Rhiannon

According to Coflein, this fort perches 60m above the sea, with double banks and ditches protecting the land side. Traces of 21 possible roundhouses have been found inside. It was landscaped as part of the grounds of the mansion mentioned below.

.. occupying a romantic situation on a rocky promontory called Twryn y Witch (or the Witch’s Nose).. [was] the Castle of Dundrivan (Castle of the Three Halls) where, according to tradition, Caradoc formerly kept his summer court.

If we may give credit to another story, a more recent possessor of Dunraven Castle [a 1700s mansion destroyed in the 1960s], Vaughan by name, was in the habit of alluring vessels to the coast by putting out false lights, that he might profit by the wrecks driven ashore, to which he was entitled as lord of the manor. In the very midst of his crimes, however, he lost his own three sons in one day, and, looking on this event as a judgement from heaven on his iniquities, he sold the estate to the family of Wyndham.

Some curious caverns are worn by the sea in the rock beneath the castle. Through one of them, called the Wind Hole, the sea is forced at times in lofty jets.

From p36 of
A Handbook for Travellers in South Wales and Its Borders, Including the River Wye, by John Murray (1860), online at Google Books.

The OS map shows (a platform of?) rocks on the beach called the ‘Dancing Stones’ but I can’t find any mention of this interesting name.

In Castleton there is an ancient lead-mine which in county histories and other books is described as “Odin Mine.” But old lead-miners in Castleton and Bradwell speak of it as Owdane Mine, accenting the second syllable. A Castleton man said to me that this mine “formerly belonged to the Danes,” and an old Bradwell lead-miner said that “the Danes hid themselves in it,” afterwards remarking, “We’ve mixed with the Danes.” I think there can be no doubt that the true name of this mine, in which many ancient tools have been found, is Owd Dane (Old Dane) Mine, for prehistoric and Roman work is often in this country attributed to the Danes... The usual name for ancient lead-workings in the Peak is “owd mon workings*.”

*Might this not suggest the devil? Which takes us back to Odin really. It’s all muddled up, as Mr McG suggests below.

From p404 in
Garland Day at Castleton
S. O. Addy; Frank Kidson
Folklore, Vol. 12, No. 4. (Dec., 1901), pp. 394-430.

Mr Donal O’Fotharta, who printed some West Connacht traditions about the Cailleach, says,-

“There is no place or height you may get to in Ireland, where you will not hear talk of the Cailleach Bheara. It is an old proverb amongst the Connacht people that there are three long ages;- “The age of the yew, the age of the eagle, and the age of the Cailleach Bheara”; and as to the Cailleach’s ways, they say thus:-

“She never brought mud from this puddle to the other puddle.
She never ate food but when she became hungry.
She never went to sleep till she grew sleepy.
She never threw out the dirty water till she brought in clean water.”

All good advice there recorded in Siamsa an Gheimhridh, D. O’Fotharta (1892), p116-118. (and quoted in the Folklore article mentioned below).

The Lament of the Hag (or Nun) of Beare.

I am the Hag of Beare,
An ever-new smock I used to wear;
Today – such is my mean estate –
I wear not even a cast-off smock.

The maidens rejoice
When May-day comes to them;
For me sorrow is meeter*,
I am wretched, I am an old hag.

Amen! woe is me!
Every acorn has to drop.
After feasting by shining candles
To be in the gloom of a prayer-house!

I had my day with kings,
Drinking mead and wine;
Today I drink whey-water
Among shrivelled old hags.

The flood-wave
And the second ebbtide-
They have all reached me,
So that I know them well.

There is scarce a little place today
That I can recognise;
What was on flood
Is all on ebb.

This is just the first part of a tenth century Irish poem, translated in 1913 by Dr Kuno Meyer. Perhaps we should get Simon Armitage (after his Gawain and the Green Knight) on the case for a modern version?

I found it quoted on p227 of
Legends and Traditions of the Cailleach Bheara or Old Woman (Hag) of Beare
Eleanor Hull
Folklore, Vol. 38, No. 3. (Sep. 30, 1927), pp. 225-254.

(*sic. can’t find what this means? meat as in what sustains her (or not)? or it meets her? hmm.)

[..] I was brought up to believe that the famous Cley Hill on the confines of Wiltshire was made by the inhabitants of that county who were induced to wipe their shoes before venturing upon our more favoured soil [i.e. Somerset.]

From a letter from Katharine Asquith at the Manor House in Mells, in The Times, Tuesday, Feb 09, 1960; pg. 11.

(At the risk of infuriating Kentigern of course, with its blatant fibbery).

GILSLAND.

“In Cumberland there is a spring,
And strange it is to tell,
That many a fortune it will make,
If never a drop they sell.”

The above prophetic rhymes are popularly understood to allude to Gilsland Spa, respecting which there is a very curious tradition, viz.., that on the medicinal virtues being first discovered, the person who owned the land, not resting satisfied, as would appear, with his profits which the influx of strangers to the place had caused, built a house over the spring, with the intention of selling the waters. But his avarice was punished in a very singular manner, for no sooner had he completed his house than the spring dried up, and continued so till the house was pulled down when lo! another miracle, it flowed again as before. Whether true or false, this story of antiquity enforces a most beautiful moral and religious precept. – Clarke’s Survey of the Lakes.

Similar to the anti-interference stories about some standing stones?

From p43 of Legendary Lore of the Holy Wells of England Including Rivers, Lakes, Fountains and Springs (1893) By Robert Charles Hope. Online at antipope.org/feorag/wells/.

(I have just looked at ‘Survey of the Lakes’ – but I haven’t found the quote yet. It was published in 1789).

Judging by an old map, there were a few wells in the vicinity of Skirsgill (the house) which would be a mere step away from the stone. Though which one might be referred to here I don’t know. The site is right next to the river, just like Mayburgh (but now on the other side of the motorway).

PENRITH WELLS.

..Penrith was once noted, and has some fame still, for the number of its wells. The whole month of May was set apart for special observance of customs and ceremonies to be performed on each Sunday. There were four wells with a Sunday allocated for honouring each well. The Fontinalia opened at Skirsgill on the first Sunday; then in order Clifton, afterwards the well at the Giant’s Caves, supposed to be St. Ninian’s; and, lastly, at Dicky Bank, on the fellside, where the festivities were concluded.

From p42 of ‘Legendary Lore of the Holy Wells of England Including Rivers, Lakes, Fountains and Springs’, by Robert Charles Hope (1893). online at antipope.org/feorag/wells/

.. the Banbury Stone [is] also known as the elephant stone because of its shape when viewed from one side.. [it] has been described as a sacrificial stone for Druids or as a Roman altar, but in reality is a natural outcrop. Locals believed that to kiss the stone on Good Friday would bring bad luck.. [The Stone is] situated inside the hillfort, the outstanding feature of the hilltop.

p135 in A Year of Walks in the Cotswolds By Roy Woodcock (1998).

Not about Yeavering Bell, but a cairn / crag on its southern side*. It’s a story that seems to be found all over Britain.

South of the Bell half a mile is a cairn called Tam Tallon’s Grave. A packman was hanged here, by his pack falling on one side of the stone, over his neck, while his body remained on the other.

p247 in ‘Annals and Antiquities of Dryburgh and Other Places on the Tweed’, by Sir David Erskine (2nd ed. 1836). Online at Google Books.

*see Hob’s comment.

In the village of Churchdown, about four miles from Gloucester, the church dedicated to St. Bartholomew is built on the summit of Churchdown Hill, – the ascent to it being steep and tortuous. The legend runs, that “the church was begun to be built on a more convenient and accessible spot of ground, but that the materials used in the day were constantly taken away in the night and carried to the top of the hill, which was considered a supernatural intimation that the church whould be built there.“*

*Rudder’s “History of Gloucestershire” (1779), 339.

From Church-lore Gleanings By Thomas Firminger Thiselton Dyer (what a name), 1891, p3. (partially online at Google Books).

Arthur Cleveland was there and he “descried a hamlet, and a Church, which my friend pointed out to me as Chozen, at the same time informing me that it was spelt Churchdown.” (Impressions of England, 2nd ed, 1856, p160) He calls it one of those quaint English things where you speak and spell a word differently. But is it just referring to the legend about the church? Or is it all tied up together. The local school is called ‘Chosen Hill School’ so people must still refer to it as that.

So it must also be the site of this snippet from
archive.worcesternews.co.uk/2001/10/26/300903.html
from ‘Folklore of Gloucestershire’ by Roy Palmer (1994):
“For the ghoulish or fey minded, the key chapter is the aptly named, Out of this World. We hear of a Churchdown man who, early in the last century, saw headless fairies on Chosen Hill.”

Aren’t fairies on their own hard enough to believe? Why not tell your friends you saw headless fairies instead.

..on the north side of [Skipwith or Riccal] Common are many tumuli, known in the locality by the name of the Danes’ Hills. That the peasantry of the surrounding district know the mournful origin of these “soldiers’ sepulchres” is clear, from the fact of their readily telling you that “they say” pieces of red cloth have been foud in the neighbourhood of the tombs.

Tradition says also that at the time those graves were made, a swampy drain or bog, now called Riccal Towdyke, was choked up with slain. That tradition has evidently descended from the same source that the chroniclers obtained their information from, viz. the surviving spectators.

A Dr Burton opened some of the barrows and found, apparently, the bones of some young men with ‘very firm and fresh’ teeth(!), one with his head cut off and between his knees. “Ever since the aforesaid battle, it is by tradition to this day said, that the Danes were permitted to encamp here till they had buried their dead, and their ships at Riccal should be ready for their re-embarking for Norway.”

From p218 of August 1863’s edition of the Gentleman’s Magazine and Historical Review. Online at Google Books.

According to the record on Magic, these are actually Iron Age barrows, called Square Barrows.

In the park of Belmont, there is a tumulus called “Belliduff,” which tradition gives as the spot where McDuff slew Macbeth; and about a mile distant, stands a large whinstone nodule, or block of twenty tons weight, called Macbeth’s stone. In all probability there has been fighting near these apparently sepulchral monuments; but it is more probable that Macbeth was slain at Lumphanan in the Mearns.

From p234 of ‘The New Statistical Account of Scotland’ v10 (Perth) 1845.

So sue me. I admit it, this is Roman. But it’s so rare to find a Roman round barrow. And the record on Magic says “It has been suggested that they are the graves of native British aristocrats who chose to perpetuate aspects of Iron Age burial practice.” This one (being in East Anglia) might be as early as the first decades of the Roman occupation. It’s like an example of ‘when in Rome’ behaviour (or old habits die hard, if you want another phrase).

The following is from the Gentleman’s Magazine for June 1840, p114.

In reading an account of Essex, I find the following: “The Borough, or rather Barrow Hills, on the north side of the Black Water Bay, were considerable in number. These tumuli are supposed to have been raised indiscriminately over the bodies of the Danes and Saxons that fell in the battles occasioned by the frequent landing of the former in this part of the coast*. The lands on which the Barrow hills stood were completely inclosed from the sea in 1807, and the whole are now levelled, ONE EXCEPTED.”

This Barrow I heard was going to be cleared away for manure. I made a point of visiting it under an idea that it might be proved a Roman one; ==when I arrived at the spot, I found it to be a bowl barrow, about fourteen yards diameter, and about six or seven feet high, and rather more than half of it cut away, and what surprises me, not a single urn, bone, or ashes, nor any mark to be found; -- perhaps the barrows being mostly under water during the tide may account for the disappearance of bones, &c. if there were any placed; = or rather that the Danes and Saxons were not so careful as the Romans in preserving the remains of their friends.

I met one of the old inhabitants who lived in the parish more than forty years; he remembered the number of barrows being destroyed, and said, not a single bone or urn was ever found in them.

J. A. Repton reports.

Perhaps this barrow isn’t the exact one mentioned (can the sea have come in this far? I suppose it’s more than possible). But it’s certainly one of those being talked of in this area.

*this sounds like a local explanation? and one so convincing that Mr Repton seems to abandon his own theory about the barrows being Roman.

Could ‘Scratchbury’ come from ‘Old Scratch’ – the Devil? I mean he was about the area, having made Cley Hill, so it’s not inconceivable he might have sat here.

The Oxford English Dictionary has an example of this euphemism’s use from 1740 – but its older forerunner ‘scrat’ and other similar words mean all kinds of gobliny devilish things in Old Norse and German.

A curious legend connects the Five Saints with a large block of sandstone at Cynwyl Gaio called Carreg Pumpsaint. It stands upright at the foot of the hill below the Ogofau, the old Roman gold mines, and is shaped like a basalt column, with large artificial oval basin-shape hollows on its sides. It is three and a half feet high and a little over two feet in width.

The legend says that, time out of mind, there lived in the neighbourhood five saints who had a wide reputation for sanctity, and were objects of ill-will to a wicked magician who dwelt in caverns near. He had in vain tried to bring them into his power, until one day they happened to be crossing the Ogofau, and he, by his wicked enchantments, raised a terrific storm of thunder, lightning and hail, which beat upon and bruised the saints, and they laid their heads against a large boulder standing near for shelter. So great was the force of the hail that the impression of their heads can be seen to this day upon the four sides of the stone.

The enchanter transported the saints into his caverns (the Ogofau) where they sleep. Tradition says they will awake, and come back to the light of day, when King Arthur returns, or when the Diocese is blessed with a truly pious and apostolic prelate!

According to another version they were five young pilgrims on their way to the shrine of S. David, who, exhausted with fatique, reposed on this pillow their weary heads which a violent storm of rain and hailstones affixed to the stone. A malignant sorcerer appeared and carried them off to his cavern, where they are destined to remain asleep until the happy day mentioned.

The block, supposed to have on it the impression of the five heads on each of its four sides, has been extracted from the mine, and was originally horizontal. The hollows are actually mortars in which the quartz was crushed for gold.

This excerpt is from p226 from ‘The Lives of the British Saints’ by Sabine Baring-Gould (I think he got these stories from Arch Camb 1878 pp322-3).

So maybe it’s not even a legit subject for TMA. But it’s got some familiar themes that are attached to older stones. And it even seems to have its own new explanation (can the ‘gold mortar’ thing really be true?)

According to ‘The Old Stones of the Cotswolds and the Forest of Dean’ by Danny Sullivan (1999), the Twizzle Stone is at this grid reference. It’s ages since I’ve seen the book so can’t describe it further – the stone is not on Magic and (seemingly mistakenly) I always assumed this and the Tingle Stone were one and the same – similar names I guess.

Mr Grinsell is describing stone that turn round, when he says “We may perhaps also compare the Twizzle Stone in the Cotswolds, which, I would suggest, may have twizzled round when it heard the cock crow.” Ah the world of speculative folklore, I love it.

Tom Graves has a more concrete story. He is talking about different bands of alternately ‘charged’ areas on certain standing stones and other sites.

The [bands from the fourth up] connect up with other energies, or networks of energies, above ground; and in the case of the fifth and seventh bands, this connection, as far as many dowsers are concerned, produces some interesting side-effects.

The effect of the fifth band on the dowser may have given a standing stone in Gloucestershire its name: the Twizzle Stone. When a dowser leans against the level of the fifth band on a stone or buttress, the band somehow affects the dowser’s balance, producing an effect which feels like a slow and gentle push to one side or the other.

According to the skill of the dowser (and, it must be admitted, more subjective factors like a sense of showmanship), this sense of ‘being pushed’ can be increased until it looks as if the dowser has been thrown to one side by the stone.

Well if you can find it maybe you can check for me.

Tom Graves describes a modern day ‘retribution’ story:

.. in the case of some barrows a thunderstorm followed within hours or minutes of the opening of the barrow. The same coicidence still occurs from time to time, as happened when a barrow on Parliament Hill in north London was opened recently; and I’ve heard that it is apparently a respectable piece of professional lore amongst present-day archaeologists. What is not respectable is to suggest that there might be a causal link between the breaching of the barrow and the thunderstorm that followed.

He goes on to suggest that the effect could be ‘exactly like short-circuiting some kind of ‘thunderstorm capacitor’. From p86 of his book on dowsing, ‘Needles of Stone Revisited’ (1986), which is actually free to download here:
tomgraves.eu/needles

The beginning of this story is apparently much sillier than the version already posted would hint at. Monty Python style silly. Unfortunately after that it just gets nasty.

A sanguinary encounter once took place between the Maclaurins of Auchleskin and the Buchanans of Leny, arising out of the following circumstance:

At the fair of St. Kessaig held in Kilmahog, in the parish of Callander, one of the Buchanans struck a Maclaurin of weak intellect, on the cheek, with a salmon which he was carrying, and knocked off his bonnet. The latter said he would not dare to repeat the blow at next St. George’s fair at Balquhidder.

To that fair the Buchanans went in a strong body, and on their appearance the half witted Maclaurin.. told of what had occurred.. The warning cross was immediately sent through the clan, and every man able to bear arms hastened to the muster.

In their impatience the Maclaurins began the battle before all their force had collected, and were driven from the field, but one of them, seeing his son cut down, turned furiously upon the Buchanans, shouting the war-cry of his tribe (“Craig Tuirc*,” the rock of the boar), and his clansmen rallying, became fired with the miri-cath, or madness of battle, rushed after him, fighting desperately.

The Buchanans were slain in great numbers.. [the story carries on as below..]

From p36 of The Scottish Nation, By William Anderson (1863).

*actually says Craig Tuire. But they mean Craig Tuirc.

Be careful about the amount of cash you leave: “The popular belief still retains memory of this wild legend.. It was believed that Wayland Smith’s fee was sixpence, and that, unlike other workmen, he was offended if more was offered.”

From p219 of ‘Introductions and notes and illustrations to the novels..’ by Walter Scott. Vol 2, 1833.

This sounds reminiscent of hobs and fairies, who are also unimpressed by the wrong type of payment, and will stop being helpful after such mannerless behaviour.

A slightly different version of the ‘cup’ tale, and a few new points:

The legend [as told by William of Newburgh] existed early in the twelfth century, or more than seven hundred years ago. I learnt, during my visit to the spot, that it still exists, though in a debased form.

The peasantry now tell us that, one winter’s night, a farmer returning from market heard, much to his astonishment, sounds of mirth and revelry proceed from Willey-hou, whereupon he rode up to the hill to ascertain the cause of this extraordinary occurence. As he approached, a little dapper man presented himself, with a cup of welcome.

The farmer, supposing it to be silver, drank the contents, and setting spurs to his horse rode off with the treasure; but on his arrival at home, to his great disappointment, he found that it was nothing but base metal.

[he then describes the ‘treasure’ story below, with the rhyme being
“Hep Joan! prow Mark!
Whether God will or no,
We’ll have this ark.“]

.. The peasantry assure you further, that if any one run nine times round the tumulus without stopping, and then put his ear against it, he will distinctly hear the fairies dancing and singing in the interior.

The old superstitious feeling relating to the spot seems, indeed, to exist almost as strong amongst the peasantry of the present day as it did ages ago; our proceedings [they were digging the barrow, but got distracted by some more exciting stuff that was going on in Scarborough, so abandoned the project] excited general alarm among the lower classes, who expected to see some manifestation of vengeance on the part of the beings believed to hold the guard of the tumuls; and few would have ventured out in its neighbourhood after dark.

From ‘On some ancient barrows or tumuli recently opened in East Yorkshire’ – chapter 2 in ‘Essays on Archaeological Subjects’ by Thomas Wright, v1, 1861.

[There is] a well dedicated to St. Euinus, about sixty yards from the church of Redruth, at the foot of Carn Brea hill; and within the recollection of persons now living a stone cross stood near it. The peculiar virtue ascribed to this well was that whoever should be baptized by its water would be preserved from being ignominiously hanged.

p74 in Ancient Crosses, and Other Antiquities in the East of Cornwall By John Thomas Blight (1858). (readable online at Google Books). This is also known as St Euny’s Well, and is at SW690413.

In Willingham field, on the edge of the fen, about half of a circular entrenchment remains, which, when entire, contained about six acres; it consists of a high vallum and a ditch, and is situated near the end of Aldreth causeway, leading across the fens towards Ely: this entrenchment s known by the name of Belsar’s hills, and is supposed to have been thrown up by William the Conqueror, when he beseiged the isle of Ely; it seems, nevertheless, more probable, from the resemblance it bears to the two works already noticed, of Vandlebury and Arbury, that it was originally a British work, afterwards occupied by the Conqueror, who probably threw up some additional works: it must at all times have been a very important station, as commanding the pass into the isle of Ely.

This source’s phrasing seems to suggest a local story, rather than just an academic theory? From p74 of Magna Brittanica, by David Lysons, 1808 (vol2, pt1, Cambridgeshire). Online at Google Books.

The story of the seige is dramatised in Kingsley’s 1865 ‘Hereward the Wake’, as it was Hereward (and others) that resisted the Normans’ move into Ely. Belasius, one of William’s knights, is able to capture the city by bribing some of the monks to show him a safe route across the marshes. Hereward escapes to fight another day.

It appears.. from the ancient and authentic records, that during the time St. Elwitus led the life of a hermit at Llanhamelach, the mare that used to carry his provisions to him was covered by a stag, and produced an animal of wonderful speed, resembling a horse before and a stag behind.

Was this a deliberate intervention by St Illtyd, who felt his groceries weren’t getting delivered fast enough? This is from the Itinerary of Archbishop Baldwin through Wales, by Giraldus Cambrensis, which was written after their journey in 1188.

It’s in chapter 2 and you can read it online at V Wales
vwales.co.uk/ebooks/itinerary.htm

Almedha the martyr, twenty-third daughter of Brychan Brecheiniog, unfortunately

“suffered martyrdom upon a hill near Brecon, called Pen-ginger. This hill is now generally known by the name of Slwch, though part of it still retains its old appelation. Pen-ginger is a corruption of Pen cefn y Gaer, i.e., the summit of the ridge of the fortification, from an old British camp, the remains of which are still visible.

Not far from the camp stood the monastic house, which Giraldus Cambrensis calls a stately edifice, where Almedha is supposed to have officiated as principle, or lady abbess. It is now completely ruinated, and can only be traced by tradition to a spot where a heap of stones and an aged yew tree, with a wall at its root, marks its site.

.. [according to a Dr. Owen Pughe,] “The day of her solemnity is celebrated every year on the first day of August.“* He then proceeds to record the miracles of the saint, and the faith and religious frenzy of her votaries; upon which his annotator is a little waggish, and hints that they might now and then have taken a cup too much.

p21-22 of ‘The Heroines of Welsh History’ by Thomas Jeffery Llewelyn Prichard (1854), now online at Google Books.

*eagle eyes will notice this is Lughnasadh or Lammas.

This are Giraldus Cambrensis’s words, from his Itinerary:

There are many churches in Wales distinguished by their names [the names of St Breinioch’s children], one of which, situated on the summit of a hill, near Brecheinoc, and not far from the castle of Aberhodni, is called the church of St. Almedda, after the name of the holy virgin, who, refusing there the hand of an earthly spouse, married the Eternal King, and triumphed in a happy martyrdom; to whose honour a solemn feast is annually held in the beginning of August, and attended by a large concourse of people from a considerable distance, when those persons who labour under various diseases, through the merits of the Blessed Virgin, received their wished-for health.

The circumstances which occur at every anniversary appear to me remarkable. You may see men or girls, now in the church, now in the churchyard, now in the dance, which is led round the churchyard with a song, on a sudden falling on the ground as in a trance, then jumping up as in a frenzy, and representing with their hands and feet, before the people, whatever work they have unlawfully done on feast days; you may see one man put his hand to the plough, and another, as it were, goad on the oxen, mitigating their sense of labour, by the usual rude song: one man imitating the profession of a shoemaker; another, that of a tanner. Now you may see a girl with a distaff, drawing out the thread, and winding it again on the spindle; another walking, and arranging the threads for the web; another, as it were, throwing the shuttle, and seeming to weave.

On being brought into the church, and led up to the altar with their oblations, you will be astonished to see them suddenly awakened, and coming to themselves. Thus, by the divine mercy, which rejoices in the conversion, not in the death, of sinners, many persons from the conviction of their senses, are on these feast days corrected and mended.

Online at the excellent ‘Vision of Britain’ website. Giraldus wrote this after his tour through Wales in 1188.

visionofbritain.org.uk/text/chap_page.jsp?t_id=Cambrensis_Tour&c_id=4

Francis Grose’s 1787 book “The Antiquities of England and Wales” mentions that “near Denchworth is Cherbury castle, a fortress of Canute.”

I found that this story is connected with the Pusey Horn, an object which is now in the Victoria and Albert museum. collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O132646/the-pusey-horn-oil-painting-unknown/

The Danish Canute was King of England about a thousand years ago. He and his army were camping near to Pusey, at Cherbury. The Saxon army was not far away, and a local man ran to warn Canute. For the tip-off he was given this horn, and all the land that it could be heard from – it paid off because Canute’s army won the ensuing battle.

This book, ‘Crop Circles, signs of contact‘ wants us to believe that Golden Ball Hill is so called because of the strange glowing globes seen there, which are connected with the crop circles of the area. Well, it could be true, though you’d think someone would have mentioned these globes before. But whatever, I guess it is an interesting and fitting contemporary example of place name derivation, in the lore-rich landscape around Avebury.

A midwife of Flodigarry was attending a confinement, when, one day, a message came for her to go some distance away. She [agreed to] the summons and found herself inside a fairy mound. She begged to be allowed to go, but the fairies refused to let her till she had performed two tasks. She was provided with a spindle, some wool, and some meal in a girnal. When the wool was all spun, and the meal made into bread, she might go. She toiled very assiduously to get all finished up, but it was of no avail. The wool and the meal remained undiminished. Despairing of ever seeing her home again, she begged of a fairy who was alone with her to tell her what to do. The fairy was moved by her prayers and told her to spin the wool as the sheep eats grass.

[Here the writer says This instruction has no meaning, so I suspect there has been some mistranslation from the Gaelic, which is of course, the language in which all these stories were originally told. Thus she misses the point entirely, because it’s
surely a riddle the midwife has to solve? She continues..]

At all events the midwife understood, and soon finished that task. As to the meal, the fairy told her that she must take some of the dough and form a cake with it. This cake she must bake in front of (before?) the others, and eat it entirely herself. [Again some critical point has been missed, as she says:] In this way the task was done.

The fairies saw she must have had help from one of their own number, but she stoutly refused to tell. They were therefore forced to allow her to go. Joyfully she sped back to her “case,” and on arriving at her patient’s house she found it full of music and merrymaking. Astonished, she asked a bystander what it all meant. “A wedding,” was the surprised answer.
“Whose wedding will it be?” she queried impatiently. What was her surprise to find it was the wedding of the very child she had helped to bring into the world, for she had been absent more than twenty years.

p207-208 in
Folk-Lore of the Isle of Skye
Mary Julia MacCulloch
Folklore, Vol. 33, No. 2. (Jun. 30, 1922), pp. 201-214.

An old man in Borve was very much later than his neighbours in cutting his corn. One day he was standing looking at it, and he said aloud, “This corn is ready to be cut.” Waking next morning this easy-going old gentleman saw, to his amazement, his corn cut and put up in stooks.

The next morning he was met by a man about four feet high and dressed in blue clothes. (This probably meant for green, as my informant, Donald Murchison, while working in the garden always called grass “that blue sing.“) The old man asked the stranger where he had come from. “From Dun Borve,” answered the little man, “and want pay for cutting the corn.”
“What pay?” queried the old crofter.
“A few potatoes and a little pot,” was the reply.
This seems a floating reminiscence of the demands of the much-dreaded tinkers, for, of course, potatoes were entirely unknown in the days when this story was first told. However that may be, the demands in this case were acceded to, and now hardly a day passed without the little man or his still less wife appearing with new requests.

The nuisance became quite intolerable, and the old man beat his brains for a means whereby he might put a stop to it. He at last hit on a plan. One day, when his troublesome visitors were as usual asking for something, he suddenly called out, “Dun Borve is on fire with all in it, dog or man.” Instantly the fairy disappeared and from that time troubled the ingenious old man no more.

But at Portree Market he once more saw the little man. Unwisely, he spoke to him, and the fairy said, “How will you be seeing me?”
“With this eye,” said the old man.
Instantly the fairy put spittle in the eye indicated, and, though the old man retained the normal use of it, the supernormal power disappeared.

p205-6 in
Folk-Lore of the Isle of Skye
Mary Julia MacCulloch
Folklore, Vol. 33, No. 2. (Jun. 30, 1922), pp. 201-214.

This dun would be the natural choice for the location of this story:

A man in Raasay, going to a black still at Suishnish for whiskey, and coming back with a skin bottleful on his back, saw a hill, which he had to pass, open before him, and looking in he saw tables laid. This was too good an opportunity to be missed, and he went in to join the feast, which was being celebrated with all manner of splendour: linene of the finest, massive silver plate, and gaily dressed servants waiting.

Dancing followed, and for a while he joined in; but, becoming sated with gaiety, he thought of returning home. He would have a fine story to tell, but who would believe him? He must have some evidence to show, so he snatched away a tablecloth. The hue and cry was up at once, and he was closely pursued. But he reached home safely with his prize, which he showed to all comers.

Macgilliechallum, the chief of the Macleods of Raasay, asked for the cloth, and asking, in the case of a chief, being then much the same as taking, it was given up to him. It was long in the possession of the MacLeods of Raasay.

p205 in Folk-Lore of the Isle of Skye
Mary Julia MacCulloch
Folklore, Vol. 33, No. 2. (Jun. 30, 1922), pp. 201-214.

And the Dun is surely the location for this story too. And if it isn’t it should be.

A well-to-do couple in the neighbourhood of Edinbane had but one lack in their prosperity – they had no child. But, at length, to their pride and joy, the wished-for child arrived. A bountiful harvest demanded all hands at work, and the mother carried her infant out, and left it comfortable and apparently safe inthe charge of a young girl. But the latter was heedless and false to her trust, and she left the sleeping infant to the many dangers which menace infant life.

During her absence the fairies, attracted by the beauty of the human child, stole it, leaving in its place a peculiarly unattractive infant of their own species. From that time the healthy child “dwined,” always wailing and refusing to eat. After all ordinary means had been tried and had failed the mother consulted a “wise man.” This person bade the mother listen if she could hear the crying of her own child, which she soon perceived to be coming from a little hill.

By the advice of the wise man the mother took the fairy child near this hill and slapped it hard. Immediately a voice was heard exclaiming in anger, “Throw her out her own ugly brat,” and the fairy child disappeared, leaving, at her feet, her own comely infant.

p204-205 in
Folk-Lore of the Isle of Skye
Mary Julia MacCulloch
Folklore, Vol. 33, No. 2. (Jun. 30, 1922), pp. 201-214.

This just has to be the location of the following story.

Two hunchbacks lived at Edinbane, about fourteen miles from Portree. One of these fell ill, and asked his comrade in misfortune to go and feed his herd of cattle, the beautiful shaggy creatures one still sees in the Highlands. As the neighbour, a kindly, merry man, proceeded on his mission, he heard sounds coming from a small hill, and, listening, he heard a voice chanting continuously, “Monday, Tuesday.”
With a sudden impulse he joined in, “Wednesday, Thursday.”
A voice inquired, “Who will be adding nice verses to my song?”
“A hunchback bodach,” the man replied.
“Come in to my house,” said the voice, and the hunchback obeyed.
An old fairy man greeted him, and in gratitude for the addition to his song he took off the disfiguring hump.

We can picture the neighbour’s astonishment when the transformed hunchback returned home. Jealousy consumed him, and the next day he hurried to the same place and heard the same song, which now included the nice new verses. Jealous of his neighbour’s good fortune, for he was a sullen, discontented man, he joined in, “Friday, Saturday.”

But this did not have the desired effect, for a wrathful voice demanded, “Who will be spoiling my nice song?” and the fairy man emerged and dragged him inside. With somewhat arbitrary cruelty he added the neighbours hump to that already on his back and drove him out.

p203-4 in
Folk-Lore of the Isle of Skye
Mary Julia MacCulloch
Folklore, Vol. 33, No. 2. (Jun. 30, 1922), pp. 201-214.

A relative of Donald Murchison, who was employed as a herd boy on the farm of Scorybreck, fell asleep on a hill known as Dun Torvaig. Awaking from a heavy sleep, he found himself surrounded by fairies, and was a delighted spectator of their feasting and dancing. Meanwhile, in his home, he was mourned for as dead, and sad funeral feasts and loud wailing (and the latter is most heartrending) filled the house. What was the astonishment of the mourners when he arrived home, safe and well. Three weeks had elapsed, but he refused to believe it, and said, “It was the fine long sleep I had, but who would be sleeping the three weeks? It was but half a day I was after sleeping.” He was safe and well certainly but never again the same lad, for he was ever distraught in manner, and ever sighing for the joys of the fairy-haunted Dun.

p203 in
Folk-Lore of the Isle of Skye
Mary Julia MacCulloch
Folklore, Vol. 33, No. 2. (Jun. 30, 1922), pp. 201-214.

Donald was one of Mary’s informants – he did her garden for her and was the local postie. He had “the magnificent salary of four shillings a week [and] could read English and was fond of reading.” When she went round his house for tea (she was “served with a courtesy worthy of a ducal palace”) she couldn’t help noting that his hearth was in the centre of the room and the cows were eating just through a door in the kitchen. I kind of feel she mentions these things to prove he’s ‘one of the folk’ to her readers, rather than marvelling at the quaint way he lives.

A Wishing Cell. -- At St. Govain in Pembrokeshire there is a “wishing cell” in the rock. It is said that any one who turns round inside wishing for the same thing all the time, will get it before the end of the year. The place is still visited by young people who are in love.

p157 in
Notes on Welsh Folklore
Jonathan Ceredig Davies
Folklore, Vol. 30, No. 2. (Jun. 30, 1919), pp. 156-157.

Two pieces of stoney folklore from the vicinity. I doubt they’re connected to the rock art (they rarely are) but there various natural rocks and even a ruined chambered tomb in the Brahan Woods.

[..]Mr. W. Mackenzie, Procurator Fiscal of Cromarty, writes me from Dingwall (10th September, 1917) as follows:

“We are not without some traces and traditions of phallic worship here. There is a stone in the Brahan Wood which is said to be a ‘knocking stone.’ Barren women sat in close contact upon it for the purpose of becoming fertile. It serves the purpose of the mandrake in the East. I have seen the stone. It lies in the Brahan Wood about three miles from Dingwall.”

J.G. Frazer.

‘In close contact’ – what a polite way of putting it.
And another, also fowarded by Sir James Frazer:

In the Brahan Wood there are a number of conglomerate boulders, some of considerable size. Two of these boulders lean against each other, meeting near the top. A few years ago an old woman aged 84 died near this town. When she was a child she had a fit – perhaps a convulsion – which her parents supposed to be epileptic. They lighted a fire at the top of the leaning stones, and passed the child through the opening below. This reminds one of the Biblical account of passing through the fire to Moloch.”
W Mackenzie, Dingwall.

From:
Women Fertilized by Stones
J. G. Frazer
Folklore, Vol. 29, No. 3. (Sep. 30, 1918), p. 254.
and
Scotch Cures for Epilepsy
W. MacKenzie
Folklore, Vol. 29, No. 1. (Mar. 30, 1918), p. 86.

This mound of earth is generally called the Castle by the peasantry, among whom some singular tales are current respecting the cause of its formation.

One of these is a vague story of a certain Queen, who having made a wager with the King, that she could encamp a large army of men within a bull’s hide, ordered the bull’s hide to be cut into strings, and the greatest possible circle to be encompassed therewith: this was done accordingly, and the encampment made upon this spot.

From p29 of ‘The Beauties of England and Wales’ by John Britton, and others (1801).

[Quoting Dr Stukeley:]“A high prominence of the Chiltern overlooks all, called the Five Knolls, from that number of barrows, or Celtic tumuli, which are round, pretty large, and ditched about, upon the very apex of the hill.

Close by is a round cavity, as often observed in Wiltshire [ie a dry valley in the chalk hill]. This, we are informed, is called Pascomb Pit, and is a great hollow in the downs.”

Tradition, that unwearying journalist of marvellous tales, reports that a church was intended to have been erected on this spot, but that the materials were removed invisibly as fast as brought together.

From p29 of ‘The Beauties of England and Wales’ by John Britton, and others (1801). Yeah, John Britton sounds like a pseudonym for such a book title, but he was an antiquary. Online at Google Books.

More on the ‘Pascombe Pit’, where there was the tradition of rolling oranges on Good Friday. The writer connects this with the removal of the stone from in front of Jesus’s tomb. But really that wasn’t orange and didn’t roll down a hill.

The tradition of orange rolling is believed to have started in the mid to late eighteenth century and involved hundreds of people. The juiciest oranges were reserved for pelting one another and knocking off the top hats of those foolish enough to wear them at such a spectacle. Additional entertainment was provided by a local band which was later joined by several fairground attractions including a merry-go-round, a coconut shy and a shooting gallery. They positioned themselves at the foot of the hill.

Attendance grew each year with people travelling from as far away as London by train, bus and eventually by motor car.

Sadly lack of oranges in the war led to the activity’s suspension. And a revival later was ‘squashed’ by local traders in the sixties. Bring back the orange rolling!!

see Rita Swift’s article here, at the Collections Picture Library.

The devil threw a stone from here to Cleeve Hill Tumulus, as you may read about on that page.

But due to my impressionable childhood mind voraciously devouring the Reader’s Digest ‘Strange Stories, Amazing Facts’, Meon Hill always reminds me of the story of the witchcraft-related? murder of Charles Walton.

You can read all about it in Adrian Pengelly’s White Dragon article here:
whitedragon.org.uk/articles/charles.htm
(amongst countless other internet sites).

The article also teasingly mentions in passing that “there had long been stories of a ghostly black dog on Meon hill that heralded death to those it appeared to”. The detective investigating the case is said to also have seen a black dog on the hill..

There are two barrows marked here on the summit on the OS map, although Magic doesn’t actually list them as scheduled monuments. I read this about the Down in ‘Folklore’*: “.. in Hampshire “stones grow.” If you doubt this, you only have to gather the flints off a field and see if a double crop will not face you shortly! Besides, has not Shanklin Down increased one hundred feet in height?”

Well how bizarre. I found a bit more here. I guess it must have been local drollery in the C19th Isle of Wight. Unless of course, the hill really has been on the move.

“That high peak that we see is St. Katherine’s, the highest point of the island, is it not?”
“Yes,” he replied, “St. Katherine’s is at present the highest point of the island.”
”Is at present! Why, you do not mean to say that there ever was a time when its elevation was different?”
“That I know nothing about,” he replied; “but it appears very probable that Shanklin Down will soon overtake it in height.”
“Why, you don’t mean to say that Shanklin Down is growing higher?”
“That, indeed, appears to be the case, or, at any rate, relatively to other heights in the island. The inhabitants of Chale will tell you that formerly Shanklin Down, from the interference of Week Down, could only be seen from the top of St. Katherine’s, whereas it is now visible from Chale Down, which is much lower consequently, unless Week Down has sunk lower than it was, Shanklin Down must have risen considerably. Now, if Week Down is sinking, it is very probable that St. Katherine’s is slipping down too; so that, whether Shanklin Down is growing higher or not, it seems very probable that it will in the course of time overlook all the rest of the Isle of Wight.”
“Very curious,” said [another], with a kind of supercilious air. “I suppose the two hills playing at see-saw.--Now we go up, up, up; and now we go down, down, down. Very curious, -- very,” picking his teeth incredulously between the two last words.

“There is no animal,” thought I to myself, “so jealous of another of the same species, as your regular story-teller.”

From ‘Tales and Legends of the Isle of Wight – with the adventures of the author in search of them.’ by Abraham Elder, Esq.
p535 in Bentley’s Miscellany, vol 5 (1839). Apparently it’s mentioned in Worsley’s 1781 History of the Isle of Wight, if you can find it.

*Hampshire Folklore
D. H. Moutray Read
Folklore, Vol. 22, No. 3. (Sep. 30, 1911), pp. 292-329.

Charm-Stones.

The two holed-stones exhibited are from the collection of Sir F. Tress Barry, and were dug out of brochs, popularly called “Picts’ houses,” in the neighbourhood of Keiss Castle, Caithness.

They measure on and three-sixteenths and one and seven-sixteenths of an inch respectively in diameter. The smallest is from one-eighth to a quarter of an inch in thickness, whilst the larger and less perfect specimen has a thickness of three-eighths of an inch on one side, but on the opposite is chipped away to little more than one-sixteenth of an inch. The perforation of the first is a clean cut circle not quite a quarter of an inch in diameter. The hole of the larger stone is rougher, and has a diameter of three-eighths of an inch. Sometimes these stones are found decorated with small patterns of scratched lines. They are, in fact, ancient spindle whorls.

A few people in Caithness still attribute some superstitious power to these stones, and on the first night of the “quarter” they tie one of them between the horns of each of their cows and oxen, to frighten away the fairies and ill-luck. There is a tradition that the magic stones were made by seven vipers, who worked them into shape with their teeth, and that as they were finished the king of the vipers carried them off up on his tail ! *

When cattle sickened it used to be the custom in the old days – and, indeed, until quite recently – to call in a man with “charm stones” to conjure out the evil spirit. The grandfather of a middle-aged man now living in Caithness was celebrated for his wonderful cures, and declared that he had often seen the “fairy darts” sticking in the sick oxen when called in to doctor them.

He had to be left quite alone when practising his magic arts, but one day a neighbour – being very curious to see what he did – hid in a stable where he had shut himself up, and saw him rub the sick animal with the charm-stones, while at intervals he turned the stones over in the basket he had brought them in, saying “Swate ye! Swate ye!” He then administered a “drink of silver” (a bucket of water with a piece of silver money in it), and the animal was cured. The “silver drink” is still believed to be very effective in many parts of Caithness, and certainly it is a simple remedy, not likely to do any mischief.
F.BARRY.

*In the Hebrides these stone whorls are known as adder-stones.

Veterinary Leechcraft
Edward Lovett; F. Barry; J. G. Frazer; F. N. Webb
Folklore, Vol. 16, No. 3. (Sep. 29, 1905), pp. 334-337.

This must link to the idea that Harold fought a battle here (and hence erected the memorial stones):

We have many place-names, whose folk-etymology recalls the long-past border wars and commemorates real or imaginary battles. [..] At Trelleck (Mon.) is the Bloody Field, on which no crops will grow, nothing but gorse. “Eh, but it have been ploughed again and again, but ‘tis no use; because of the blood spilt there, ‘tis no use.”

[..]

Legend said [the stones Jacky Kent threw] could never be moved, but alas! gunpowder has accounted for one at least on the English side of the Wye.

p163 in Folk-Lore of the Wye Valley
Margaret Eyre
Folklore, Vol. 16, No. 2. (Jun. 24, 1905), pp. 162-179.

This story is known in similar forms around Britain, for example Llanymynech Hill and Fiddler’s Hill. It seems odd that although this one’s based in Trelleck, the stones themselves aren’t mentioned. Unless of course it was obvious to the teller and implied, but not known to the recorder.

There was a tradition at Trelleck, [so says Mrs Perrett or Bevan at Tregagle], of a fiddler having been lost in a cave; he was heard playing underground for years afterwards. Another story of the same sort, or possibly an explanation of the above, is that some people passing through a certain meadow used to hear lovely music. Several times they heard it, and at least they collected some folk together to investigate it. They traced the music to a certain spot, and there they dug in the ground, disclosing at last an underground cave wherein were two old men, hermit-like, playing, one a violin, the other a harp. They had been there many years, and used to take it in turns to go out at night and fetch food. Very old and decrepit they were, and soon after they were taken from underground they died.

p64 in Miscellaneous Notes from Monmouthshire
Beatrix A. Wherry
Folklore, Vol. 16, No. 1. (Mar. 25, 1905), pp. 63-67.

Wandering a little further to the north-east, you reach the top of Cairnpapple with its round Pictish fort – the place, as a not very intelligent workman whom we met on the hill told us, “where they aye met to burn witches.”

By the oh so intelligent and conveniently anonymous contributor to p266 of ‘Things New And Old in Religion, Science and Literature’ (1857). Online at Google Books.

Craig y Llyn towers above the lake, and it..

..had a green lady in the seventeenth century. Every seven years she came and sat on one of the rocks, making chains and necklaces of wild berries. The rowan or mountain-ash was her favourite tree, and she could be seen wandering about gathering an apronful of the bright red berries, which she conveyed to her favourite rock. Once when a man wished to follow her, but stood irresolute, she beckoned to him and smiled. He went towards her, and she gave him a handful of red rowan-berries.

He thanked her, and put them in his pocket. Then there came a crash, and the lady disappeared. She wore a green robe and green jewels. The berries changed to gold coins.

From chapter 15 of Mary Trevelyan’s ‘Folk lore and folk stories of Wales’ (1909). Online at V-Wales:
vwales.co.uk/Folklore/trevelyan/welshfolklore/chapt15.htm

There are two walled enclosures on the summits of Moel Offrwm, and the traces of many small round structures (surely roundhouses, though Coflein does not commit the site to any particular period).

It’s not connected with the forts*, but is a very local story: There was an oak just beneath the mountain on the west side, known as Derwen Ceubren yr Ellyll, ‘the goblin’s hollow tree’. It must have been quite crowded in there as it was also supposed to have been haunted by a compatriot of Owain Glyndwr, Howel Sele. The two men had been enemies but had allegedly made up, and were hunting deer together. Sele took a crafty shot at Glyndwr, but was rather surprised when his arrow bounced off the armour he was cunningly wearing underneath his vest. Gyndwr was understandably angry. Years later a skeleton ‘resembling Howel Sele in stature’ was discovered in the hollow tree. The tree met a natural fate in the early 1800s.

From: ‘Llanvachreth – Llanvagdalen’, A Topographical Dictionary of Wales (1849), pp. 111-15.
british-history.ac.uk/report.asp?compid=47858

*unless you’d like to think that Sele had his stronghold in one of the forts.

“An old story about a witch living near the Ogmore River, in Glamorgan, describes a man listening to the muttering of a woman, and instantly giving her chase, with the result that in the “twinkling of an eye” he found himself on the top of the Garth Mountain, near Whitchurch.”

from chapter 16 of Marie Trevelyan’s “Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales”, published in 1909. Online at V-Wales:
vwales.co.uk/Folklore/trevelyan/welshfolklore/chapt16.htm

When Eston nabbe puts on a cloake,
And Roysberrye a cappe,
Then all the folks on Clevelands clay
Ken there will be a clappe.---Yorkshire.

on p130 of
Weather Proverbs and Sayings Not Contained in Inwards’ or Swainson’s Books
C. W. Empson
The Folk-Lore Record, Vol. 4. (1881), pp. 126-132.
Apparently also in the Denham Tracts from 1850.

This is a summary of an article printed in Archaeologia volume 9.

Mr. Rooke is the author of the next article, which informs us of druidical remains on Harborough Rocks, Derbyshire; viz. circles, caves, basons, &c. The most remarkable is a rock cut in the shape of a great chair, near another stone having a bason at the top. One of these huge rock-chairs is situated at the side of a small plain opposite to a rock-idol. They are supposed to have been the occasional seats of the officiating druids; who, being near the rock bason, might conveniently consult the pure water, or snow, collected in it.

From p9 of the Monthly Review v2, 1790 (which is online at Google Books). Pretty much says what Stubob says! but 200 years before.

In the 1920s at least, the cave on the south west face was “known locally as the Giant’s Cave”.

so says p204 of ‘Exploration of Harborough Cave, Brassington.‘
A. Leslie Armstrong
The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute of Great Britain and Ireland, Vol. 53. (Jul. – Dec., 1923), pp. 402-413.

Another story about the Broch.

“In Houstry, Dunbeath, Caithness, about the year 1809 or 1810, David Gunn, a crofter, in the course of making a kail-yaird, interfered with one of those prehistoric ruins known as Brochs which are so numerous in that northern region. Now it was well known that this Broch was a fairy habitation, and, in any case, it was well known that to tamper with a Broch or to carry away any of its materials was extremely uncanny.”

But Mr Gunn didn’t take any notice, and unfortunately a plague broke out that decimated the cattle of the whole district. Thanks a lot.

The was a meeting of local important types, and they decided on a Teine-Eigin as the best step forward. So they got a branch and stripped off its bark, and purified it by popping it on a little island in the Houstry Burn, so it was separated from everydayness by the flowing water. Everyone put out any fires that were burning. Then someone made a fire with the purified wood, and all the other fires were kindled from it anew.

The contributor of this story actually sent in a photo of one of these special bits of wood. It’s got round dips in it as though it’s been used (maybe) for making fire by a bow/drill method. But it hasn’t got little v-shaped notches like wot Ray Mears would recommend.

See
Sacred Fire
R. C. Maclagan
Folklore, Vol. 9, No. 3. (Sep., 1898), pp. 280-281.

I think the following strange story probably relates to the chambered cairn here?

The Druid of Ach a’ bheannaich (i.e. The Druid of the Mound of Blessing or Salutation).

At a short distance to the east of the “Druidical” stones at Acha’bheannaich, parish of Latheron, Caithness, there is a cairn overgrown with heather. In the middle of this cairn there is a small enclosure that closely resembles one of the “Druidical” altars that one may see in various parts of the Highlands. I visited this “Druidical” fane in the winter of 1874. The following legend associated with this tumulus was related to me by one of the Caithness ministers, an intimate friend, now deceased:

“When the principal Druid of that district had become so old and infirm that he could no longer perform the functions of his office, he was burnt alive on this altar as a sacrifice. While he was being offered, the young Druid who had been appointed his successor in office kept going round in the altar-smoke – ex fumo dare lucem-- that he might catch the spirit of his predecessor as it took its flight.”

p87 in
Folklore from the Hebrides. III
Malcolm MacPhail
Folklore, Vol. 9, No. 1. (Mar., 1898), pp. 84-93.

It’s hard to know how to interpret it really. Humour? Pro-Christian propaganda? Real belief? Who knows.

This round barrow (unusual for Staffordshire with its bank and ditch) is on a little hill called ‘The Roundabout’, just outside Norbury. It overlooks the ‘High Bridge’ over the canal, which I believe to be the location for the following story (the other bridge near Norbury looks too near buildings to be scary). I wonder if its presence added to the uncannyness of the location. I’d like to think so.

A short distance from the village there is a bridge over the Birmingham and Liverpool Canal which is always regarded as rather an uncanny place at night. A labouring man who had to cross this bridge with a horse and cart about ten o’clock one evening in January, 1879, arrived at home in an extraordinary state of fright and agitation, and related that just as he passed the bridge a black thing with white eyes sprang out of the hedgerow on to his horse.

The terrified horse broke into a gallop; the man tried to knock off the creature with his whip, but the whip went through the Thing and fell from his hand to the ground. How he got rid of the intruder or reached home at last he hardly knew, but the whip was picked up the next day just where he said he had dropped it.

The story of his strange encounter quickly spread, and this was the explanation that was offered by a local wiseacre: “It was the Man-Monkey as always does come again on the Big Bridge, ever since the man was drowned in the ‘Cut’.”

p368 in
Staffordshire Folk and Their Lore
C. S. Burne
Folklore, Vol. 7, No. 4. (Dec., 1896), pp. 366-386.

She has a longer version in ‘Shropshire Folklore’ in which it’s not a ‘wiseacre’ but the policeman!
archive.org/stream/shropshirefolkl00burngoog#page/n130/mode/2up