardmeanach. The western end of that peninsula is easily the wildest part of Mull - rugged in the extreme, in many parts terrifying in aspect; the last and almost inaccessible home of fairies, glaistigs, and grugachs. The Burg is on the southern side of the peninsula, very near the western end; Tavool or Tapul, another house famous in fairy lore, is on the way to Burg from Tiroran, the residence eastward of Brigadier General Cheape; and the wonderful fossil tree is about the middle of the western end of the peninsular.

... At Tavool the farmer's wife was much troubled by the officious help of the fairies, who seem to have lived at Dun Burg; and "the rhyme of the goodman of Tapull's servants" - that is, the fairies - is a testimony to their desire for work -
Let me comb, card, tease, spin;
Get a weaving loom, quick;
Water for fulling on the fire;
Work, work, work.
Of course, all that is in Gaelic, which is the language of the fairies as well as of the people, and the results of their work were seldom equal to their zeal.

An example of this unfortunate trait is associated with The Burg, which is nearer than Tavool to Dun Burg. The good lady of the house had seen her husband and family to bed, and had sat up to do some weaving in the quiet of the night. But she had already spent a busy day with the farm and the cows and the hens and the children, and was tired. So she sighed and said - "Oh that some one would come from land or sea, from far or near, to help me with the work of weaving this cloth." This was quite enough, for the fairies are inveterate eavesdroppers.

A knock came to the door at once, and a voice said - "Tall Inary, good housewife, open the door to me, for so long as I have, you will get." Inary opened the door, and a woman in green entered and sat down at the spinning wheel and got busy. That was satisfactory enough; but knock after knock came, and fairy after fairy entered and set to work, until the room was full of fairies, all making the most awful noise. Then they wanted food, and the more they ate the hungrier they became, so that Inary was veritably being eaten out of house and home. At last, when she had baked the last of her flour and meal, she went and stood on a hillock outside the door, and cried - "Dun Burg is on fire." That fetched the whole tribe out of her house to save their own.

As they rushed out, she rushed in and barricaded the door. But they came back, very angry; and she had a terrible business to prevent the spell-bound spinning wheel, distaff, wool cards, fulling water, and other things which the "good people" had used, from admitting the crowd again. As fully told it is a very long story.

The following story is handed down, generation after generation, in this parish, of Cidwm and Elen Lleuddog. When Elen was marching with her army from the south to Caer Eryri, her youngest son marched his men from Segontium to meet and welcome her. One of her sons, whose name was Cidwm, - the Welsh for wolf, - was an impulsive and prodigal fellow; he was filled with a deep rooted jealousy toward his youngest brother, and was ever planning to take away his life.

He had heard of this march, and had hid himself on the high and precipitous cliff on Mynydd Mawr, close by Llyn Tarddeni, beneath which ran the Roman road. He had watched his opportunity, bent on shooting his unsuspecting brother as he passed with his men.

In the meantime Elen had marched as far as the hills which join the hills of Nanmor, and was resting herself and her men by a sweet, clear spring on the roadside, in the parish of Llanfrothen. In marching through Nant y Bettws, her son had taken the rear of the regiment, and walked behind them all.

Cidwm's opportunity had come, but as he emerged from his hiding-place, one of the soldiers saw him and recognised him. His bow was bent, and his arrow aimed, before his cruel intention flashed upon the mind of the soldier, who, as soon as he could collect himself, shouted, "Llech yr Ola'" (Last man, hide). Quick as lightning was the cry taken up by the whole regiment; but before the last man had time to take in the warning, the arrow of the fratricide had dealt him a deadly blow.

The sad news was immediately conveyed to his mother by a batch of soldiers, and when she heard it she threw down her sword, lifted up her hands, and cried, "Croes awr, croes awr i mi!" ("Sad hour, sad hour for me!").

The well at which she sat is called "Ffynon Croesor" (Croesor Well) to this day, and the village which has grown within a couple of hundred yards of it has been named "Croesor" from it.

The Stone Circle is situated two miles east of Glandore and half a mile south of Kilfaughnabeg Roman Catholic Church. It is composed of fourteen stones, arranged in the shape of a large circle. Some of the stones which form the circle are small and others tall. There is one horizontal stone inside the circle on the west side and if you stand on that stone with the rising of the sun on a May morning the sun points to a stone on the south east side of the circle and if you stand on the same horizontal stone on the morning of June 21st the sun points to a stone in the north east of the circle.

Some of the old people say that Cliodna is buried here and that each stone has certain meaning.

The stone circle was ancient when St Patrick came to Ireland and it is the unwritten history of our ancient civilisation.

There is an Ogham stone on Castletimon road between Dunganstown and Ballinacarrig, and it is believed that a Queen was buried under it. There is no writing on it except lines and strokes. It is also believed that there is money under it. It is about two and a half yards long and two feet wide.

A story is told of a woman who took that stone to make a doorstep, but on the following morning she found it had returned to the place from which she had taken it.

Another story relates that when the Wicklow pier was being built, men were travelling through the county, gathering up big stones to help to build it, and a man named Dickenson now residing in Rathnew brought the Ogham stone in Co. Wicklow and wondering at the marks that were on it, showed it to a priest who told him to take it back to its former place. It is also believed that a priest explained the meaning of the marks thus:- "Here lieth a princess; she was possessed of the devil."

This is the field on the opposite side of the road from the 'Druidical Circle' in Castleruddery Lower.

There is supposed to be a big crock of gold hidden in Tutty's Terrace field. The name of the man that put it there is Pat Kenny.

One time there were three men who went to dig up the gold. The names of those men were Tom Cullen, Peter Condron and Jim Toole. But when they dug down they met a big stone, and then a goat with three legs came running across the field. The men paid no heed to the goat. But when they went to raise the stone, the goat leaped in on them and killed one of the men. The other two jumped out and filled in the hole and no one made any more attempt to dig for the gold.

And another strange thing about that same place is that there is a light seen at three special times of the year. The light goes all around the place for about a quarter of an hour and then it disappears again.

Proleek is suituated about four miles from Dundalk. To reach the big stone you have to travel over some fields before you arrive at the spot. There are three massive horizontal stones in shape on which the big stone rests which weighs a few tons. Not far away from the stone is the giant's grave.
The people of the district tell us, that if you can place three stones without falling on top of the big stone you will be married inside a year. Old people warn us to clear out of the place before 6'oclock or wee people will carry you away for ever.
It is said to be a great meeting place of the fairies. The old people tell us that they have often seen the small red man.

This is an outstanding monument in the district. In consists of three upright stones about eight feet in height supporting an enormous boulder of about 50 tons. It is locally called the giant's load and it is said the giant who put it up got his death of drinking of waters from the river these being poisoned by an enemy. Others say it is a monument over some mighty chieftain of old, but in truth little is known about its origin.

Giant's grave.
About 100 yards from the cromlech is an enclosure in the shape of a grave. It is locally called the "giant's grave" meaning of course that the giant who met his death as the result of the poisoned waters lies in it.

The name of the monument is variously given as Lob-in-a-sigh, Leaba an Sidh; on the Ordnance Survey map it is recorded as Labbanasigha. O'Donovan says the monument was called "Leaba na Saighe (Lectus canis venatica) where it is supposed a famous huntsman of old interred a favourite greyhound bitch." Perhaps it is not unreasonable to suggest in the light of the discovery of the javelin mould that the name may have some connection with the Irish word saighead (spearhead).

Calverley Woods at one time had a wishing well, of the ebbing and flowing type, and more than a local reputation for the quality of its water.

Also in the woods was a rocking stone. This was a huge block of stone which at the slightest touch rocked.

On wild, dark nights it was said that a headless horse rider could be seen. The rider was supposed to be Sir Walter de Calverley, who murdered his two sons, Walter and William, but the locals added: "It had to be very dark," or you could not see him, he rode so fast.

"Have you any pixies in this neighbourhood?"
A rustic, who hesitated at first, shook his head, and said he "didn' think any ov 'em was left now," induced a woman standing by to say, "Ees there was;" and she pointed to a high ground covered with granite boulders (the scene was at Lustleigh), and said "You may go and zee the pixy holes for yourself up there. They comes there be night, and people goes to zee 'em; but they don't come out by day."
"Did you ever go? did you ever see them?"
She did not like to go there by night, but she had herself seen the "pixy holes," and she "knaw'd that volks did go there, and did zee 'em in the moonlight."
One of the company asked what they could find to eat in that wild place? and the answer was, "Perhaps 'twas mushrooms."
"Oh," said one of the listeners, "then they did not get any thing to eat for more than six weeks of the whole year," when a rustic wit responded, "Perhaps they larn'd how to pickle 'em."

Knocklearoch, in Islay, stands for Cnoc-Cleireach - i.e., the Hill of the Clerics. The following tradition regarding the locality, as told by Mr Hector MacLean of Ballygrant, Islay, is cited by Captain Thomas: "There is a tradition that two clerics were hanged, and that the day on which they were hanged was remarkably stormy. So it has been a byword in Islay ever since I remember, when a cold and stormy day came on, 'This day is worse than the day on which the clerics were hanged.' At Knocklearoch are two monoliths called Na Cleirich, 'The Clerics,' and under these, tradition relates, the two clerics were buried. (PSAS vol. xvi, p267).

Cnoc-samhna (Knocksouna) is a hill on the south of Kilmallock. There is an opening in the side of the hill and a person could enter it. Often, at night-time a hunt in full cry has been heard round about the hill.

also:
There's no doubt about it, the fairies are there. My own daughter saw them in a field near Knocksouna - a host of them, little people wearing red coats. Of course they never appear to people in sin, and they never harm the innocent.

A big giant long ago threw a large stone from Carn Roe outside Scotshouse to Shontamon Mountain in the County Cavan. The giant was about nine feet high and had two heads. He was afterwards buried under a big stone on Carnroe because Carn was the highest hill in the district. There is some mark on the stone which can still be seen.
From Jack Donohoe, Scotshouse.

There are many versions of this story in the neighbourhood. Some say the giant threw a stone from Sliabh Glah in Cavan to Carnroe, whilst others say it was from Cuilcagh Mountain he threw the stone. All are agreed that the giant was buried in the old "Giant's Grave" on Carnroe.

There is a "giants grave" on my father's farm in the townland of Carnroe. There are three stones, two standing upwards and one across. One of the stones is about four feet long and the others about three feet long. On one of the stones the letter "J" was cut, but it is not to be seen now. It is at the head of a field beside the road. - Edmund Burke.

From the summits of a hill in the Deer Park at Swythamley two great stones which manifestly must be heavily counterpoised at the other end project themselves some eight feet into space where they hang in the air as if they were the beetling brows on the head of this pine-clad eminence.

Here they have hung through untold centuries - local tradition says, ever since they were left there by the Flood; when, maybe, they frowned upon the slow subsidence of the sullen waters.

Two centuries ago, however, it was proved by a local antiquarian that the construction is palpably an artificial one; that it constitutes what has been called a "Charemluach," or Hill-altar, such as certain ancient races were accustomed to offer their sacrifices upon. This Staffordshire example of a Charemluach is known as The Hanging Stone, a name to which the word Stone-henge is literally equivalent.

An Historical Sketch of Markinch.

Boulder Stones.

About five hundred yards west from the farm of Balfarg, which is situated about one mile from Markinch, are two large stones, one about six feet in height and the other a little less.

According to legendary lore they are two 'tackets' which have fallen from the boots of a great giant who had been taking a quiet walk in that part of the district.

Another version is that the devil was carrying a quantity of stones in his apron when one of the strings broke, thus scattering his load on the ground. He picked them all up except two of the smallest, which he thought he would leave to puzzle the brain of geologists and antiquarians. Kind old gentleman!

Some folks suppose they are two Druidical stones but we think that they are two stones of the Siberian strata, which lies below the old red sandstone. In many parts they lie above the lighter limestone formation which, according to geology, ought to be the uppermost of the two. The explanation which science gives regarding the boulder stones is that they have been deposited there by icebergs or glaciers.

There is more than one tale told of 'Domhnull-nam-mogan's' encounter with a 'bocan'. A bocan is one of those dreaded visitants from another world, sometimes taking human form, sometimes animal form, and sometimes the form of inanimate things such as a ship. Domhnull-nam-mogan, a religious man who lived in Tormore, was returning late from a visit to a friend in Machrie, by way of Machrie Water and Tormore Moss, when he was met at a spot near the standing stones by a 'bocan'.

The bocan was of such a size that Donald could see all Aird Bheinn between his legs. Quite undaunted by such stature, Donald requested that the 'bocan' assume the size and appearance he had when living on earth, and the latter complying, Donald immediately remarked that he now recognised him.

He further remarked that the 'bocan' must be in possession of the secrets of a good many mysteries. 'Would he say what had happened to Angus Dubh when the latter was lost on a journey from Lamlash to Shisken [Shiskine] by way of the Clachan [Clauchan] Glen? He (the bocan) in all probability had a hand in doing away with Angus.'

The 'bocan' denied that he had any hand in the crime, but he knew plenty about it, and who did hurl Angus over a certain cliff. Donald then asked to be shown a treasure, and was told to come to a certain place in Gleann-an-t-suidhe on the following night, but without the darning needle in his bonnet, the little dog at his heel, and the ball of worsted in his pocket. Donald took counsel as to the advisability of such a course, and as a result did not keep the appointment.

There is a legend about the King's Caves to the effect that there is a subterranean passage from the caves to somewhere else in Arran. An adventurous piper undertook to explore this passage, armed only with his bagpipe and accompanied by his dog. After he had proceeded some distance he met with enemies, because the following wailing words were played loudly upon his pipe, which clearly indicated that he could proceed no farther.

Mo dhith! Mo dhith" 's gun tri laimh agam.
Bhiodh da laimh 'sa phiob 'us lamh 'sa chlaidheamh;

which might be literally rendered in English -

Woe's me, woe is me not having three hands,
Two for the pipe and one for the sword.

He, the piper, never returned; his dog, however, made his way out, but bereft of his hair.

A hill at Corriegills, called Dundubh (Black Mount), was said to have a cave in which the fairies lived, and this cave was full of treasure. To this home of the fairies an old man called Fullarton would betake himself, as often as he felt inclined. He frequently took a stocking with him and sat knitting and talking with the fairies. But the fairies were not always inclined to let any one away if they could detain him. Fullarton was aware of this fact, and always placed a darning needle in the collar of his jacket, or took a piece of rowan with him; when these precautions were taken by a person, the fairies had no power over them. On one occasion, however, he had omitted to take either of these objects, with the result that the cave nearly closed before he could escape.

Three men were returning home in a cart, when, at the top of the hill on the road between Lamlash and Brodick, the horse stood still and snorted, and showed signs of fear, and as though it saw something it did not want to pass. After much urging on the part of the driver, the horse made a bolt forward past a certain spot. The men looked back to see what had frightened the animal, and saw a number of small figures, twelve to eighteen inches in height, on the road behind them. The fairies did them no harm beyond taking the door off the cart. This occurred within the last fifty years, and the relater heard it from one of the men who had been in the cart.

In bygone days it is said a battle had been fought near Slidderie Water between Fionn's forces and some others. A great many were slain and buried near the field of slaughter.

This had become a dreaded place by the natives, as it was said to be haunted, owing to the ground having been tilled, which disturbed the rest of these dead warriors.

The shades of the dead that traversed these quiet regions in the lone hours of night were awesome in the extreme, and had evidently been visible not only to persons but also to animals; and the following instance is related.

A certain man had been on the road with his horse and cart, when without warning the horse stood still and would proceed no farther. His ears stood up, while he snorted and was sweating from evident fear. The reason of this soon became known, for there rose before the man's vision like as it were a small cloud or mist, which grew larger and larger till it became a great size, but it was not only a cloud; whether in it or of it the cloud had taken an uncanny form of a wraith.

This man had met this unwelcome thing more than once.

Bredon Hill Ramble.

Members of the Cheltenham Rambling Club enjoyed a ramble to Bredon Hill. Alighting from the train at Ashchurch they went to Tewkesbury by road. The party then divided, some members taking the river path to Twyning whilst the others went via Shuthonger Common.

The whole party then crossed the river by ferryboat, and made their way by fieldpath to the picturesque village of Bredon. After lunch the ramblers ascended Bredon Hill and spent some time examining the King and Queen Stones reputed to be capable of curing rickets. ...

... A later generation than the old wife has been known to pour out a libation of good red port to "whatever gods may be," during the exhilaration which followed reaching the highest point of our county - the cairn on Kinderlow. There was folk lore in this too. The climbers were of a hard, sceptical kind, believing in nothing, not even in themselves, yet they wasted good wine on this ritual. There on the top, against the sky, the present day world had dropped away and there was a feeling of being surrounded by they know not what elemental forces moulding the timeworn world.

The house in which Dr. Borlase, the famous antiquary, was born, was the next place of interest to be visited [Pendeen Manor House], and here Mr. Millett read a paper dealing with the history of the old mansion and its most interesting features. He reminded his hearers that there was a tradition to the effect that John Wesley had once preached in that very farmyard, bu the founder of Methodism makes no allusion to the fact in his diary, and it rests on very slender evidence.

A hundred yards or so from the house is Pendeen Vau, an artificial cave of considerable extent, which according to local legends, stretches many miles under the sea. Some have even said that you can, if you only know the way, and have sufficient courage, enter the cave at Pendeen and emerge from it at Scilly!

The explorations of our antiquaries did not extend so far, but they traversed the cave from one end to the other, without finding one particle of the "fairy gold" which is said to exist in its walls, or seeing any of the "little people" who are reported to haunt it.

In Heapstown which is near Lake arrow there is a large heap of stones which is higher than a house. It is said that they came there in one night. It is also said that a prince is buried under it and that everybody who went to the funeral placed a stone over the grave.

In a townland, named Boleycarrigan, in this locality, there is a place called "The Griddle Stones". The stones are standing around in a ring, on which Finn Mc Cool was supposed to have made his griddle cakes. In the centre of this ring there is a cave leading through the hillside on to Killranelagh, which highway men used to retreat with their gold, when they would be after robbing some man on the road or mountain passes. Old people say the gold is hidden there still.

Annie Byrne, Keadeen. My father, Joseph Byrne, aged about 49 years, told me this story

Mr Michael Toole of Kelsha, Kiltegan tells me that not far from the 'griddle-stones' in the land owned Mr James Reilly of Ballycarrigeen, is a cave just a few yards out from these larger stones referred to earlier on in this book as "Finn MacCumhail's griddle-stones."
Mr Toole knows where the cave is but says that it is now closed up. There was a passage leading down to it, stone steps, and underneath was a spacious room.

On the western side of Keadeen Mountain is a place where Finn Mac Cumail and his wife are supposed to have died. The remarkable thing about it is that even when the rest of the mountain looks green in the distance, the two brown patches stand out in contrast to the rest, and appear like two huge giants reclining on the mountainside.
In this townland also is a group of large stones so arranged as to form a circle.
These go by the name of Finn Mac Cumail's Griddlestones.

Between this cromlech and the top of Knockree there is a 'Giant's Stone' which has not a flaw in it.

It is said that the druids used worship here and here two kings held council when forming up and making a [drove?] to the top of the hill and down the far side and then up the valley to a fort.

Those taking part went on foot and horseback and it is said they went that route up to 30 years ago. Old people said they heard them regularly. Two men told J- S- that they used see bright lights under this cromlech.

The horses made a great noise galloping over the rocky hill and down by Lacken.

The wood of Lacken situated on the hill was replanted with young trees 80 years ago but after two years the ghostly route was mysteriously burned from the top to the bottom of the hill. Not a tree grew till it was replanted again 5 years ago.

[?] (says Mr J- S-) that half of the trees on the old route are now dwarfed and the other half are dead.

In the townland of Carrickacleven there is a little garden and in it there is a rock shaped like a mouth. It is said that there is money under it, and an old woman minding it and there is to be a life lost at the getting of it.

In the same townland there is a house with five big stones and the one on top is said to bear the weight of six tons. A long time ago there were priests and ministers at it and they said there is an old chieftain buried there and all his riches with him in a crock coffin.

Some people came to it one night after they heard what was under it. They dug until they came to a flag that is over the chieftain and they could get no further. So no one ever went near it after that.

In a field in Meeambee in the parish of [?], there is to be seen a cromlech. It is called locally Leabaidh Éirn.
There were four upright slabs, some of which are now fallen, topped by a huge oblong slab, many tons weight.
Near at hand there is a circular raised mound of earth enclosed by bushes called "The Fort" which his believed to be visited by the fairies. None of the bushes have been cut down, lest some dire misfortune should follow. A chieftain named Earn is popularly supposed to have lived in this district.