Rhiannon

I remember, when I was a child, between seventy and eighty years ago, being told that the stones could be successfully counted only by laying a loaf of bread beside each. To mark each stone by something to prevent one being missed or counted twice over seems natural ; but why a loaf of bread? [...] I think it probable that I had this from a nursery-maid who came from Mere in Wiltshire, and who had a taste for the marvellous.

O. Fisher.
Harlton, Cambridge, October 19.

From volume 64 of Nature, Oct. 31st, 1901.

In April, 1895, Mr. Albany F. Major (hon. sec. Viking Club) and myself went on a visit to Kits Coity House above Aylesford, Kent. At the foot of Blue Bell Hill on the way to Kits Coity there are a number of sarsens in a field. On inquiring of a rustic as to their whereabouts, in directing us to them he informed us that a baker had made a bet he would count them and placed a loaf upon each stone in order to count them correctly. [...]
R. Ashington Bullen.

From Nature v65 (1901). “Rustic.” It reminds you of the recent “pleb” remark does it not, pretty casual disdain?

On the hill behind Byre cleugh is a very curious and remarkably-shaped cairn called the Deil’s Mitten, which, according to tradition, marks the burial place of a Pictish King.

This monument is deserving of more careful investigation. In the old Statistical report of the parish of Longformaeus, it is described by the Rev. Selby Orde, as “a heap of stones 80 yards long, 25 broad, and 6 high, collected probably by some army, to perpetuate a victory or other remarkable event,” Vol. I., 71. In the new Statistical report, the Rev. Henry Riddell observes “that a large heap of stone at Byrecleugh, 240 feet long, 76 broad, and 18 high, appears to attest a similar conflict. The stones have been carried to their present place from a crag half a mile distant. They have received the name of meeting stones, but there is no authentic account of the occasion that led to their accumulation.” Vol. II., 94. In Towler’s map of Berwickshire, 1826, they are called the meeting stones.

From volume 6 of the History of the Berwickshire Naturalists’ Club (1869).

As late as 1889 the members of a Cornish antiquarian society went down a lane east of Morvah church. To the west of this lane was a stone of about a ton weight. They were told this was the Giant’s Grave by tradition, and the ’ “old people” used to hear voices from beneath it.’ They were also told it marked the pit-fall made of an old mine-adit by Jack [the giant-killer, that is], and how when the giant came storming down the hill and fell in they piled stones on him and crushed him. If one walked three times round the stone and threw stones at it, even now one might still hear him roar.... It was this ‘happy event’ – the giant’s death – siad the guide, that was commemorated by Morvah Feast.

It would be better to read the original, in the Penzance Natural History and Antiquarian Society volume for 1888-9, but this is from B C Spooner’s summary in Folklore v76 (spring 1965), ‘The Giants of Cornwall’.

Unlike many of the circles, this one, for some reason at present unknown to me, enjoys an extended reputation and is the centre of attraction to large numbers of the residents in the locality on a certain day or days in autumn.

Extremely vague, it could be anything. But it seems now is the season to visit. From Fred Coles’ report on the stone circles of the NE of Scotland, in PSAS v35 (1900-1).

It’s possibly a bit cheeky to add this as I don’t know where it is. But let’s face it, it’s unlikely to have wandered off somewhere. And while large rocks like Allt an Airgid exist very nearby, I’d dearly like to think this is somewhere around too, and not so far from the circle at Killin.

I have scoured the 25 and 6 inch maps for a sign without luck. But we do know that it is/was on the estate of Auchmore House (now demolished) and it was in woodland. There’s an offputting amount of forest today, but 100 years ago it was mostly confined to the area north of the road: see here for example.

The other stone ... to which I alluded to is in the woods of Auchmore at Killin... This stone is called Fuaran na Druidh Chasad, or the Well of the Whooping-Cough. I heard of it ... from a native of Killin, who remembered vividly when a boy having been taken to drink the water in the cavity of the stone, in order to cure the whooping-cough, from which he was suffering at the time. Happening to be in Killin lately ... I made inquiries in the village; but though some of the older inhabitants remembered having heard of the stone, and the remarkable practice connected with it, I could not get any one to describe the exact locality of it to me, so completely has the superstition passed away from the mind of the present generation. I went twice in search of the stone; and though, as I afterwards found, I had been within a very short distance of it unawares on both occasions, I was unsuccessful in finding it. At least I met an old man, and after some search we found the stone, and he identified it.

I understood then what had puzzled me before, viz., why it should have been called Fuaran or Well, for I had supposed it had a cavity in a stone like that at Fernan. It was indeed a cavity; but it was in the projecting side of the stone, not on its top surface. It consisted of a deep basin penetrating through a dark cave-like arched recess into the heart of the stone. It was difficult to tell whether it was natural or artificial, for it might well have been either, and was possibly both; the original cavity having been a mere freak of nature – a weather-worn hole – afterwards perhaps enlarged by some superstitious hand, and adapted to the purpose for which it was used.

Its sides were covered with green cushions of moss; and the quantity of water in the cavity was very considerable, amounting probably to three gallons or more. Indeed, so natural did it look, so like a fountain, that my guide asserted that it was a well formed by the water of an underground spring bubbling up through the rock. I said to him, “Then why does it not flow over?” That circumstance he seemed to regard as a part of its miraculous character to be taken on trust.

I put my hand into it, and felt all round the cavity where the water lay, and found, as was self-evident, that its source of supply was from above and not from below; that the basin was simply filled with rain water, which was prevented from being evaporated by the depth of the cavity, and the fact that a large part of it was within the arched recess in the stone, where the sun could not get access to it. I was told that it was never known to be dry – a circumstance which I could well believe from its peculiar construction.

The stone, which was a rough irregular boulder, somewhat square shaped, of mica schist, with veins of quartz running through it, about 8 feet long and 5 feet high, was covered almost completely with luxuriant moss and lichen; and my time being limited, I did not examine it particularly for traces of cup-marks. There were several other stones of nearly the same size int he vicinity, but there was no evidence, so far as I could see, of any sepulchral or religious structure in the place.

There is indeed a small, though well-formed and compact so-called Druidical circle ... within a short distance on the meadow near Kinnell House ...

... The superstition connected with it has survivied in the locality for many ages. It has now passed away completely, and the old stone is utterly neglected. The path leading to it, which used to be constantly frequented, is now almost obliterated. This has come about within the last thirty years, and one of the principle causes of its being forgotten is that the site is now part of the private policies of Auchmore.

The landlady of the house at Killin, where I resided, remembered distinctly having been brought to the stone to be cured of the whooping-cough; and at the foot of it, there are still two flat stones that were used as steps to enable children to reach up to the level of the fountain, so as to drink its healing waters; but they are now almost hidden by the rank growth of grass and moss...

From ‘Notice of two boulders having rain-filled cavities...’ by H Macmillan, in the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, v18 (1883-4).

If it was to be found, I think the description is detailed enough that you would be sure. There is a slightly unenlightening picture in the scan at the ADS website.

One for fans of rock-art folklore. The stone’s Canmore record isn’t sure that all the cupmarks are man-made, but it’s willing to go for ‘at least four’.

In the district of Breadalbane, Perthshire – which has in it the Pool of St Fillans, famous for its supposed power of curing mentally afflicted persons – there are two boulders with water-filled cavities, which have a local reputation for their healing virtues. One is at Fernan, situated on the north side of Loch Tay, about three miles from Kenmore. It is a large rough stone with an irregular outline, somewhat like a rude chair, in the middle of a field immediately below the farmhouse of Mr Campbell, Borland. The rest of the field is ploughed; but the spot on which it stands is carefully preserved as an oasis amid the furrows. The material of which it is composed is a coarse clay slate; and the stone has evidently been a boulder transported to the spot from a considerable distance.

In the centre on one side there is a deep square cavity capable of holding about two quarts of water. I found it nearly full, although the weather had been unusually dry for several weeks previously. There were some clods of earth around it, and a few small stones and a quantity of rubbish in the cavity itself, which defiled the water. This I carefully scooped out, and found the cavity showing unmistakeable evidence of being artificial. On the upper surface of the stone I also discovered seven faint cup-marks, very much weather-worn; two of them associated together in a singular manner, and forming a figure like the eyes of a pair of spectacles.

The boulder goes in the locality by the name of Clach-na-Cruich, or the Stone of the Measles; and the rain-water contained in its cavity, when drunk by the patient, was supposed to be a sovereign remedy for that disease. At one time it had a wide reputation, and persons afflicted with the disease came from all parts of the district to drink its water. Indeed, there are many persons still alive who were taken in their youth, when suffering from this infantile disease, to the stone at Fernan; and I have met a man not much past forty, who remembers distinctly having drunk the water in the cavity when suffering from measles.

It is is only within the lifetime of the present generation that the Clach-na-Cruich has fallen into disuetude. I am not sure, indeed, whether any one has resorted to it within the last thirty years. Its neglected state would seem to indicate that all faith in it had for many years been abandoned.

From ‘Notice of two boulders having rain-filled cavities...’ by H Macmillan, in the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, v18 (1883-4), which you can read at the ADS website.

Carnedd Llwyd on Moel Gallt-y-Llyn.
This is a large carnedd situated near the summit of the above named mountain [...] close to a boundary wall dividing the Nantcow and Gwastad-fryn sheep-walks. It measured about forty-five feet in diameter from east to west. It was reputed to be the repository of treasure; and some years ago an old woman, goaded by nightly visions and dreams, became so impressed with this idea, that she made a vigorous attack upon it; but the wished for prize was dashed from her thirsty lips by an avenging storm of thunder and lightning, as she herself affirms. This old lady is still living, I believe. The story was told to me by one of our workmen, who was acquainted with her.

From Archaeologia Cambrensis v3 (1852).

A halt was made at a pit, and [the Rev. W. Barnes] observed that military men wondered how the people taking refuge in these fortifications obtained water [...] This pit was in the shape of an inverted cone. Some thought that it had been a chalk-pit. [...] Others thought it was a cattle-pond, but it was too steep to be used for such a purpose. Dr. Cowdell had told him that he dug at the bottom of the pit, and found it to be lined with flint stones, and his (Dr. Cowdell’s) theory was that the pit was used as a tank, in which the occupants of the castle placed the water fetched from the spring for their use. At the present time he did not believe the pit would hold water for any length of time.

The Rev. C. W. Bingham observed there was a tradition as well founded as traditions generally were, that once upon a time a goose was put into this hole, and the same afternoon it came up at the town pump of Durnovaria [Dorchester].

From ‘The Gentleman’s Magazine’, September 1865.

This is highly speculative I’m afraid. I know I’ve got the right place, as I can see the stone marked on maps even as recent as the 1960s. It sounds like an unworked stone, from the extract below. But is it something more interesting?

Maen Y Gweddiau – The Stone of Prayer.
On the Ordnance map, about three or four miles north-east of Coelbren Chapel, among the mountains, Maen y Gweddiau is marked. It is on an open hill, called the Thousand Acres, which is, I believe, private property, and is nothing more than a single flat stone, one of the landmarks between the parishes of Ystradgynlais and Ystradfellte, on which the rector of Ystradgynlais, when perambulating the boundaries of the parish, used to kneel and read prayers to those who accompanied him – hence it is called the Stone of Prayer. The custom has always been observed on every occasion of walking the boundaries, which used to take place every seven years. I could not learn anything as to the origin of the custom, but it is undoubtedly very ancient.

From ‘Brecknockshire Traditions’ in Archaeologia Cambrensis, April 1858.

The stone is by the river on the floodplain of the Severn, and not so far from the modern national boundary.

Later on Beuno went to Berriew, in Montgomeryshire, where he was given lands also. But one day whilst there he heard a Saxon shouting to his dogs to pursue a hare on the further side of the Severn, and he at once resolved to leave a place made odious to him, because within sound of the English tongue. In a rage he returned sharply to his disciples, and said, “My sons, put on your clothes and shoes, and let us leave this place, for the nation of this man has a strange language which is abominable, and I heard his voice. They have invaded this land, and will keep it.” Then he went deeper into the Welsh land and visited S. Tyssilio, and remained with him forty days.

It sounds like Saint Beuno could get pretty ratty. The next stop he got cross at some young men when he was cooking dinner for them and they got impatient. He cursed one of them, who died the next day. Then there was the episode with Saint Winefred (of the well) – he cursed Caradog for chopping off her head and turned him into a puddle (perhaps fair enough). Winefred wasn’t the only person whose free-ranging head he was able to successfully stick back on their neck – he also did it for a princess called Digwg. Her husband had cut off her head, and when her brother found out he chopped off the husband’s head too. Beuno sorted him out also, which was quite charitable.
The quote is from volume 16 of Baring-Gould’s Lives of the Saints (1914), but for more detail see his Lives of the British Saints (1907).

Three oblong mounds, one on each side of the broad road, that form a narrow gorge through which we must pass, are the portals of one of the ancient British fortifications raised when the Wrekin was the first mountain on the border-land between Britain and Wales, to which the native tribes could retreat before the Roman armies. The portals still bear the name of Hell Gates; and on either side of them are the remains of a rampart and moat, formed of a double agger or rampart of stones, after the manner of all British encampments.

Nearer to the summit of the hill, where the ascent is almost finished, we can trace an inner line of inclosure, discernable for thirty yards, with a second gorge of entrance similar to Hell Gates, which is still called Heaven Gates.

[...] Upon the south-east of the hill, just within the lower rampart, stands a ragged and storm-beaten rock, rising sheer from the smoothly sloping sides to a giddy and precipitous height. It is now called by a name that has no meaning – the Bladder Stone; but this is probably corrupted from the name Balder’s Stone [...] to the Scandinavian god of light, Balder [...]

[in medieval times] the hill was called St. Gilbert’s Mountain, and a recluse, renowned for sanctity which even won royal favour, dwelt upon this summit [...]

I think the thin air up there was getting to the author a bit. He also mentions the tale that the “cleft in Balder’s Stone, now called the Needle’s Eye, [they believed it] to have been rent at the crucifixion of their Lord”. There could be other reasons for calling a rock the Bladder stone, but he’s not entertaining them.

From ‘A Summer Day on the Wrekin’ in the magazine ‘The Leisure Hour’, September 17th 1864.

Hereabouts was a stronghold of the old British, until ousted by the advancing legions of Rome; and yonder on the south bluff of Addlebrough is an immense cairn, and under a large heap of stones, called Stone Raise, there slept in peace, for centuries, a chieftain of the old Celtic race; but tradition reported that vast wealth was hidden in the “Golden Chest on Greenbar,” as the spot is called, and so, for either curiosity or greed of gain, the ancient chieftain’s resting-place has been rudely disturbed; but if the visitor be sufficiently imaginative, he will hear in the spirit of the whirlwind sweeping and howling around Addlebrough, dire sounds as if of conflict; it is the confusion of battle welling up the centuries.

From Wensleydale and the lower vale of the Yore by Edmund Bogg (1899).

It is naturally the subject of many legends in the district, and few, we imagine, of the people about would care to find themselves too close to it at the solemn hours of midnight, though one of the stories necessitates such a state of things; for we were told that if any one pours water into any of the natural cup-shaped cavities on the top stone at midnight, it will always be found in the morning to be gone, drank by a thirst-tormented fiend; while another of the local stories tell us that as twelve o’clock arrives each night Satan arrives with eight white oxen, and vainly endeavours to pull the structure down, while a white rabbit with fiery eyes sits on the top stone, and aids matters by his advice and general encouragement of the proceedings. Another belief is that if a good child walks seven times round it nothing in particular happens, but that on the seventh revolution of the bad boy or girl a toad comes out and spits fire at them. This legend has probably been constructed by some posessor of ne’er-do-weels, as a sort of bugbear or bogey to hold over them, in the same way that our immediate ancestors were scared into propriety by the terrors of “Boney,” and its efficacy having been proved, it has been incorporated in the mass of beliefs floating in the rustic mind. The examples given are only a very few out of the many stories associated with this ancient pile.

From p121 of ‘Town, College and Neighbourhood of Marlborough’, by F E Hulme (1881).

On the top of the Longmynd, midway and almost in a straight line between Church Stretton and Ratlinghope and near the sources of the streams of water which run down towards those villages, is a tract of ground known at Ratlinghope as “The Burying Ground.” It was pointed out to me by a gentleman who is so well acquainted with the hill by long residence in the locality that he was able to find it though blind. Two low circular mounds of about fifteen or eighteen feet diameter are observable, but the soil is so soft that wind and weather have nearly levelled them with the ground. No trace of a fence can be seen. The old footway runs by at a distance of twenty or thirty yards on the Stretton side of the mounds. Are these British Graves? J.L.P.

In ‘Salopian Shreds and Patches’ for June 16, 1886.

This is the text that accompanies this drawing.

Beneath [the abbey at ‘Einsham’], Evenlode a little river, arising likewise out of Cotteswald speedeth him into Isis; which riveret in the very border of the Shire passeth by an ancient monument standing not far from his banke, to wit, certaine huge stones placed in a round circle (the common people usually call them Rolle-rich stones, and dreameth that they were sometimes men, by a wonderfull Metamorphosis turned into hard stones). The draught of them, such as it is, portraited long since, heere I represent unto your view. For, without all forme and shape they be, unaequal, and by long continuance of time much impaired. The highest of them all, which without the circle looketh into the earth, they use to call The King, because he should have beene King of England (forsooth) if he had once seene Long Compton, a little towne so called lying beneath, and which a man, if he go some few paces forward, may see: other five standing at the other side, touching as it were, one another, they imagine to have beene Knights mounted on horsebacke; and the rest the army. But lo the foresaid Portraiture.

[The picture is inserted here.]

These would I verily thinke to have beene the monument of some victorie and haply, erected by Rollo the Dane, who afterwards conquered Normandie. [...]

From Camden’s ‘Britain’ (p374 in this 1610 edition).

Some time since, a young woman of the village, a member of one of the very few families who have resided on the spot continually for upwards of a century, told my son that a great battle had been fought ages ago on Marden down between men with red heads and men with black heads, and that the red-headed men won, she added that the dead were buried in a large cave on the down, and that nobody had ever dared to enter it. I have not been able to identify the cave, but it seems exceedingly probable that after the fight the slain were collected and buried with more than usual care, because the closest enquiry I have made has failed to trace any record of human remains, armour or weapons having been unearthed at any time in the neighbourhood.

[..]

In the barrow fields, beneath Camden’s great sepulchral monument (Camden, writing in 1590, [says that] “the largest barrow in these parts, except Silbury, exists” in the parish), tradition says that great treasure is buried, and an old inhabitant assured me that once or twice it had been searched for ...

FromWiltshire Notes and Queries for March 1913.

This is really extremely unpleasant but I suppose it conceivably gives an insight into the way people saw this fort at the time – I have no proof but you would imagine the gibbet to be actually on or within its walls as it is the high point of the eponymous downs. It dimly brought to my mind the way Hardy uses Stonehenge as a wild no-man’s land for Tess of the D’urbervilles. As though it represented the opposite of somewhere civilised, somewhere apt for the end of someone uncivilised (not that anyone deserves such a way to go). Am I overanalysing, it is possible. It’s so horrible I wonder if I should post it, for potentially spoiling the atmosphere there for anyone that reads this and visits :)

“Anne, the daughter John Pollard, of this parish [St. Columb], and Loveday, the daughter of Thomas Rosebere, of the parish of Enoder, were buried on the 23rd day of June, 1671, who were both barbarously murdered the day before in the house of Capt’n Peter Pollard on the bridge, by one John the son of Humphrey and Cicely Trehembern, of this parish, about 11 of the clock in the forenoon upon a market day.”

The following tradition is given in connection with the above:= “A bloodhound was obtained and set upon the trail, which it followed up a narrow lane, to the east of the union-house, named Tremen’s-lane; at the head, the hound made in an oblique direction towards the town, and in a narrow alley, known as Wreford’s-row, it came upon the murderer in his father’s house, and licked his boots, which were covered in blood.”

The sentence on Tremen was “that he be confined in an iron cage on the Castle Downs, 2 miles from St. Columb, and starved to death.” While in confinement he was visited by a country woman on her way home from market. The prisoner begged earnestly for something to eat; the woman informed him that she had nothing in the shape of food but a pound of candles; this being given him, he ate them in a ravenous manner. It’s a saying here, in reference to a scapegrace, that he is a regular Tremen.

Richard Cornish. St. Columb.

From v1 of the Western Antiquary (June 1881).

In 1869 there was something more than a vague tradition that the manor courts were formerly held in the open air in a small open space or village green in the hamlet of Dunstone, and that the chief rents were deposited in a hollow or “rock basin” on the upper side of a huge granite boulder in the middle of the green, where a granite cross formerly stood. Mr Dymond resolved to revive the practice of the open-air court, and did so two years ago.

From Francis Gomme’s ‘Primitive Folk-Moots‘ (1880).

On the cliffs near this village is Bosigran Castle, a small promontory of bold granite rocks, across which the insignificant remains of a thick stone wall are believed by some to indicate that here is a specimen of one of the so-called cliff castles.

A large block of granite in the centre, covered at the top with rock-basons, is called the Castle Rock; and near this a large stone, scooped, as it were, through the top, is known as the Giant’s Cradle.

At the distance of a few yards from these, nearer the sea, is an excellent logan stone, a slab of granite over nine yards in circumference, with rock-basons on the top. A slight pressure upwards, or standing upon it, causes this rock to vibrate throughout its whole length.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

I’m not sure why this stone hasn’t been added before. I think I always assumed it had gone long ago. But it’s on the MAGIC map when you zoom right in. In fact, on that map, it even calls it a ‘cup marked stone’. Someone must seek it out immediately and take a photo! It’s in the hamlet of Mayon, more than Sennen itself.

TABLE-MÊN.
The Saxon Kings’ Visit To The Land’s End.

At a short distance from Sennen church, and near the end of a cottage, is a block of granite, nearly eight feet long, and about three high. This rock is known as the Table-mên, or Table-main, which appears to signify the stone-table. At Bosavern, in St Just, is a somewhat similar flat stone; and the same story attaches to each.

It is to the effect that some Saxon kings used the stone as a dining-table. The number has been variously stated; some traditions fixing on three kings, others on seven. Hals is far more explicit; for, as he says, on the authority of the chronicle of Samuel Daniell, they were --
Ethelbert, 5th king of Kent;
Cissa, 2d king of the South Saxons;
Kingills, 6th king of the West Saxons;
Sebert, 3d king of the East Saxons;
Ethelfred, 7th king of the Northumbers;
Penda, 5th king of the Mercians;
Sigebert, 5th king of the East Angles, -- who all flourished about the year 600.

At a point where the four parishes of Zennor, Morvah, Gulval, and Madron meet, is a flat stone with a cross cut on it. The Saxon kings are also said to have dined on this.

The only tradition which is known amongst the peasantry of Sennen is, that Prince Arthur and the kings who aided him against the Danes, in the great battle fought near Vellan-Drucher, dined on the Table-mên, after which they defeated the Danes.

A bizarrely specific list from Robert Hunt’s ‘Popular Romances of the West of England‘, this edition from 1903. On page 306 he elaborates the battle, and adds the extra local details that King Arthur and the kings ‘pledged each other in the holy water from St Sennen’s Well, they returned thanks for their victory in St Sennen’s Chapel, and dined that day on the Table-men.’ Merlin was there too. Oh yes.

The stone’s mentioned in Bottrell’s ‘Traditions and Hearthside Stories of Western Cornwall‘ (1873) too. It mentions ‘Escols’ which is Escalls, which is within spitting distance, so perhaps the stones were used in the same way if they had the same title.

Within the memory of many persons now living, there was to be seen, in the town-places of many western villages, an unhewn table-like stone called the Garrack Zans. This stone was the usual meeting place of the villagers, and regarded by them as public property. Old residents in Escols have often told me of one which stood near the middle of that hamlet on an open space where a maypole was also erected. This Garrack Zans they described as nearly round, about three feet high, and nine in diameter, with a level top. A bonfire was made on it and danced around at Midsummer. When petty offences were committed by unknown persons, those who wished to prove their innocence, and to discover the guilty, were accustomed to light a furse-fire on the Garrack Zans; each person who assisted took a stick of fire from the pile, and those who could extinguish the fire in their sticks, by spitting on them, were deemed innocent; if the injured handed a fire-stick to any persons, who failed to do so, they were declared guilty.

Most evenings young persons, linked hand in hand, danced around the Garrack Zans, and many old folks passed round it nine times daily from some notion that it was lucky and good against witchcraft.

The stone now known as Table-mên was called the Garrack Zans by old people of Sennen.

If our traditions may be relied on, there was also in Treen a large one, around which a market was held in days of yore, as mentioned at page 77. There was a Garrack Zans in Sowah only a few years since, and one may still be seen in Roskestal, St. Levan.

Nothing seems to be known respecting their original use; yet the significant name, and a belief – held by old folks at least – that it is unlucky to remove them, denote that they were regarded as sacred objects. Venerated stones, known by the same name, were long preserved in other villages until removed by strange owners and occupiers, who are, for the most part, regardless of our ancient monuments.

At a point where the four parishes of Zennor, Morvah, Gulval, and Madron meet, is a flat stone with a cross cut on it. The Saxon kings are also said to have dined on this*.

*As well as at the Table-mên stone. See Popular Romances of the West of England, by Robert Hunt (3rd ed. 1908).

A man named Ronaldson, who lived in the village of Bowden, is reported to have had frequent encounters with the witches of that place. among these we find the following. One morning at sunrise, while he was tying his garter with one foot against a low dyke, he was startled by feeling something like a rope of straw passed between his legs, and himself borne swiftly away upon it to a small brook at the foot of the southernmost hill of Eildon. Hearing a hoarse smothered laugh, he perceived he was in the power of witches or sprites; and when he came to a ford called the Brig-o’-stanes, feeling his foot touch a large stone, he exclaimed, “I’ the name o’ the Lord, ye’se get me not farther!” At that moment he rope broke, the air rang as with the laughter of a thousand voices; and as he kept his footing on the stone he heard a muttered cry, “Ah we’ve lost the coof!”

From Notes on the folklore of the northern counties of England and the borders by William Henderson (1879).

Being from the south I didn’t know that ‘coof’ means “a dull spiritless fellow; one somewhat obtuse in sense and sensibility.” (could safely throw that in the conversation).

This is a bit vague. Perhaps the stone isn’t here any more. And even if it were, it’s surely a Disputed Antiquity. Apologies. I can see it marked on a map from 1890. The spring itself is still at the side of the Watergates Lonning track.

On the common, to the east of that village [Blencogo], not far from Ware-Brig (i.e. Waver Bridge) near a pretty large rock of granite, called St. Cuthbert’s Stane, is a fine copious spring of remarkably pure and sweet water; which (probably, from its having anciently been dedicated to the same St. Cuthbert) is called Helly-Well, i.e. Haly or Holy-Well. It formerly was the custom for the youth of all the neighbouring villages to assemble at this well, early in the afternoon of the second Sunday in May; and there to join in a variety of rural sports. It ws the Village Wake; and took place here, it is possible, when the keeping of wakes and fairs in the church-yard was discontinued. And it differed from the wakes of later times, chiefly in this, that though it was a meeting entirely devoted to festivity and mirth, no strong drink of any kind was ever seen there; nor any thing ever drank, but the beverage furnished by the naiad of the place. A curate of the parish, about twenty years ago, on the idea, that it was a profanation of the sabbath, saw fit to set his face against it; and having, deservedly, great influence in the parish, the meetings at Helly-Well have ever since been discontinued. We honour his zeal; but there are many principles and practices in the place, which we cannot but be sorry, he was not so successful in reforming, as he was in attacking this ancient, if not innocent custom; which would have been thought no abuse of the sabbath in most of the other countries of Christendom.

From The History of the county of Cumberland by William Hutchinson (1794).

Even here, as well as in more extensive places, a monumental stone stands in the middle of a plain, ten feet high, and four broad, nearly of the same form with those so frequently met with elsewhere, and, like them also, there is no tradition whatever respecting either the time when, or the purpose for which it was erected. Around it, on the first day of the New Year, the inhabitants sometimes assemble for their amusement, and indulge for a while in the song and the dance.

From ‘History of the Orkney Islands‘ by Rev. Dr. George Barry (1808).

Not far from the house of Busta, is a large stone of granite, that appears as erect as if it had been fixed there by art. Not improbably it was a large boulder-stone, brought thither by natural causes, and placed in an upright position, as the memorial of some battle or death of a chief. It is supposed by the vulgar to have been thrown there by the Devil from some hill in Northmavine.

From ‘A description of the Shetland Islands‘ by Samuel Hibbert (1822).

There are several large mounds of this kind in the close vicinity of the Standing Stones of Stenness. In the latter part of the tenth century a party contest took place between two Jarls, Einar and Haarard, and their respective retainers, many of whom lie buried in these mounds. The spot on which they are situated used to be called Haarardshay, or the “field of Haarard.”

From Rambles in the Far North by R Menzies Fergusson (1884).

In the neighbouring parish of Birsay there is one of these Druidical stones, with a rather strange and tragic history attached to it. The legend runs that every Hogmanay night, as the clock strikes the hour of twelve, this stone begins to walk or move towards Birsay Loch. When the edge of the loch is reached it quietly dips its head into the rippling waters. Then, to remain firm and immovable until the next twelve months pass away, it as silently returns to its post.

It was never considered safe for any one to remain out of doors at midnight, and watch its movements upon Hogmanay. Many stories are current of curious persons who dared to watch the stone’s proceedings, and who the next morning were found lying corpses by its side.

The latest story of the kind is that of a young gentleman from Glasgow, who formed the resolve to remain up all night, and find out for himself the truth or falsehood about this wonderful stone. One Hogmanay accompanied only by the cold silvery beams of the moon, the daring youth began his watch. As time wore on and the dread hour of midnight approached, he began to feel some little terror in his heart, and an eerie feeling crept slowly over his limbs. At midnight he discovered that, in his pacing to and fro, he had come between the stone and the loch; and, as he looked towards the former he fancied that he saw it move. From that moment he lost all consciousness, and his friends found him in the grey dawn lying in a faint. By degrees he came to himself; but he could not satisfy enquirers whether the stone had really moved and knocked him down on its way, or whether his imagination had conjured up the assault.

There is another tale, of a more tragic nature, related of this walking stone. One stormy December day a vessel was shipwrecked upon the shore of Birsay, and all hands save one were lost. The rescued sailor happened to find refuge in a cottage close by this stone; and, hearing the story of its yearly march, he resolved to see for himself all that human eyes might be able to discover. In spite of all remonstrances, he sallied forth on the last night of the old year; and, to make doubly sure, he seated himself on the very pinnacle of the stone. There he awaited the events of the night. What these were no mortal man can tell; for the first morning of the new year dawned upon the corpse of the gallant sailor lad, and local report has it that the walking stone rolled over him as it proceeded to the loch.

From Rambles in the Far North by R Menzies Fergusson (1884). Loch of Birsay is an alternative name for Loch of Boardhouse.

Fairies at Almas, or Orms, Cliff, in Knaresborough Forest.

Almas Cliff is a prominent group of millstone grit rocks, said to have been sacred to the religion of the Druids, and still to retain many traces of the rites and observances of their faith. One rock is named the Altar Rock, and near to this is a natural opening in the cliff, about eighteen inches wide and five feet in height, which is known as the entrance to the ‘Fairy parlour.’ It is said to have been explored to the distance of one hundred yards, and to end in a beautiful room sacred to the ‘little people,’ a veritable fairy palace. Other reports say, that it is a subterranceous passage having an exit near Harewood Bridge – some two or three miles distant. This variation in report only shows how imperfect has been the exploration. It is to be doubted if any mortal has ever reached the fairy parlour. Some years ago, the story was related of daring explorers making the attempt, but so loud was the din, raised upon their advance, by rattling of pokers and shovels by the fairy inhabitants within, indignant at this invasion of the sanctity of their abode, that the too daring mortals precipitantly fled, by the way by which they had entered. Since then, no man seems to have dared the task of ascertaining the truth, as to this passage.

Grainge, the historian of Knaresborough Forest, says of the place: ‘It has always been associated with the fairy people, who were formerly believed to be all-powerful on this hill, and exhanged their imps for the children of the farmers around. With the exception of the entrance to the fairy parlour, all the openings, in the rocks, are carefully walled up to prevent foxes from earthing in the dens and caverns within; and the fairies, being either walled in, or finding themselves walled out, have left the country, as they have not been seen lately in the neighbourhood.‘

From Yorkshire Legends and Traditions by the Rev. Thomas Parkinson (1889).

Try not to swear while at Stony Raise.

In one of the narrow valleys here [in the neighbourhood of Lake Semerwater], there is a large cairn, or mound, or barrow, about one hundred yards in circumference, and called ‘Stone-raise,’ ‘Stan-raise,’ or ‘Stan-rise.‘

One legend states that a giant was once crossing the country here, with a huge chest of gold in his possession. Strong as he was, it required all his resolution to persevere in conveying it, as he did, upon his back, across these mountains and rugged dales. At last he came to where the mountain of Addleborough barred his way. He looked up, and, surveying it, swore that, in spite of God or man, he would bear his precious burden over its summit. No sooner had he spoken than the chest fell from his shoulders, and Stanrise sprung up and covered it. There the treasure remains. It will only be recovered, when some fortunate individual is able to secure the assistance of a hen, and an ape, to uncover it and draw it forth.

The other legend relates, that formerly a road ran past this place, from Bolton Castle over Greenborough Edge, to Skipton Castle in Craven. Along this road, a party of horsemen was passing from the one stronghold to the other, and, being met by wild and tempestuous weather, and becoming wearied, they dismounted, and rested themselves under the shadow of Stanraise. While thus resting, they swore that they would
‘From Bolton to Skipton Castle go,
Whether God would or no.‘
As a mark of the Divine displeasure at this profanity, the earth at the foot of the cairn opened, and swallowed up the whole party.

From Yorkshire Legends and Traditions by the Rev. Thomas Parkinson (1889).

There’s a remarkable amount of fairy folklore that goes with this area. You can’t help thinking that it’s connected with the remains of the prehistoric huts and fields that are here.
https://www.coflein.gov.uk/en/site/95402/
For example:

My next informant is Mr. Hugh Derfel Hughes, of Pendinas, Llangedai [..] Mr. Hughes says that he has lived about thirty-four years within a mile of the pool and farmhouse called Corwrion, and that he has refreshed his memory of the legend by questioning separately no less than three old people, who had been bred and born at or near that spot. [..]

“In old times, when the fairies showed themselves much oftener to men than they do now, they made their home in the bottomless pool of Corwrion*, in Upper Arllechwedd, in that wild portion of Gwynedd called Arvon. On fine mornings in the month of June these diminutive and nimble folk might be seen in a regular line vigorously engaged in mowing hay, with their cattle in herds busily grazing in the fields near Corwrion. This was a sight which often met the eyes of the people on the sides of the hills around, even on Sundays; but when they hurried down to them they found the fields empty, with the sham workmen and their cows gone, all gone. At other times they might be heard hammering away like miners, shovelling rubbish aside, or emptying their carts of stones. At times they took to singing all the night long, greatly to the delight of the people about, who dearly loved to hear them; and, besides singing so charmingly, they sometimes formed into companies for dancing, and their movements were marvellously graceful and attractive.

There’s a great deal more – it runs on for about 20 pages with numerous tales of fairy romance, fairy cattle, the power of iron, rumours of lost churches, ghosts, (and does mention the hut circles briefly).. it’s quite a place for such strangeness so it would seem. From Y Cymmrodor 1881, in a chapter on ‘Welsh Fairy Tales’ by Professor Rhys (doubtless John Rhys of ‘Celtic Folklore, Welsh and Manx’).

*now Cororion.

“Le Creux es Faies.”
This Cromlech is situated on the Houmet Nicolle at the point of L’Eree, (so called from the branch of the sea, Eire, which separates it from the islet of Notre Dame de Lihou). This island, which once had upon it a chapel and a priory dedicated to “Notre Dame de la Roche,” was always considered so sacred a spot that even to-day the fishermen salute it in passing.

.. [The cromlech] is, as its name would lead one to suppose, a favourite haunt of the fairies, or perhaps, to speak more correctly, their usual dwelling place.

It is related that a man who happened to be lying on the grass near it, heard a voice within calling out: ”La paille, la paille, le fouar est caud.” (The shovel, the oven is hot). To which the answer was immediately returned: ”Bon! J’airon de la gache bientot.” (Good! We shall have some cake presently).

Another version from Mrs. Savidan is that some men were ploughing in a field belonging to Mr. Le Cheminant, just below the Cromlech, when the voice was heard saying ”La paille,” etc. One of them answered, ”Bon! J’airon de la gache,” and almost immediately afterwards a cake, quite hot, fell into one of the furrows. One of the men immediately ran forward and seized it, exclaiming that he would have a piece to take home to his wife, but on stooping to take it up he received such a buffet on the head as stretched him at full length on the ground. It is from here that the fairies issue on the night of the full moon to dance on Mont Saint till daybreak.

This is still believed, for in 1896, when my aunt, Mrs. Curtis, bought some land on Mont Saint, and built a house there, the country people told her that it was very unlucky to go there and disturb the fairy people in the spot where they dance.

My cousin, Miss Le Pelley, writes in 1896 from St. Pierre-du-Bois, saying “The people still believe the Creux des Fees and ‘Le Trepied’ to have been the fairies’ houses, and as proof one woman told me that when they dug down they found all kinds of pots and pans and china things.

From Guernsey Folklore by Edgar MacCulloch (1903).

My favourite type of folklore – rock art folklore. Or at least, I think it’s a fair guess to say that’s what this story refers to.

The Hoof-prints of Scota’s Steed at Ardifour Point.

At the mouth of Loch Craignish, but on the Kilmartin side of the loch, is the farm of Ardifour. One side of this farm faces Loch Craignish, and another Loch Crinan. Between the two lochs is a point where there are deep indentations in the rock, which bear some remote resemblance to the hoof-prints of a horse. How were these formed? A geologist could easily answer the question; but legend also has its own way of solving the difficulty.

Scota, the daughter of Pharoah, King of Egypt, came over from Ireland, and having entered the mouth of Loch Crinan, drew up her ship opposite Ardifour Point. She then mounted her steed, shook the reins, and thus urged the high-mettled animal to spring from the deck on to the distant point; and so violent was the shock that the hoofs of the horse sank deeply into the rock, and left behind them those marks which are still to be seen at Ardifour.

From ‘Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition’ (Argyllshire series) by Archibald Campbell (1889).

Rock art UK’s photo here isn’t totally unlike four hoofmarks?

Cader Ellyll means Elf’s Chair.

I take it you didn’t see any elves or you probably would have mentioned it.

There’s a natural knoll not far from the Barbreck stones. A mausoleum was built here in the late 18th century, and the builders found a cist made of four large stones and a gabled capstone. Inside was an urn and cremated remains. There’s an upright slab on the side of the knoll too.
Canmore record

The Battle between the Craignish People and the Lochluinnich Norwegians at Slugan.
The Norwegians once made a sudden descent from their ships on the lower end of Craignish. The inhabitants, taken by surprise, fled in terror to the upper end of the district, and halted not until they reached the Slugan (gorge) of Gleann-Domhuinn, or the Deep Glen. There, however, they rallied under a brave young man, who threw himself at their head, and slew, either with a spear or an arrow, the leader of the invaders. This inspired the Craignish men with such courage that they soon drove back their disheartened enemies across Barbreck river. The latter, in retreating, carried off the body of their fallen leader, and buried it afterwards on a place on Barbreck farm, which is still called Dunan-Amhlaidh, or Olav’s Mound. The Craignish men also raised a stone at Slugan to mark the spot where Olav fell.

From ‘Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition’ (Argyllshire series) by Archibald Campbell (1889).

Slugan is now Sluggan on the OS map.

This ruined dun’s name means ‘Castle of the Black Dogs’.

From‘Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition’ (Argyllshire series) by Archibald Campbell (1889).

The Fight between Bran and Foir or For.
The black dog, Foir, was the brother of Bran, the far-famed hound of Fionn. Foir was taken early from his dam, and was afterwards nurtured by a band of fair women, who acted as his nurses. He grew up into a handsome hound, which had no equal, in the chase or in fight, in the distant North. His owner, Eubhan Oisein, the black-haired, red-cheeked, fair-skinned young Prince of Innis Torc (Orkney ?) was proud, as well he might be, of his unrivalled hound. Having no further victories to win in the North, his master determined to try him against the strongest dogs in the packs of the Feinne.

He left home, descended by Lochawe, and entered Craignish through Glen Doan. Before his arrival, the Fienne, after spending the day in the chase, encamped for the night in the upper end of Craignish. Next day Fionn arose before sunrise, and saw a young man, wrapped in a red mantle and leading a black dog, approaching towards him at a rapid pace. The stranger soon drew near, and at once declared his object in coming. He wanted a dog-fight, and so impatient was he to have it, and so restless by reason of his impatience, that he suffered not his shadow to dwell a moment on one spot.

Fifty of the best hounds of the Feinne were slipped at last, but the black dog killed them all one by one. A second and then a third fifty were uncoupled, but the strange dog disposed of them as easily as he did of the first.

Fionn now saw that all the dogs of the Feinne were in serious danger of being annihilated, and therefore he turned round and cast an angry look on his own great dog Bran. In a moment Bran’s hair stood on end, his eyes darted fire, and he leaped the full length of his golden chain in his eagerness for the fight. But something else besides the casting of an angry look was still to be done to rouse the fierce hound’s temper to its highest pitch.

He was placed nose to nose with his rival, and then his golden chain was unclasped. The two hounds, brothers by blood, but now champions on opposite sides, at once closed in deadly fight; but for an adequate description of the struggle between them the reader must consult the bards. See the “Lay of the Black Dog”, in Islay’s Leabhar na Feinne, the McCallum’s Ancient Poetry, etc.

The contest lasted from morning to evening, and victory remained, almost to the close, uncertain; but in the end Bran vanquished Foir, and, by killing the latter, amply revenged the death of the three fifties. The Feinne buried their own dogs, and the stranger, with a sore heart, laid his black hound in the narrow clay bed.

This great dog-fight, so celebrated in Gaelic lore, is said to have been fought at Lergychony, in Craignish. It is further said that the place was called Learg-a-choinnimh, or the “Plateau of Meeting”, because it was there the two hounds met in fight. There are, of course, many other places in the Highlands which claim the honour of being the scene of this legendary contest.

The bit above where the author suggests you should find the exciting bit yourself has the same effect as an ad break in the middle of a film. The song is also called “Laoidh a’ Choin Duibh” but I’ve not spotted a translation yet.

And Foir’s upbringing sounds highly irregular, does it not almost sound as though he was wet-nursed by human beings? Maybe a bit of that Celtic style supernatural fuzzying of the natural and human worlds?

I thought there might be mounds round here for the burying of the 150 poor dogs, or maybe the dun’s mound is it. But there is also supposed to be a standing stone to commemorate Foir at
NM 8013 0773. The Canmore note is unimpressed, but it is very nearby and a not insubstantial 8’10” by 2’5” by 2’2” (reclining – there’s a photo on the MP https://46.37.163.74/article.php?sid=27532).
https://canmore.rcahms.gov.uk/en/site/22731

About a mile south of the bridge over the Earn at Comrie, on the moor of Dalginross, and on the left side of the road going to Glenartney and Braco, there is a well-known standing stone, popularly named after Samson.

It is one of a group of three. The other two are lying to the east, and on the upper side of the eastmost one, there are twenty-six cup marks.

From ‘Notes on Cup-Marked Stones, Old Burying -Grounds, and Curing or Charm Stone, near St. Fillans, Perthshire’ by J M Gow – Archaeological Review October 1888.

In the interests of possibly outcroppy places with stoney folklore I am compelled to add this curious feature. (No, I do admit I’ve no proof it has prechristian significance.) Someone went to a lot of effort to turn this boulder into a not terribly comfy-looking chair, and it must have been done some time ago as it was apparently mentioned in a 15th century poem by Hywel Rheinallt. I can’t find anything about it online and still less a photo, but it’s on modern maps and I think I can even see it on satellite photos.

The writer in the 1856 ‘Archaeologia Cambrensis‘ says:

On a small eminence, a quarter of a mile eastward from the church, is a large boulder stone, with a flat piece cut out of it, called Cadair Cawrdaf, -- St. Cawrdaf’s Chair, from time immemorial. Judging from the site, the saint must have been a lover of the picturesque, for the view is one of extreme beauty and extent.

The church in Abererch is dedicated to Saint Cawrdaf, and not far away northwest, at SH38823735, is his spring, Ffynnon Cawrdaf.

Not far from this church there is, at Cefnbrallan, a huge ruined cromlech, with its cap overturned and broken; one of the upright stones measures 64 inches in height. Whilst this was being sketched a peasant was interrogated as to its partial destruction; he could not tell us when the damage was done, but he told us in Welsh that some fifty years ago an attempt was made to further destroy the cromlech, when a dreadful storm overtook and stopped the evil worker in his misdeeds. Our informant said, that whilst the sudden storm thundered overhead, the earth shook and trembled beneath, and all the time these great and mysterious stones remained immovable.

From ‘The Gardeners’ Chronicle‘, Sept 1875.

This relic is a rude stone, forming a kind of chair, lying in a field adjoining the churchyard, and about thirty or forty yards from it. When it was removed to its present position is unknown. There was also a well below the church called Ffynnon Canna; and there is still a small brook available, if required, for following the rules prescribed to those who wish to avail themselves of the curative powers of the saint’s chair. It appears that the principal maladies which are thus supposed to be cured are ague and intestinal complaints. The prescribed practice was as follows.

The patient first threw some pins into the well, a common practice in many other parts of Wales, where wells are still thought to be invested with certain powers. Then he drank a fixed quantity of the water, and sometimes bathed in the well, for the bath was not always resorted to. The third step was to sit down in the chair for a certain length of time; and if the patient could manage to sleep under these circumstances, the curative effects of the operation were considerably increased. This process was continued for some days, even for a fortnight or longer. A man aged seventy-eight, still living near the spot, remembers the well and hundreds of pins in it, as well as patients undergoing the treatment; but, about thirty or thirty-five years ago, the tenant carried off the soil between the well and the watercourse, so as to make the spring level with the well, which soon after partly disappeared, and from that time the medical reputation of the saint and her chair has gradually faded away, and will, in the course of a generation or two, be altogether forgotten.

There can be little doubt that the present church occupies the site of the old and original building of Canna, although there is, in the middle of the parish, a field called Parc y Fonwent, or the churchyard field, where, according to local tradition, the church was to have been originally built, but the stones brought to the spot during the day, were removed by invisible hands to the spot where the present church now stands, accompanied by a voice clearly pronouncing this sentence: “Llangan, dyma’r fan,” or, “Llangan, here is the spot.” Such miraculous removals of stones are reported and believed in many other parts of Wales; and in the present instance the story seems to have arisen from the circumstance of the field in question having been formerly church property.

More (on the inscription) here in Archaeologia Cambrensis (1875) and here.

Coflein puts the stone at SN17701874 and says before 1925 it used to be here SN17751875. But how big is it? You’d think it was too big to move. And (my ultimate excuse for including this stone) surely it was around here near the spring and the special insisted-upon spot before the church turned up. (Perhaps it’s smaller than I hope, as the RCAHMW puts it at 28 by 26 inches).

I can’t find a photo (and I think Ocifant’s tried to find the place in person without luck?) but the drawing in ‘Lives of the British Saints’ shows the slightly ambiguous lettering and the hollow “produced by the multitude and frequency of the devotees”.

There is a well on this mount which was in former days named “Giant’s” Well, on account of the giant Cormelian, or Cormoran, who inhabited the spot. The well, or cistern, is excavated in the rock; it is still in existence, but is now known by the title of “Jack the Giant Killer’s Well,” and is fairly well lined with pins thrown there by persons desirous of procuring their wishes. The conclusion to be drawn is that the clever youth “Jack,” who by stratagem ridded the mount of its monster by killing the giant Cormoran, was honoured by the change of the well’s designation as a recognition of his service.

From ‘Ancient and Holy Wells of Cornwall’ by M and L Quiller-Couch (1894).

“This famous well is in the parish of Sancreed, not far from the Land’s End. The water wells forth, but the building which once covered it is demolished. Dr Borlase says (Nat. Hist. of Cornwall, p.31. Date AD 1757) that ‘as a witness of its having done remarkable cures, it has a chapel adjoining to it, dedicated to St. Eunius, the ruins of which, consisting of much carved stone, bespeak it to have been formerly of no little note. The water has the reputation of drying humours as well as healing wounds.‘

He adds that, ‘the common people (of this as well as other countries) will not be content to attribute the benefit they receive to ordinary means; there must be something marvellous in all their cures. I happened, luckily, to be at this well upon the last day of the year, on which, according to vulgar opinion, it exerts its principal and most salutary powers. Two women were here who came from a neighbouring parish, and were busily employed in bathing a child. They both assured me that people who had a mind to receive any benefit from St. Euny’s well, must come and wash upon the first three Wednesdays in May. But to leave folly to its own delusion, it is certainly very gracious in Providence to distribute a remedy for so many disorders in a quality so universally found as cold is in every unmixed well water.‘

Dr. Paris describes it as it was some sixty years ago. The ruins of a chapel or baptistery were observable near, and the water of the well was then supposed to posess many miraculous virtues, especially in infantile mesenteric disease. They were dipped on the three first Wednesdays in May, and drawn through the pool three times against the sun and three times on the surrounding grass in the same direction. (Guide to Mount’s Bay, etc. p.82).

This well, according to this distinguished physician and chemist, like Madron, does not contain any mineral impregnation, but must derive its force and virtue from the tonic effects of cold, and from the firm faith of the devotees. The credulous still go here to devine the future in the appearance of the bubbles which a pin or pebble sends up.

‘Two or three carved stones are all that remain of the old structure; and at the stated times when the well is sought for divination and cure, a bath is formed by impounding the water by turves cut from the surrounding moor. The country people know it as the Giant’s Well.’ -- T.Q.C.

Now it is simply an open spring, all remains of the building are gone, and the site obliterated. The water is not used for any special purpose, and the well is only remembered for its past importance.

From ‘Ancient and Holy Wells of Cornwall’ by M and L Quiller-Couch (1894).

‘We know not if “this fount” is still regarded as a holy well; but many years ago we have often heard an aged lady, who was born and bred near Alsia, and was well acquainted with legendary lore and old customes of the district, say that in her younger days the Saint’s Well of Alsia was almost as much frequented on the three first Wednesdays in May as the noted well of Chapel Uny. Mothers came from far and near with their weak and rickety children that they might be strengthened by being bathed in its waters. Moreover, the same old lady to whom we are beholdened for many of the incidents of the legend, Nancy Trenoweth (the fair daughter of the miller of Alsia), informed us that it was not unusual for these pilgrimages to be the occasion of a fight between the women of Alsia and the pilgrim mothers, when the good housewives caught the strangers dipping their precious babes into the enclosed part of the well, or the place from which the neighbours drew their drinking water.‘

A cross formerly stood near this fountain, and its socketed pedestal was until lately to be seen.

The Alsia Well was also one of the wishing or divining sort. Of a summer’s evening scores of maidens might be seen around it, eager for their turn to see what sweethearts would be united or parted, which they discovered by the fall of pebbles or pins. As the articles sank near or apart so their future was foretold; and the number of bubbles raised bespoke the number of years before the happy or unhappy issue could befall. Another method of consulting the spirit of the well was by floating bramble leaves on it. -- T.Q.C.

From ‘Ancient and Holy Wells of Cornwall’ by M and L Quiller-Couch (1894).

The initial quote is from William Bottrell’s ‘Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall’ (1870).

Age and neglect have done their fell work on the well; and I am indebted, through a friend, for these recollections of an intelligent old lady who knew the place in childhood, and gives sketches of what she remembers of it. I place this well among the medicinal wells on the authority of Lysons, who ascribes to it many miraculous sanitary qualities, although it was resorted to for its divinatory gifts chiefly.

My friend writes that this well existed in an entire state till about 1820. Over it was a little Gothic edifice, which gave the name of Porth Chapel to the spot, and Chapel Coombe to the valley and adjoining cove. It was on the western side of St. Agnes beacon, in a narrow dell descending to the sea. The situation, as is not infrequent with these buildings, is wild and weird in the extreme. Not a cottage nor a tree is to be found; a bleak heathy common, relieved by a few furze bushes, and rugged volcanic rocks, are the only objects that meet the eye.

The destruction of the chapel and its well was effected by time, and lack of faith and reverence. It is said that the principal depradators, who carried away the stone to build a hedge, said, when remonstrated with, ‘What’s the good of a well without water?‘

The well had indeed been drained by the delvings of the miners in a work below. The name of ‘Giant’s Well’ was given to it by the country folk, in memory of a giant who once lived near it, and was accustomed to drink of the fountain. There were the marks of his thumbs indented on a stone in the well, and near it, on another, the print of his foot, very large, and very like a footmark. Pins were dropped in with wishes as in many other parts of Cornwall. -- T.Q.C.

From ‘Ancient and Holy Wells of Cornwall’ by M and L Quiller-Couch (1894).

“Lysons” refers to the Rev. Daniel Lysons’ “Magna Britannia” here of 1806, in which he says: “Near this spot [Porth-Chapel] is St. Agnes’ Well, of which many miraculous stories are told; the water is of an excellent quality, and much esteemed. ... St. Agnes Beacon, formed out of an ancient cairn or tumulus of stones, was kept ready for use a few years ago during the apprehension of invasion, and was attended by two soldiers.

A rather convoluted tale with pretty dire verse:

The maiden of Drumdurno was the belle of five parishes, and as good as beautiful. She was young and light-hearted, and suitors came round her in plenty. One was fortunate in gaining her hand, and was received as her acknowledged lover. Her unsuccessful wooers retired disappointed, but all, with one exception, wishing long life and happiness to the “Maiden of Drumdurno,” in the new relationship on which she was about to enter. But in that heart there brooded thoughts of vengeance. A rejected suitor, wandering, one evening in the dark woods of Pittrodrie, thinking bitterly of his successful rival, exclaimed aloud -- “Oh that my eternal destruction could plague their earthly peace, how soon and sure the bargain would be mine!”

Scarcely had he uttered the rash words than a voice replied – “Capital wish! I’ll do the thing for you on your own terms!” Thus a compact, ruinous to the luckless lover of Drumdurno, and entailing “perpetual vassalage on the heedless avenger,” was entered into that night in the lone Pittrodie woods.

On the day before the wedding the maiden was busy baking cakes for the bridal feast. Her heart was light with joyful anticipations, and as she baked she gaily lilted one of the love songs of her native land.
“It sets ye well to bake, lass, gin ye had ony mair speed at it.” The bantering remark was uttered by a handsome rollicking stranger, who had been lounging about for some time, pretending to be in search of work.
“I kenna whether it sets me weel or no,” replied the maid; “but I think nane could grudge wi’ my speed.”
After some further baner, the stranger undertook to lay a “causey” to the top of the neighbouring mountain before she had finished her firlot, on condition that, if successful, her hand and heart should be his reward.

She thoughtlessly agreed to the proposal, deeming it a piece of idle fun. The stranger went on his way, and the maiden continued her task. The gloaming drew on apace, and the firlot of meal was nearly ended. The stranger and his wager were forgotten. The bride’s thoughts were all of her bridegroom, and she longed for his presence, for he had promised to be with her “twixt the gloamin’ and the mirk.”

The night came down gloomy and wet. “It’s nae that, nor mony sic like, ‘ill gar him bide frae me, but I’m wae to see him weet,” said the maiden, as she looked out to see if her lover was coming to keep his tryst; and as she spoke she glanced at the cloud gathering on the hill, when, oh horror! she saw a “well-laid causey” up the slopes of Bennachie. At the same time she beheld the stranger, who, she now discovered, was no other than the Prince of Darkness, quickly and noiselessly coming to claim his reward.

“Fast she flies, as fast pursued,
Straining for Pittrodrie wood;
‘Jamie!’ shrieks the frantic maiden,
As he wildly scours the hill.”

But alas! vain was all human aid. The unuttered prayer of her heart, however, was granted, for just as the “foul fiend” was about to clasp her in his arms, she was turned into a block of lifeless granite, and there she stands to this day.

“Lone adn last of all the clachan,
With her bake-brod and bread-spade,
Aye she bids the maids of Garioch
Guard the vows that love has made.
Love is holy, love is solemn;
Think of this mysterious column!”

The “causey” is said to be still extant, although overgrown with rank heather; and the neighbourhood bears the reputation of being haunted.

“And quick the pace, and quick the pulse,
Wha wanders there alane,
Atween Pittodrie’s haunted wood
An’ the dowie Mayden Stane.”

From Notes on Superstition and Folklore’ edited by D H Edwards (1885). The stone is the rather nice carved Pictish ‘Maiden Stone’, and Maiden Causeway a track (some say it could well be prehistoric) up to the fort.

Baring-Gould says “There can hardly be a doubt that by Henisweryn the Worm’s Head Island is intended” (he explains in detail why he thinks so)

The story’s of Saint Cenydd’s a bit long (and this is only the start) – but as BG says, “It is a most extraordinary tale, a mass of fable. It was certainly composed after Geoffrey of Monmouth had made the fortunes of King Arthur, i.e. 1150. That it contains earlier matter is not to be doubted; not of an historical, but of a mythological character.”

In the days of King Arthur, the prince of Letavia (Llydaw) or Britannia Minor, was Dihoc, and he became the father of Keneth, who was born of incest. Summoned by King Arthur, as a tributary, to come to his court to celebrate the Feast of Christmas in Gower, he took with him the woman, and she gave birth to a child, who was born a cripple, with the calf of one leg attached to the thigh.

Dihoc ordered the infant to be thrown into the river, but before this was done, a priest baptised it and gave it the name of Keneth. The child was placed in an osier-woven cradle and launched on the stream. This stream speedily carried it down to the river Lothur, and that swept it out to sea. A storm arose and drove the cradle, dancing on the crest of the waves, to the isle of Inisweryn, where it was cast up on the beach. At once a cloud of seagulls fluttered over the child, and the birds with beak and claw removed it to the top of a rock, and there they strippped their breasts of feathers to make a bed for the infant. The birds kept incessant watch over their protege, spreading their wings over him to shelter him from wind and rain and snow.

Before nine days had passed, an angel descended from heaven, bearing a brazen bell, which he applied to the mouth of the infant, who sucked vigorously at the handle, and received therefrom much satisfaction.
Certain practical difficulties, such as would suggest themselves to a mother, are got over by the author with an ingenious explanation.*
Thus Keneth lived till he was able to walk, and the garments in which he had been wrapped when exposed, grew with him, expanding, as does the bark of a tree.

One day, a peasant who lived near the sea, and who had no family, happening to light on the child, took it up and carried it home, and committed it to his wife, who at once put the little Keneth to bed. This caused tremendous excitement among the gulls; they came in vast numbers, and dividing into two bands, one entered the house and pulled the coverlet off the sleeping child, and the other, with screams and by the aid of beak and claw, drove the cattle of the husbandman towards the sea.

The man, alarmed for his live-stock, hastily carried back Keneth to where he had found him, whereupon the gulls drove back his cattle to their pastures, and, in the most tidy manner, replaced the coverlet whence they had plucked it.

And now daily a female stag came out of the forest, and squirted her milk into the bell that Keneth employed as his feeding-bottle, and likewise filled some hollows in the rocks hard by.

It goes on a bit as you can imagine, and you can read the rest here in Baring-Gould’s ‘Lives of the British Saints’ (1907). It’s got such curious and celticky detail, with all those helpful animals.

*Here there’s some Latin which Google translate tells me means the child did not poo. Clearly too rude to write in English for a vicar. But incest and child murdering is ok.

A bit more on the dragon:

Sir Maurice Berkeley resided much at Bistherne, which was probably a much pleasanter abode than his grim Castle on the bleak Cotteswolds. A singular tradition still lingers at Bistherne respecting the slaughter of a Dragon, which is connected with the name of this Sir Maurice by a document preserved in the Evidence room at Berkeley Castle. The local tradition is to the effect that a Dragon had his den at Burley Beacon, about five miles from Bistherne, in a part of Burley known as Bistherne Closes. Thence the creature “flew” every morning to Bistherne for a supply of milk. Here a valiant man built himself a hut, and with two dogs lay in wait for the Dragon, keeping the dogs out of his sight also. The innocent creature came as usual one morning for his milk, when the hut door was opened, the dogs let fly at him, and while he was thus engaged with them, he was “shot” by the man. The dogs were killed on the spot, apparently under the idea that they had become dangerous through being bitten by the Dragon. The Dragon slayer himself, says another version of the tradition (which seems to come nearer the fifteenth century), only succeeded in overcoming his foe by covering his armour with glass. The locality of the fight still goes by the name of “Dragon Fields.”

The documentary version of this tradition is contained in the margin of a pedigree roll written previously to 1618, and preserved, as already said, in the Evidence room at Berkeley Castle. It is as follows:--

“Sr Moris Barkley the sonne of Sr John Barkley, of Beverston, beinge a man of great strength and courage, in his tyme there was bread in Hampshire neere Bistherne a devouring Dragon, who doing much mischief upon men and cattell and could not be destroyed but spoiled many in attempting it, making his den neere unto a Beacon. This Sr Moris Barkley armed himself and encountered with it and at length overcam and killed it but died himself soone after. This is the common saying even to this day in those parts of Hampshire, and the better to approve the same his children and posterity even to this present do beare for their creast a Dragon standing before a burning beacon. Wch seemeth the rather more credible because Sr Morice Barkley did beare the Miter with this authentick seale of his armes as is heare underneath one of his own deedes exprest bearing date ye 10 of Henry 6. An Dni 1431.”

From ‘Dursley and its Neighbourhood’ by JH Blunt (1877).

Up here on Foel Llanfendigaid there are the traces of a hillfort – according to Coflein a ‘narrow stony rampart’ survives. Beneath the hill, on the seaward side, there is a cave, Ogof Owain.

Ogov Owain is apparently a natural fissure in a rock, about a mile north of the estuary of the river Dysynny, in the parish of Celynyn, in Merioneddshire. Tradition says, that Ednyved ap Aron, a gentleman of consideration, concealed Owain in it, after his military reverses.

The intrepid author and his friend sat on some stones after emerging, ‘proceeded to knock off the neck of a bottle of sherry’ and then toasted the king and ‘Prince Owain Glendwr’.

In v5 of the ‘Cambrian Quarterly’ 1833.

I fear this poor stone has been moved / smashed up in the name of more efficient agriculture. It’s not on the map any more though it was in the 1960s.

Giving preference to the meadow paths, we presently happen upon a huge block of stone, as big as a good-sized cart, lying stranded in the middle of a grass field. How it came there is the puzzle, so we take counsel with an old fellow breaking stones by the wayside, a furlong farther on- ‘Oh, ’ says he, in reply to our questions, ‘they ‘ud used to tell us, when we was childern, as the Devil fell lame one day a-walkin, by here, and throwed that there old stwun out of’s shoe, and then fled away up to Stiperstones yander. But that was afore my time, like, and behappen there’s never a one now as can tell the rights on it.’ And the country folk have a saying that the Lea Stone, as it is called, turns itself around ‘every time the clock strikes thirteen.‘

From ‘Nooks and Corners of Shropshire’ by H Thornhill Timmins (1899).

A person residing near Pencader, Carmarthenshire, is reported to have entered the fairy circle on an adjoining mountain, and having danced as he thought for a few minutes, by some means stepped out, but was much astonished to find the scenes to which he had been accustomed, completely changed, and new houses, roads, and improvements, which he had never seen or dreamt of; the place where his father’s cot stood, was occupied by a neat and handsome farm house, and where before there was a barren mountain, he saw luxuriant fields.

“This surely, thought he, must be a fairy illusion; I have only been a minute or two in their ring, and lo! they have changed the aspect of nature entirely: I hope what I see is real, and that my father’s cot is really converted into that well built farm house.” Thus ruminating, and still supposing that what he saw was magic, he proceeded, but his progress was obstructed by a substantial and not an imaginary hedge, he felt, and felt it again, -- rubbed his eyes, thinking he was dreaming, but a thorn running into his hand soon convinced him it was no chimerical scene; indeed the hedge seemed from the size of the thorns to be very old; so proceeding onwards he entered the farm yard, where once stood the cot wherein he first beheld the light of the world: he stared wildly around like one deranged, for a strange dog disputed the ground with im, and by his continued barking informed him he had no right there.

“How can this be, said he? where am I? this is not poor Tango? all seem to be changed! -strange cows- -strange fowls- -strange ducks and geese! surely I have lost my road, and have travelled to an unknown neighbourhood! but no! yonder is the Garreg hir* (the long stone) and I know too well the brow of that hill to be deceived.” He was disturbed in this soliloquy by the farmer, who came to know the cause of the dog’s barking, and seeing the youth (for he was still one in appearance), addressed him in the common Welsh term, “Pwy’ n’ ych chwi druan?” (who are you, poor man?“) “I know who I was, I do not know who I am now,” replied he, “I was the son of a man who lived in this place, this morning; for that rock though changed a little, I too well know to be deceived.” ”Poor man” said the farmer, you have lost your senses, this house was built by my great grandfather, repaired by my grandfather, and that part there which seems newly built, was done about three years ago at my expence; you must be deranged or have lost the road, but come in and refresh yourself with some victuals and rest.”

*The Garreg-hir is a well known erect stone on a mountain south of Pencader, and was placed there in ancient times, probably to commemorate a victory.

You get the idea, and it goes on somewhat more here, in William Howell’s 1831 ‘Cambrian Superstitions’. It’s nice though how it uses the stone as an unchanging link with the distant past.