Rhiannon

The Orkneys had sea-trows and hilltrows. All natural phenomena were regarded as the work of these supernatural agents, to whom worship was offered. A remarkable monument of this worship still remains on the hills of Hoy, the most mountainous of the islands. It is known as the Dwarfie Stone, and consists of a large detached block of sandstone, seven feet in height, twentytwo feet long, and seventeen feet broad. The upper end has been hollowed out by the hands of devotees into a sort of apartment, containing two beds of stone, with a passage between them.

The upper, or longer bed, is 5 ft. 5 in. long by 2 ft. broad, and intended for the dwarf. The lower couch is shorter, and rounded off, instead of being squared, at the corners ; it is intended for the dwarfs wife.

There is an entrance of about three feet and a half square, and a stone lies before it, calculated to fit the opening. Not satisfied with having provided such a solid habitation for the genius loci and his helpmate, the islanders were still in the habit, at no very distant period, of carrying propitiatory gifts to this fetich.

From Notes and Queries, Jan 26th, 1884.

A story about the giant of Bennachie and (presumably) Mither Tap, and that of Tap O’Noth- does anyone know the story?):

It is said that long ” before King Robert rang,” two giants inhabited these mountains, and are supposed to be the respective heroes of the two ballads [” John O’Benachie ;” and another, ” John O’Rhynie, or Jock O’Noth]

These two sons of Anak appear to have lived on pretty friendly terms, and to have enjoyed a social crack together, each at his own residence, although distant some ten or twelve miles. These worthies had another amusement, that of throwing stones at each other; not small pebbles you may believe, but large boulders. On one occasion, however, there appears to have been a coolness between them; for one morning, as he of Noth was returning from a foraging excursion in the district of Buchan, his friend of Benachie, not relishing what he considered an intrusion on his legitimate beat, took up a large stone and threw at him as he was passing.

Noth, on hearing it rebounding, coolly turned round; and putting himself in a posture of defence, received the ponderous mass on the sole of his foot: and I believe that the stone, with a deeply indented foot-mark on it, is, like the bricks in Jack Cade’s chimney, ” alive at this day to testify.”

In Notes and Queries, Volume s1-VIII, Number 204, 1853.

The position of this hill is described in Murray’s ‘Handbook for Kent’ as being immediately above the station (Chilham) on the right. The compilers of this work and of Black’s ’ Guide’ offer the suggestion that this is a corruption of “Julian’s Bower,” a common name given to an area devoted to Roman popular games.

The generally accepted tradition, however, is that it marks the grave of one of Julius Caesar’s generals, Laberius Durus; and the story is well told by Philipott in his ‘Villare Cantianum,’ 1659, p. 117 :—

” There is a place in this Parish [Chilham] on the South-side of the River stretched out on a long green Hill, which the Common People (who bear the greatest sway in the corrupting of Names) call Jelliberies Grave. The Historie itself will evidence the original of this denomination.

It was about this place that Julius Caesar respited his farther remove or advance into the bowels of this Island, upon intelligence received that his Fleet riding in the road at Lymen not far distant, had been much afflicted and shattered by a Tempest; whereupon he returned, and left his Army for ten dayes, encamped upon the brow of this Hill, till he had new careen’d and rigged his Navy; but in his march from hence was so vigoriously [sic] encountered by the Britons that he lost with many others Leberius Durus, Tribune and Marshal of the Field, whose Obsequies being performed with solemnities answerable to the eminence of his Place, and Command, each Souldier as was then Customary, bringing a certain quantity of earth to improve his plane of Sepulture into more note than ordinarie, caused it so much to exceed the proportion of others elsewhere ; and from hence it assumed the name of Julaber, whom other vulgar heads, ignorant of the truth of the story, have fancied to have been a Giant, and others of them have dreamed to have been some Enchanter or Witch.”

From ‘Notes and Queries’ May 19th, 1900.

“JULLABER” —Jullaber is near Chilham, about six miles south-west of Canterbury. There are two references to the place in Camden. Camden himself thus explains the name:—

“Below this town [Julham] is a green barrow, said to be the burying-place of one Jul Laber many years since; who some will tell you was a Giant, others a Witch. For my own part, imagining all along that there might be something of real Antiquity coach’d under that name, I am almost persuaded that Laberius Durus the Tribune, slain by the Britains in their march from the camp we spoke of, was buried here; and that from him the Barrow was called Jul-laber.”

C. C. B.

From Notes and Queries, May 19, 1900.

This proverb is apparently found in Fuller’s Worthies of England (1662):

“When Firle Hill and Long Man has a cap
We at A’ston gets a drap.”

(I found it mentioned in Notes and Queries for May 3rd 1884)

A LOCAL TRADITION OF THE GOG-MAGOG HILLS.—About five miles south-east of the town of Cambridge, and in the county of the same name, are situated the Gog-Magog Hills. They are an offshoot of a range of chalk hills, known as the East Anglian heights, which run through that part of the country. Many barrows are found in the locality, which are supposed to be of early British origin. Here, too, stood the camp of Vandlebury, or Wandlebury, likewise of British construction. Like other places that boast of remote antiquity, it has its legends and traditions.

One tradition, relative to the origin of these hills (which I heard from an elderly man living in the neighbourhood), may be worth recording in the pages of ” N. & Q.,” especially as I have never seen or heard of it being anywhere in print. It asserts that previous to the formation of these hills (Which are three in number), and near to the same spot, was a very large cave, which was inhabited by a giant and hia wife (a giantess) of extraordinary stature, whose names were Gog and Magog. They did not live very happily together, for scarcely a day passed by without a quarrel between them. On one occasion the giantess so outraged the giant, that he swore he would destroy her life. She instantly fled from the cave ; he quickly pursued her ; but she running faster than her husband, he could not overtake her. Gog, in his anger, stooped down, took up a handful of earth and threw at her ; it missed her, but where it fell it raised a hill, which is seen to the present day. Again the enraged giant threw earth at his wife, but again it missed her ; where it fell it was the cause of the second hill. Magog still kept up her pace; but again the giant, in his rage, threw more earth at his wife ; but this time it completely buried her alive, and where she fell is marked by the highest hill of the three. So runs, the local tradition respecting the origin of the
Gog-Magog Hills.

H. C. LOFTS.

From Notes and Queries, December 26th, 1874.

You’d imagine (looking at the map) that at least one of the hills with barrows on must be the hills referred to in the story – and of course one of them must be where Wandlebury is itself?

A SONG OF A CORNISH GIANT.—When my wife and I were at Fowey, in 1904, we stayed at the house of Mrs. West, {..} During some conversation about Cornish songs, Mrs. West informed us that there was one particular song that her brother used to sing, in which she thought we might be interested. Acting, gladly enough, on this suggestion, we arranged with Mrs. West for her brother to pay us a visit, and after he had sung it we asked and received permission to commit it to writing. {..} It was called by the name of The Old Cornishman.

In Cornwall there once lived a man,
Though his home I won’t vouch for the truth, Sir
But if I am not misinformed.
He didn’t live far from Redruth, Sir.
His name was Powicky Powick
Powicky Powicky Powido;
His mouth was so monstrously big,
It was near upon half a mile wide o
Tol de rol etc.

I suppose you have heard of Roach Rock.
Why, with his little finger he’d rock it.
And as for St. Michael his Mount
He could put it in his waistcoat pocket.
One day he fell down in a fit,
And his nose stuck so deep in the ground, Sir,
It made such an uncommon pit
That it’s what is [now] calld Dolcoth mine, Sir!
Tol de rol etc.

One day he went down to Penzance
Of provisions to get a fresh stock. Sir,
And if I am not misinformed
He must have passed great Logan Rock, Sir,
Says he, I’ll let Cornish folk know
[That] this rock shall not long here abide, Sir,
[So] he tried it to swallow—but oh!
It stuck in his throat and he died, Sir.
Tol de rol, etc.

Now in Cornwall they built a large ship
All out of England to carry him.
In the water they just let him slip—
And that is the way they did bury him.
His head stuck so high above sea,
Trees and grass grew there just as on dry land,
And for what Cornish folk have told me
That is what’s called the Great Scilly Island.
Tol de rol, etc.

Here’s success to tin, copper, and fish,
And may all his enemies fall, Sir!
Here’s success to tin, copper and fish
And success unto one and to all. Sir.

W. W. SKEAT.
Lyme Regis.

From Notes and Queries, October 7th, 1939.

Five or six years ago I was told by an elderly dame at Cerne Abbas (Dorset) that her mother had told her, in her young days, that it was customary, in her own youth, to ” hold junkettings ” on the Giant: and that it was well known that if a girl slept on the Giant, she would have a large family.

The ” junkettings ” were almost certainly the well-known May-pole festivities held in the Trundle, on the top of the hill, above the Giant. The latter part of the elderly dame’s statement is not, I think, so well known. But it points to folk-memory of the fertility cult, with which the Giant seems so obviously to be connected.

K. T.

From Notes and Queries, September 13th 1930.

St. Catherine’s Hill is a sandstone cliff, rising above the Wey, a mile south of Guildford, and nigh unto the wood below “the long backs of the bushless downs” where once Sir Lancelot was tended by Elaine. It is a thirteenth century chapel that stands there, ruined long ago by the Protestants ; but children play there still, and outside the chapel, in October, Cattern’s Fair is held, and cattern cakes are sold and eaten, and gipsies bring thither their brown women and their wiles.

St. Martha’s, in sight of which I write this, is twin with St. Catherine’s. The two chapels were built (saith the story) by two giant sisters, who had but one hammer between them, and tossed it from the one hill to the other as either needed it in building.
A. J. M.
Buttercup Farm.

From Notes and Queries, August 14th 1886.

About 1894, schoolchildren used to take bottles with sugar or treacle to fill, and drink in company, at the spring which flowed out at the foot of St Catherine’s Hill, Guildford (site of a chapel and an ancient horse fair), on the side nearest the river.
Barbara Aitken

Holy Wells in Surrey
Barbara Aitken
Folklore > Vol. 64, No. 2 (Jun., 1953), p. 350

I have only found some snippets online about the archaeology: the hill has produced mesolithic finds, a bronze axe, disc and ornament.

In TC Darvill’s ‘Long Barrows of the Cotswolds’ (2004) he says “In 1820 during the clearance on woodland and stone quarrying a previously unrecorded long barrow was revealed. It was promptly investigated on 22/23 February 1821 by Dr Fry of Dursley and TJ Lloyd Baker of Hardwick Court.”

Previously unrecorded? Should we doubt this? Does it mean ‘previously unrecorded by the local antiquarian gentlemen’ or ‘previously unnoticed by local people’? If it’s the latter, how can it fit with the ‘Hetty Peglar’ name? The general explanation has been that Hetty was the Hester Peglar you find on a monument in the church – the wife of Captain Pegler of Wresden, alleged owner of the land. But she died in 1694. So why on earth would the barrow be named after her, if it wasn’t discovered until 1820?? Then again, ‘Peglar’ is hardly an uncommon name in the area, so it might just be another Hester, from later. Or maybe ‘previously unrecorded’ is a total red herring, and it was perfectly well known locally for years (a century+, seemingly) previously. Hmm. I don’t think the bottom of this has been reached.

The tumulus near the east end of the avenue leading to the Maiden Castle in Grinton is popularly reported to contain an iron chest filled with money.

From ‘Notes and Queries’ for 24th December, 1910.

Concerning the Maiden Bower at Dunstable a local versifier embodies the local idea :—

Still Tatternhoe dames rehearse their tale,
On eve of winter’s day
About a chest hid in their knoll
When Romans went away.

‘Tis at the bottom of that well
On Castle Hill, they say;
Of good old gold it was brimful,
And lies there to this day.

From ‘Notes and Queries’ for December 24 1910.

At Gaer Llwyd, about half way between Chepstow and Usk, is a cromlech—I believe the only one in Monmouthshire—the origin of which is thus accounted for by popular tradition.

“Once upon a time,” which may be token to mean in the heroic ages of Gwent, there lived one Twm Sion Catti, who was on more familiar terms than a Christian gentleman (if he was one) ought to have been with his Satanic Majesty, with whom he one day engaged in a friendly game of quoits. It seems to have been a trial as much of strength as accuracy of aim, for the quoits consisted of the stones which now form the cromlech. A believing imagination points out the steps by which each cast was matched by another as good, until on Twm Sion Catti throwing a stone which literally capped them all, and now measures upwards of twelve feet by four, his adversary gave in.

Now, as there was a Tim Sion Catti who flourished in historic times—a kind of Welsh Robin Hood of the period of Queen Elizabeth—we must suppose that tradition, with its usual readiness to group all marvellous actions around one popular hero, has confounded his name with an earlier one associated with the cromlech.

From Notes and Queries, July 27th, 1878, our correspondent being J F Marsh.

From a letter to ‘Notes and Queries’ for 21st July, 1900, by W B Gerish.

The only legend I can trace concerning the place is to the effect that Queen Boadicea lies buried under a very fine and indubitably ancient cork tree just inside the west bank of the camp.

Cork tree? How very exotic.

There’s all sorts on the ‘yellow mountain’ – enclosures, cairns, possible standing stones.. and some of the stones round here had a strange reputation for curing people who had been bitten by mad dogs..

“[A] remedy consisted in a visit to the wonderful stone at Mynyddmelyn [William Howell, “Cambrian Superstitions,” pp. 23, 25.]. A bit of this stone reduced to a fine powder and mixed with milk was given to the sufferer and the cure “never failed.” Friends of the person bitten made a pilgrimage to the stone for the purpose of obtaining a small portion of it, or else the patient was conveyed to the stone, where, with bound hands and feet, he was forced to lick it.”

Quote from Marie Trevelyan’s “Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales”. Published in 1909. Online at V Wales:
red4.co.uk/Folklore/trevelyan/welshfolklore/chapt22.htm

Some folklore about a cave under Craig Rhiwarth, recorded in ‘Celtic Folklore – Welsh and Manx, by Rhys (1901). Cwm Glanhafan is on the mountain’s eastern side.

Take for instance a cave in the part of Rhiwarth rock nearest to Cwm Llanhafan, in the neighbourhood of Llangynog in Montgomeryshire. Into that, according to Cyndelw in the Brython for [date missing on STA], p. 57, some men penetrated as far as the pound of candles lasted, with which they had provided themselves; but it appears to be tenanted by a hag who is always busily washing clothes in a brass pan.

Online at the Sacred Texts Archive
sacred-texts.com/neu/cfwm/cf202.htm

It’s been suggested over the years that it’s the Roman settlement in Caerleon that’s being referred to as King Arthur’s court (see for example, earlybritishkingdoms.com/archaeology/caerleon.html ).

But frankly, I think the following story rather hints that King Arthur’s men are under a hillside. And near a wood. And that sounds more like the vicinity of Lodge Wood Camp to me than the flat land down by the river. Of course there’s only one way to find out – you’ll have to go and look for the secret entrance yourself.

[This story] relates how a Monmouthshire farmer, whose house was grievously troubled by [a] bogie, set out one morning to call on a wizard who lived near Caerleon, and how he on his way came up with a very strange and odd man who wore a three-cornered hat. They fell into conversation, and the strange man asked the farmer if he should like to see something of a wonder. He answered he would. ‘Come with me then,’ said the wearer of the cocked hat, ‘and you shall see what nobody else alive to-day has seen.‘

When they had reached the middle of a wood this spiritual guide sprang from horseback and kicked a big stone near the road. It instantly moved aside to disclose the mouth of a large cave; and now said he to the farmer, ‘Dismount and bring your horse in here: tie him up alongside of mine, and follow me so that you may see something which the eyes of man have not beheld for centuries!‘

The farmer, having done as he was ordered, followed his guide for a long distance: they came at length to the top of a flight of stairs, where two huge bells were hanging. ‘Now mind,’ said the warning voice of the strange guide, ‘not to touch either of those bells!‘

At the bottom of the stairs there was a vast chamber with hundreds of men lying at full length on the floor, each with his head reposing on the stock of his gun.

‘Have you any notion who these men are?‘
‘No,’ replied the farmer, ‘I have not, nor have I any idea what they want in such a place as this!
’ Well,’ said the guide, ‘these are Arthur’s thousand soldiers reposing and sleeping till the Kymry have need of them. Now let us get out as fast as our feet can carry us!‘

When they reached the top of the stairs, the farmer somehow struck his elbow against one of the bells so that it rang, and in the twinkling of an eye all the sleeping host rose to their feet shouting together, ‘Are the Kymry in straits?‘
‘Not yet: sleep you on,’ replied the wearer of the cocked hat, whereupon they all dropped down on their guns to resume their slumbers at once.

‘These are the valiant men,’ he went on to say, ‘who are to turn the scale in favour of the Kymry when the time comes for them to cast the Saxon yoke off their necks and to recover possession of their country!‘

When the two had returned to their horses at the mouth of the cave, his guide said to the farmer, ‘Now go in peace, and let me warn you on the pain of death not to utter a syllable about what you have seen for the space of a year and a day: if you do, woe awaits you.’ After he had moved the stone back to its place the farmer lost sight of him.

When the year had lapsed the farmer happened to pass again that way, but, though he made a long and careful search, he failed completely to find the stone at the mouth of the cave.

From John Rhys’s informant, retold in ‘Celtic Folklore – Welsh And Manx’ [1901], online at
sacred-texts.com/neu/cfwm/cf202.htm
It’s a story that is told about various locations in Britain. I like the way they’ve got guns in this version and kept up with Progress.

Lodge Wood Camp is above Caerllion / Caerleon, and arguably the setting for the start of the Mabinogion story ‘The Lady of the Fountain’ – effectively King Arthur’s Camelot:

King Arthur was at Caerlleon upon Usk; and one day he sat in his chamber; and with him were Owain the son of Urien, and Kynon the son of Clydno, and Kai the son of Kyner; and Gwenhwyvar and her handmaidens at needlework by the window.
[..]
In the centre of the chamber King Arthur sat upon a seat of green rushes, over which was spread a covering of flame-coloured satin, and a cushion of red satin was under his elbow.

Online at the Sacred Texts Archive.
sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/mab/mab05.htm

Caerlleon is also described as the location of Arthur’s court in ‘Geraint the son of Erbin’:
sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/mab/mab13.htm

..Ayrshire--divided into the three districts of Cuningham, Kyle, and Carrick--seems to have been the main seat of the families of the race of Coel, from whom indeed the district of Coel, now Kyle, is said traditionally to have taken its name. There is every reason to believe that Boece, in filling up the reigns of his phantom kings with imaginary events, used local traditions where he could find them; and he tells us “Kyl dein proxima est vel Coil potius nominata, a Coilo Britannorum rege ibi in pugna cæso” and a circular mound at Coilsfield, in the parish of Tarbolton, on the highest point of which are two large stones, and in which sepulchral remains have been found, is pointed out by local tradition as his tomb.

From The Four Ancient Books of Wales by William F. Skene [1868], online at
sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/fab/fab012.htm

Lots more here in the ‘History of the County of Ayr’ v1 by James Paterson (1847).
archive.org/stream/historyofcountyo01pateuoft#page/2/mode/1up

It might be related to the stones, it might not. It doesn’t seem unreasonable to think it would be, as many similar places have grave-related folklore. This is a line from ‘Stanzas of the Grave’, a 10th-century Welsh poem:

“the grave of Bedwyr is on Tryfan hill.”

Bedwyr is one of King Arthur’s mates and one of several Arthurian characters mentioned in the early poem. You can read the rest of the poem at this page at the University of British Columbia:
https://faculty.arts.ubc.ca/sechard/344art.htm

* * *

Tryfan is a conical hill on the south side of Ogwen Lake. Its sides are precipitous and covered with huge stones resting one upon the other. The summit can be reached in one direction. On the top are two erect stones which from the road appear like two men. There is a small patch of level ground on the top. The triplet runs thus:

Bedd mab Osvran yn Camlan,
Wedi llawer cyflafan,
Bedd Bedwyr yn allt Tryfan.

Which may be thus translated:

In Camlan lies brave Osvran’s son,
Who many bloody conflicts won.
In Tryfan’s steep and craggy womb,
Uprais’d with stones is Bedwyr’s tomb.

Or literally, “The grave of the son of Osvran, after many conflicts, is in Camlan. The grave of Bedwyr, in the ascent of Tryfan.” I quote from Williams‘ Observations on the Snowdon Mountains. If Bedwyr is buried in the steep of Tryfan, it is difficult to ascertain the spot, for the whole hill-side is one mass of large stones. Perhaps, though, this Tryfan is not the one honoured with Bedwyr’s grave.

in Archaeologia Cambrensis vol 5, series 4 (1874).

Are these just the suppositions of a Victorian Gentlemen or have they got some basis in local folklore? Curious ideas, whichever.

..In Norfolk one of the hundreds, or subdivisions of the county, is called Grimshoo or Grimshow, after (as it is supposed) a Danish leader of the name of Grime or Gryme. [..] In about the centre of this hundred is a very curious Danish encampment, in a semicircular form, consisting of about twelve acres.

In this space are a great number of large deep pits, joined in a regular manner, one near to another, in form of a quincunx, the largest in the centre, where the general’s or commander’s tent was placed. These pits are so deep and numerous as to be able to conceal a very great army. At the east end of this entrenchment is a large tumulus, pointing towards Thetford, from which it is about live or six miles distant; and which might possibly have served as a watch tower, or place of signal: and here the hundred court used to be called.

This place also is known by the name of The Holes, or Grimes-graves. This part of the country, being open, was a great seat of war between the Saxons and Danes, as appears from many tumuli throughout this hundred, erected over the graves of leaders who fell in battle; or as tokens of victory, to show how far they had led their armies and conquered.

J. P. F.
West Newton.

From Notes and Queries s1-V (123): 231. (1852)
nq.oxfordjournals.org/cgi/reprint/s1-V/123/231-a.pdf

Another version of the folklore:

OLD THORN-TREES (clxxxvi. 106, 129). In the parish of Berwick-St.-John, there was an old encampment with a tumulus in the centre and on this tumulus there used to be an old thorn scrag, which was cut down by the then owner and used as firewood.
Thereupon, a blight visited the whole village : no cow would have a calf, no duck nor chicken would lay an egg, and no woman would have a baby. This state of affairs continued for about three years, until a petition from the villagers was sent to the man who cut down the old scrag.

On hearing the complaint, he said, “Oh, I’ll plant another thorn-tree.” This he promptly did. Whereupon, every cow had a calf, ducks and chicken laid eggs and every female had a baby within six months. Wonderful—but true!
JOHN BENETT-STANFORD.

From Notes and Queries 186 (7): 166. (1944). Online at
nq.oxfordjournals.org/cgi/reprint/186/7/166-c.pdf

Having recently been engaged with several other gentlemen in opening a barrow or tumulus in the parish of Gillingham, Dorset, and known as Langbury Hill, I am desirous to lay the results before your readers, and to ask their opinion relative to the appearances presented. The barrow in question is a long low mound of earth, measuring,- in its present state, about one hundred feet from its eastern to its western extremity, by about thirty feet wide, while the highest part is some six feet above the level of the surrounding field.

Tradition states that it was the burial place of those who were slain in a battle between the Saxons and Danes ; doubtless referring to the battle of Penn, fought in 1016 between Edmund Ironside and Canute, the village of Penn being only a few miles distant, in a northerly direction.

The tradition proceeds to inform us that the blood shed on this occasion flowed as far as to a place still called Slaughter’s Gate, and which is distant about a quarter of a mile from the barrow.

From Notes and Queries Volume s1-XII, Number 315 Pp. 364 (1855). Online at
nq.oxfordjournals.org/cgi/reprint/s1-XII/315/364-a.pdf

Folk-lore Jottings from the Western Counties. -- While living as a child at Dinder, in Somersetshire, between the years 1866 and 1867, I remember hearing it said by a woman-servant, who came, I think, from no great distance, that (perhaps with the preface, “they say”) if you go up Masboro’ Castle (the highest point of the Mendips) on Easter morning, you will see a lamb in the sun..

Folk-Lore Jottings from the Western Counties
Grey Hubert Skipwith
Folklore, Vol. 5, No. 4. (Dec., 1894), pp. 339-340.

I think Beacon Batch is really the highest point of the Mendips. Indeed Masboro Castle is not noticeably high. But I guess there are other particularities here you could sooner take issue with.

Mr J Ll W Page, in his ‘Exploration of Exmoor’ (pub 1895), wrote :- “One of the most beautiful of Easter customs still survives. Young men have not yet ceased, on the Resurrection morning, to climb over the nearest hill top to see the sun flash over the dark ridge of Quantock, or the more distant line of Mendip.

“The sight of the newly risen luminary on this particular morning is to them an augury of good luck, as it was to the white robed Druid in the ages that are past. Early in the [19th] century, Dunkery, probably because it is the highest land in Somerset, was favoured above all surrounding hills, and its sides, says Miss King, were covered with young men, who seemed to come from every quarter of the compass and to be pressing up towards the Beacon.”

From ‘Calender of Customs, Superstitions, Weather Lore, Popular Sayings and Important Events Connected with the County of Somerset’, by W G Willis Watson, 1920.

It’s definitely the domain of the pixies round here. According to Jack Hurley in his 1973 ‘Legends of Exmoor’ “it was to Withypool farms that pixies came to thresh the corn at night. At one farm, curious womenfolk peeped through a hole in the barn door and saw the pixies busy threshing... in their birthday suits. So to show gratitude for the services of the little folk, the women made clothes for them and left the gifts in the barn. The pixies took this as an insult, and they never came again.” Sounds very much like the attitude of the more northern hobgoblin. I don’t think pixies (or hobgoblins) are usually seen without their kit on. Perhaps they left because they were embarrassed.

There seem to be a lot of spectres floating about the vicinity of Grace Dieu Priory.

The link at the bottom, an article by Stephen Neale Badcock, gives you the full lowdown. He also mentions that Paul Devereux did a bit of research at the location. This is an excerpt from his ‘Earth Lights’ book (1982).

“In the north-west of Leicestershire are the ruins of Grace Dieu Priory and in the field alongside stands the remains of a monolith. In our research on the county Andrew York and I learned of a legend which stated that a ‘White Lady’ ghost could be seen in this field on rare occasions. It was supposed to be the ghost of one of the nuns belonging to the former priory. To our surprise we discovered that this was not merely a legend, but it was also claimed that people nowadays had allegedly seen the spectre, even that a country bus which which runs along a road down one side of the haunted field had, at night, stopped for a white figure only to find it was the ghost. It was our good fortune to learn of an eyewitness account of the phenomenon. According to this witness, on the bus one evening when one of these incidents occurred, the ‘White Lady’ was simply a softly glowing, misty column of light, not a figure at all, that floated off across the field. In daylight, this type of event, or something very similar, seems to appear more as a dark column of gaseous or cloudy substance – a veritable vapour.

To add to the interest, it seems that the site is pretty much on a large geological faultline – a feature thought to be often present where spooky lights (earthlights) are seen.

The White Lady of Gracedieu. Compiled by Stephen Neale Badcock.
geocities.com/oliveshark53/whitelady.htm

Curiously, to support my speculation about a golden torc [see Tan Hill – Ed.], I found the following in M E Cunnington’s ‘Introduction to the Archaeology of Wiltshire’ (1949).

A piece of gold torque, or collar, weighing about 2 1/2 oz., was found by a man digging hard chalk on Allington Down, near Tan Hill, in 1844.* When the early Iron Age site at All Cannings Cross was being excavated in 1920-22 an old man who had known the finder of the torque gave the following account of its discovery. At first the finder thought it was brass, and hung it on a hurdle near where he was digging, and there it stayed for about a week; he must have had his doubts about it, for he then took it away and showed it to his master, who offered him half a crown for it; this he refused, because he thought, if the master was willing to give him half-a-crown, it’s likely as not to be worth more; so he took it to a bank in Devizes, where they soon found it to be solid gold, and thus led it to being claimed by the lord of the manor, the then Lord Ilchester, in whose family it is still.

I bet he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. The common law of treasure trove at the time was “when any gold or silver, in coin, plate or bullion hath been of ancient time hidden, wheresoever it be found, whereof no person can prove any property, it doth belong to the King, or to some Lord or other by the King’s grant, or prescription”. But I don’t suppose a poor digger had much chance of arguing it wasn’t ‘hidden’.

Anyway, so perhaps there was local knowledge that a gold torc had been found sometime in the past, and this had got converted/incorporated into the story below? Who knows the Complicated Workings of Folklore. Or it could really have been a ghost of course.

*(also see Wilts Arch Mag 36 p435)

I read in Maud Cunnington’s ‘Introduction to the Archaeology of Wiltshire’ (1949) that “Falkener’s Circle [sic] formerly stood in a field called Waylen’s Penning.”

I know. It could have just been a man called Waylen who owned the field. But what if it’s to do with Waylen = the mythological smith Wayland? and the original circle was where he penned his animals? Information to confirm / deny this is welcome...

What Wayland (Volund) got up to in his smithy isn’t actually very nice, if you read the ‘Völundarkviða’ Norse poem. It’s a bit gruesome. I’ll leave it up to you whether you tell the kids as they’re poking about amongst the stones. Actually they’ll probably relish it. A little excerpt:

He struck off the heads of those stalwart boys,
Under soot-blackened bellows their bodies hid,
From both their skulls he scraped the hair
And set them in silver as a sight for Nidud,
Of their eyes he fashioned excellent gems
For his dear neighbor, Nidud’s wife,
And out of the teeth which were in their mouths
He forged a brooch to bring Bodvild joy.

You can read the translation by W. H. Auden and P. B. Taylor at ‘Woden’s Harrow – Norse Myth Source Texts’ here
angelfire.com/on/Wodensharrow/volund.html

Coflein says that Bedd Gwyl Illtyd was originally described as a pair of stones with a mound between, but now it’s thought to be the remains of a ring cairn 13m in diameter.

On the motif of petrifaction as punishment for wrongdoing, a life of St Cadog (c. AD 1100) relates that he turned two wolves into stones for biting sheep; and a life of St Illtud (c.AD 1140) narrates how he turned two robbers into stone for stealing his herd of swine. ‘Till now.. are seen the immovable stones called by the name ‘Two Robbers’*. These stones cannot certainly now be identified, but two rather widely separated standing stones were located a few years ago on Mynydd Illtud by D J James.

*A W Wade-Evans: Vita Sanctorum Britanniae et Genealogiae (1944

From ‘Notes on the Folklore of Prehistoric Sites,’ by L V Grinsell, in Folklore vol 90, no1, p66 (1979).

But we know it’s St Illtyd’s grave. Tradition has it that he lived, died and was buried here. It’s known as the Grave of St Illtyd’s Feast Day, because it was the custom to ‘watch their on the Vigil of the saint’s day’, which is either the 6 or 7 November.

The chapel is dedicated to St. Illtyd, and sometimes gives the name of Llan Illtyd to this division of the parish. On an adjoining eminence, near a pool, are two large stones, placed six feet asunder, at each end of a small tumulus, which is called Bedd Gwyl Illtyd, or “The Grave of St. Illtyd’s Eve,” from the ancient custom of watching there on the eve of the festival of that saint, who was supposed to have been buried here.

(Lewis’s ‘Topographical Dictionary of Wales’, 1833).

St Illtyd himself was useful to have about, as he introduced to the Welsh a new and improved method of ploughing. He was described in another Triad as one of the three knights in the court of King Arthur ‘who kept the Greal’ (the other two were Cadoc and Peredur).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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An older version:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maentwrog

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

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

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

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

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