Rhiannon

The Berrow Flats are the huge expanse of sand that abuts Brean Down. I read this folklore in Ruth Tongue’s ‘Forgotten Folk Tales of the English Counties’ (1970) and it also reminded me of the fishermen’s lore associated with Worlebury, the next headland north.

“My father used to tell us that there was a big fish of Berrow Sands and it had a huge mouth. It used to swallow all the fish and the sailors too, and what it didn’t finish, the conger eels did. They used to bark at those times and people knew the big fish was hungry and the fishermen were in danger. Well, there was a bold fisherman who went out in his little boat and the big fish opened his great mouth to take him and he cast his anchor down its throat and the cold iron finished it.”
Told to RT by Brean WI members.

You will notice the mention of ‘cold iron’ – always good against the fairies too – the power of metalworking! And the conger eel, which is also mentioned in the folklore of Wookey Hole.

The road goes right past the stones here, and they say you will rarely see hill ponies grazing around them after dusk. Horses being ridden refuse to go along the lane. The spectre that haunts the area is of a horse, and people tell of hooves clattering hollowly along the hard surface of the road when no horse is there.

Mentioned by S Toulson in her ‘Moors of the Southwest, v1.’ 1983.

According to Shirley Toulson’s book ‘The Moors of the Southwest v1’ (1983) these two barrows by the road on Twitchen Ridge are haunted by a guardian – “a spirit more fearsome than the black dog of the Wambarrows.” Keep on driving, I suggest.

The Coflein record recognises five round barrows here, pretty much along the line of the road.

I was reading about a Gwyllgi – a supernatural black dog – in Wirt Sikes’s 1880 ‘British Goblins’, and it doesn’t seem unreasonable to suppose it is associate with these barrows, as they are frequently paired with barrows in other districts. He says:

The lane leading from Mousiad to Lisworney-Crossways [this must mean Moorshead to Llyswyrny and Crossways] is reported to have been haunted by a Gwyllgi of the most terrible aspect. Mr Jenkin, a worthy farmer living near there, was one night returning from market on a young mare, when suddenly the animal shied, reared, tumbled the farmer off, and bolted for home. Old Anthony the farm servant found her standing trembling by the barn-door, and well knowing the lane she had come through suspected she had seen the Gwyllgi. He and the other servants of the farm all went down the road and there in the haunted lane they found the farmer, on his back in the mud. Being question the farmer protested it was the Gwyllgi and nothing less, that had made all this trouble, and his nerves were so shaken by the shock that he had to be supported on either side to get him home, slipping and staggering in the mud in truly dreadful fashion all the way.

It is the usual experience of people who meet the Gwyllgi that they are so overcome with terror by its unearthly howl, or by the glare of its fiery eyes, that they fall senseless. Old Anthony however, used to say that he had met the Gwyllgi without this result. As he was coming home from courting[..] late one Sunday night[..] he encountered in the haunted lane two large shining eyes, which drew nearer and nearer to him. He was dimly able to discern.. what seemed the form of a human shape above, but with the body and limbs of a large spotted dog.

He threw his hat at the terrible eyes, and the hat went whisking right through them, falling in the road beyond. However, the spectre disappeared, and the brave Anthony hurried home as fast as his shaking legs would carry him.

From Wirt Sikes’s ‘British Goblins’ (1880):

The ‘Herald Cymraeg’ [newspaper] of September 25, 1874, gave an account of some excavations made at Pant-y-Saer cromlech, Anglesea, by the instigation of John Jones of Llandudno, ‘a brother of Isaac Jones, the present tenant of Pant-y-Saer’, at the time on a visit to the latter. The immediately exciting cause of the digging was a dream in which the dreamer was told that there was a pot of treasure buried within the cromlech’s precincts. The result was the revelation of a large number of human bones, among them five lower jaws with the teeth sound; but no crochan aur (pitcher of gold) turned up, and the digging was abandoned in disgust.

From Wirt Sikes’s ‘British Goblins’ (1880):

There is a remarkable cromlech near the hamlet of St Nicholas, Glamorganshire, on the estate of the family whose house has the honour of being haunted by the ghost of an admiral. This cromlech is called, by children in that neighbourhood, ‘Castle Correg’. A Cardiff gentleman who asked some children who were playing round the cromlech, what they termed it, was struck by the name, which recalled to him the Breton fairies thus designated. The korreds and korregs of Brittany closely resemble the Welsh fairies in numberless details. The korreds are supposed to live in the cromlechs, of which they are believed to have been the builders. They dance around them at night, and woe betide the unhappy peasant who joins them in their roundels.

This is where Hautville’s Quoit was thrown from, by Sir John Haut(e)ville (you can read more about this on the Hautville’s Quoit page). He was just rehearsing for a throwing match with the Devil, which he ended up winning by throwing a rock from Shute Shelve to Compton Bishop (about a mile and a half) – the Devil threw 3 furlongs shorter. (from Grinsell’s folklore book I think).

Sir John is apparently bured in Chew Magna church, where there’s an oak effigy of him.

This gentleman was remarkable for prodigious strength, as the Irish oak is probably intended to denote. Vulgar tradition informs us, that Edward the First having requested Sir John to shew him a specimen of his abilities, the knight undertook to convey three of the stoutest men in England to the top of Norton Tower [Norton Malreward is at the foot of Maes Knoll], situated in a neighbouring parish. Accordingly, taking one under each arm, and a third in his teeth, he proceeded on his task. The two in his arms, making some resistance, were squeezed to death, but the other was carried up without sustaining the smallest injury.

From ‘The Beauties of England’ by John Britton. Vol 13 pt 2, p628.

A folktale in ‘Welsh Fairy Stories’ by W. Jenkyn Thomas (1907) relates to the stones on top of Garn Bentyrch (or Pentyrch, as he calls it) – online at V Wales
https://www.red4.co.uk/Folklore/fairytales/gutobach.htm
It’s about a boy who goes to play with the fairies on the hills above Llangybi. His parents warn him against it but he will keep going back, and one day doesn’t return for two years (though he looks the same age on his return). There are rumours about a hoard of gold hidden under a big rock on the mountain but even the strongest men in the village shoving together can’t shift it. His parents are down to their last can of beans due to an ill-advised investment, but Guto knows the fairies will help them out. He goes to ask nicely if they can have the gold, and when he tries to move the rock (sword-in-the-stone style) it bounces off down the hill with no effort at all. Pays to be civil to the fairies, see.

They are mentioned elsewhere in Rhys’s ‘Celtic Folklore Welsh and Manx‘
https://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/cfwm/cf107.htm
which is online at the Sacred Texts archive.

When I was staying at Pwlltheli the same summer, I went out to the neighbouring village of Four Crosses, and found a native of the place, who had heard a great many curious things from his mother. His name was Lewis Jones: he was at the time over eighty, and he had formerly been a saddler. Among other things, his mother often told him that her grandmother had frequently been with the fairies, when the latter was a child. She lived at Plas Du, and once she happened to be up near Carn Bentyrch when she saw them. She found them resembling little children, and playing in a brook that she had to cross. She was so delighted with them, and stayed so long with them, that a search was made for her, when she was found in the company of the fairies.

Sabine Baring-Gould mentions that On the hill above [the spring] is Cadair Gybi, his [Saint Cybi’s] chair, a naturally-formed boulder bearing a striking resemblance to an arm-chair.

Phil Quinn (Third Stone 26) mentions that fairies used to live here at Cadbury. But they couldn’t stand the noise from the new church bells – they buried their gold and left (perhaps too heavy to take with them?).

The folklore mentioned by Purejoy below is included by Ruth Tongue in her 1965 ‘Somerset Folklore’ – she also says that the local people (unsurprisingly) called the camp ‘Camelot’.

Ruth Tongue was told in 1944 by a Person from Porlock that people used to climb to the top of Dunkery Beacon to see the sun rise on Easter Sunday, ‘for good luck’.

(Somerset Folklore, 1965)

Various mounds, cairns and barrows lie here, between Dunkery Beacon and Exmoor’s remote highest church at Stoke Pero. It’s got a bit of a spooky reputation. On St John’s Eve (that is, the night before Midsummer Day) in 1942 an old carter asked Ruth Tongue to accompany him up Ley Hill (just to the north). From there they watched little marsh lights moving aroud by Stoke Pero and Dunkery. These were said to be spunkies (Somerset willo the wisps) gathering to Stoke Pero church, where they would guide the ghosts of all those people who would die the following year. Spooky.

(R Tongue – ‘Somerset Folklore’ 1965)

This barrow is probably looking a bit sorry for itself, being crossed by a field boundary at one end, and only being about 60cm high. However, it (and no doubt the plethora of other sites around – Redhill barrow cemetery, the Water Stone ) seems a good reason why this bit of folklore is attached to the area. Redhill longbarrow is very close to the farm mentioned below.

There is a farm near Wrington called Hailstones Farm but some folk say it should really be Hurlerstone Farm on account of the Devil picking up a great rock lying there and throwing it right over the Mendips to hit Cranmore Church. Of course he missed, but it was a tidy throw even for the Old Boy. Some say it was a giant dropped it or made a bad shot of it. Any how the rock lies on the edge of a cliff in the woods and they call them Hurdlestone Woods. And there is a Giant’s Grave there too.

From Ruth Tongue’s ‘Someset Folklore’ (1965) gathered locally in 1945.

These three dented bronze age barrows hide some treasure, which is guarded by a big black dog. Ruth Tongue describes the fearsome beast in ‘Somerset Folklore’ (1965) :

On Winsford Hill on autumn nights a traveller may be stopped by a black hound with glowing saucer eyes. If he tries to advance he will die, either at once or very soon, but if he stands still the dog will slowly vanish until only its eyes still glow. As soon as they disappear the traveller is free to move on, but some lesser ill-luck will follow. There was once a farmer whose frightened pony danced near to the spectre before he could stop it. The farmer did not die, it was the pony who collapsed half a mile from home.

The barrows are probably also the home of pixies, lately moved from the Brightworthy Barrows.

This univallate hill fort dates from the late Bronze Age / Early Iron Age. Can it really be a fort? It looks so precarious on the map, crossing a thicket of contour lines. Naturally well defended at least. (see details on MAGIC at
magic.gov.uk/rsm/24008.pdf

‘Trendle’ (like the Trundle, one assumes) comes from the Middle English for ‘wheel’, which in turn comes from the Old English for ‘circle’ – indeed, the shape of the fort.

It’s said that here on Bicknoller hill ‘the woman of the mist’ can be seen (apparently, according to Ruth Tongue in ‘Somerset Folklore’ 1965, ‘in recent years’). She sounds rather like the Scottish Cailleach (see Schiehallion) as “she herds the red deer. Sometimes she appears as an old frail crone, sometimes as a great misty figure.”

Ruth Tongue’s sources (for her 1965 ‘Somerset Folklore) knew this as the Danish Camp, or perhaps even ‘a Roman look-out or summer camp’ (ah, a Roman summer camp, how sweet) and traditionally ‘a band of Danish sea-robbers made it their fort while they preyed on the villages.’ However, the women they kidnapped thought up a devious plan to get them all incapacitated, so one night while they were all feasting and drinking, the locals suddenly attacked and massacred the lot of them. ‘On wild autumn nights at midnight they say you can still hear the revelry, followed by the clash of arms.’ Only one of the Danes survived. A girl had fallen in love with the young musician boy who had fled before the battle, his harp slung over his shoulder. She sheltered him for several days until he was discovered – and killed. Afterwards his ghost was said to roam the slopes of Dowsborough – or ‘Danesborough’- and heard singing faintly and plucking at his harp. To put it even more romantically (as Lawrence does in ‘Somerset Legends’): “At times a startled pony pricks his ears at soft movements in the bracken and the notes of a muted song.”

Tongue mentions that ‘Wordsworth remembers him in a poem.” Wordsworth did live for a time on the edge of the Quantocks. So no doubt ‘The Danish Boy‘
bartleby.com/145/ww157.html
is the poem she refers to.

John Garland’s ‘Haunted Somerset’ (2007) mentions Berta Lawrence’s ‘Quantock Country’, in which she says:
Near Danesborough Ring the Quantock woodmen swore they heard ghostly music issuing from underground, the revelling of Viking warriors feasting with wassail-cup and song.

This is quite peculiar. There is a tradition in Priddy that Jesus visited the tin mines in Cornwall with his uncle, Joseph of Arimathea (“Uncle Joe” probably – no, I’m making that bit up) and then came up to the lead mines at Priddy.

Our Lord when a boy came voyaging with a sailor uncle to Britain. Their trading ship put in at Watchet, and from there He walked across the Quantocks to Bridgwater where He boarded a punt and crossed the lakes and marshes to the foot of Mendip, ending his journey high up at Priddy. Here, say the miners, He walked and talked and worked with them a happy while, and then, loaded with Somerset gear, He went back to Nazareth.

This is in Ruth Tongue’s ‘Folklore of Somerset’ (County Folklore v8), and she heard it locally throughout the first half of the twentieth century. I guess it’s a story about trading metals with far away places to the South.. hm – could this really be a folk memory of actual trading?

A similar story – but necessarily about pre-Jesus times (mentioned by S Toulson in her ‘Moors of the Southwest v1’ 1983) says that the lead from the Mendip mines was shipped to Jerusalem to build Solomon’s temple.

Two of the original three Brightworthy Barrows survive here on a prominent spot of Withypool Common, with impressive views of the Barle Valley and beyond, and to the East, Knighton Combe and Withypool Hill.

Below the barrows to the NE is Knighton Farm. Many years ago the farmer here was on very good terms with the pixies. They did all sorts of jobs for him around the farm, threshed the corn and so on. The farmer’s wife was so grateful that one day she made little suits for them and left them out for them to try on. However, you just can’t treat the pixies like that – you can’t offer them gifts of clothing. They had to stop helping out (Pixie Union Rules – more than their job’s worth, etc).

For once they didn’t lose all contact with the farmer. It happened that some bells were being put into the church tower at Withypool. Fairies and their ilk really don’t like church bells (a bit like those people from London who move to the country hoping for a bit of piece and quiet heheh). So the father pixy came to see the farmer.

“Wilt gie us the lend of thy plough and tackle?” he said.
The farmer was cautious – he’d heard how the pixies used horses.
“What vor do ‘ee want’n?” he asked.
“I d’want to take my good wife and littlings out of the noise of they ding-dongs.”
The farmer trusted the pixies and they moved, lock, stock and barrel over to Winsford Hill, and when the pack horses trotted home they looked like beautiful two-year-olds.

Winsford Hill is over to the east, and no doubt they would have found lovely new lodgings in the Wambarrows which crown it. You can’t help thinking that they must have lived in the Brightworthy Barrows initially.

(dialogue from Ruth Tongue in ‘Somerset Folklore’ (1965).
According to Michael Williams’ website here
website.lineone.net/~michael_williams/West%20Som.%20Churches/withypoolchurch.html
the Withypool church bells were cast in 1793, so maybe that’s when the pixies left.

There are three round barrows and two cairns here on the moorland at the top of Weacombe Hill, on the neck of land between Sheppard’s Combe and Bicknoller Combe. Ruth Tongue has a story about this very spot:

[This] story was told me by a very sweet and gentle cottager who had once had occasion to climb the Quantocks late one winter afternoon. When he had climbed Weacombe to the top the sea mist came down, and he felt he might be frozen to death before he got home. But as he was groping along he suddenly touched shaggy fur and thought that old Shep, his sheep-dog, had come out to look for him. ‘Good dog, Shep. Whoame, boy!’ he said. The dog turned and led him right to his cottage door, where he heard his own dog barking inside. Heturned to look at the dog who had guided him, which grew gradually larger and then faded away. ‘It was the Black Dog, God bless it!’ he would always say.

Black Dogs are not always so friendly – it’s nice to hear that some of them can be so helpful. Perhaps he uses one of the barrows as his kennel.

from ‘Somerset Folklore’ 1965

Not that I want to put you off visiting Dewerstone, but Hunt* mentions that the Dewerstone valley below is a favourite midnight meeting place for the headless spectral Wish Hounds. He calls them “the wish or wisked hounds of Dartmoor,” also the “yell-hounds,” and the “yeth-hounds.”

Pure Joy mentions that rock climbers have died here – perhaps many people have made fatal errors over the years, because it is said the hounds lure unwary (or inquisitive) travellers over the edge to their deaths.

*Popular Romances of the West of England, 1865.

(Btw, the Magic record considers the enclosures themselves to be Neolithic, with the hut circles later Bronze Age additions.)

There appears to be another standing stone at Gruline, at NM543397, in amongst some trees. According to the Canmore record it’s slightly taller at 2.45m, and tapers in at the top.

It’s not ‘strictly’ to do with the stones (or is it?), but the legend of the Cailleach is connected with the neighbouring loch (she is largely associated with the imposing mountain Schiehallion), as you can see from this excerpt from “A MacLean Souvenir” by J. P. Maclean (1913) – a fiercely copyrighted annotated version of which may be found at
gillean.com/jpmclean/

No district of Scotland was more noted for its witches than Mull. On the shore of Loch Ba lived the famous “Calleach Bheurr” and there closed her career of thousands of years. At intervals of a hundred years, so the legend relates, she immersed herself in the waters of the Loch, which ordeal gave here a further lease on life. But having waited too long for this ordeal, for the cycle had been spun to its limit, and while in the act of seeking this elixir of life, she staggered, reeled and dropped to rise no more.

Grinsell says that Spellow Hills were originally ‘Spellhou’ – incorporating a word for hill, so now it’s a bit of a double name. The barrow (looking as it does like several barrows) was known as the ‘Hills of the Slain’ and it was said ‘bones and armour were found’ inside ‘many years ago’. The barrow was also regarded as a place where plague victims had been buried, or the dead soldiers from a mythical ‘Battle of Partney’ (Partney being a nearby village).

(’Ancient Burial Mounds of England’, 1936)

[The King’s men and the knights] go down the hill “at midnight to drink of a spring in Little Rollright Spinney. According to some accounts they go down every night when the clock strikes twelve; according to others at certain special occasions, “on Saints’ days for instance.” What is more, the gap in the bushes is pointed out through which they go down to the water. In some versions of the tale, the King also goes down to the stream at the same hour with his men; but others say that “the King* goes down to the water to drink when he hears the clock strike twelve,” meaning, as my informant was at pains to explain to me, that as he cannot hear the clock stays where he is. One sceptic assured me that he had passed by the stones many a time at midnight and never seen them move.
*Sometimes too, the king’s men with him. In some accounts the stones descend to drink at a stream by Long Compton.

The Rollright Stones and Their Folk-Lore
Arthur J. Evans
Folklore, Vol. 6, No. 1. (Mar., 1895), pp. 6-53.

Celia Fiennes wrote travel books in the 18th century and her take on the stones was that they were ‘a warning for boggy ground’, an interesting if elaborate idea(?!). I have my suspicions whether she actually visited the site, as she talks about Long Meg as being in the middle of the circle:

A mile from Peroth in a Low bottom and moorish place stands Mag and her sisters; the story is that these soliciting her to an Unlawfull Love by an Enchantment are turned wth her into stone; the stone in the middle wch is Call’d Mag is much bigger and have some fforme Like a statue or ffigure of a body, but the Rest are but soe many Cragg stones.

...they affirme they Cannot be Counted twice alike as is the story of Stonidge [Stonehenge].

quoted by Grinsell in ‘Ancient Burial Mounds of England’ 1936 (but I will look at the original soon).

The nine barrows are said to be the graves of nine kings who fell in a great battle nearby. That must have been some battle for nine kings to be involved.

(mentioned in Grinsell’s ‘Ancient Burial Mounds of England’ 1936).

“The village folk will have it that the mound was reared over the body of an imaginary General Stapleton, ‘killed in the Civil Wars’’; and they account for its unusual height by declaring that the general, an exceptionally tall man, was buried standing upright.”

quoted in Grinsell’s ‘Ancient Burial Mounds of England’ (1936).

A shepherd related to a friend of Leslie Grinsell told how the devil was making a ditch, and cleaned his spade by scraping it against a tree. A large lump of earth fell off, and this became Hangour Hill (’Ancient Burial Mounds of England’ 1936).

The ‘Devil’s Dyke’ is close by, so perhaps that was the ditch he was digging.

Here is the quote from Copeland Borlase that tells the story of the strange round capstone, that ‘created consternation in the antiquarian world about 1860’*.

The fame of the discovery quickly spread. The Local Antiquarianism of the whole neighbourhood was awakened immediately, and savants of all shapes, sexes, and ages ‘visited and inspected’ the stone. The sphere for conjecture was of course unlimited, and ranged from Arthur’s round table, to the circular tombs of modern Bengal...

But.. edging his way through the crowd which surrounded the monument, until he had reached the front rank, an old man was heard dispelling the fond illusion in the following cruel words:
“Now what are ‘e all tellin’ of? I do mind when Uncle Jan, he that was the miller down to Polmeor, cum’ up ‘long to the croft a speering round for a fitty stoan of es mill. And when he had worked ‘pon that theere stoan; says he: ‘I’ll be jist gone to knack un a bit round like’; so he pitched to work; but ‘e wouldn’t sarve ‘es purpose so theere ‘e es still. And lor bless yer all, a fine passel o’ pepple has been heere for to look ‘pon un, but what they sees en un es more than I can tell ‘e.”

This was “minding the bigging o’t” with a vengeance, and the antiquaries could only console themselves in the reflection that the stone must have been of a rudely circular form to have induced the miller to try his tool upon it at all.

When the author saw it in December, 1871, some of the splintered pieces were lying round, and he is led to imagine that the original shape was oblong.

archive.org/stream/naeniacornubiaed00borluoft#page/277/mode/1up

It’s all very well being scared of the Witch, but what about the 30ft long conger eel that lives in the caves? To use the standard unit of measurement in these situations, it is as long as a double decker bus.

A long time ago it swam up into the Severn estuary and set itself up as King of the River. Naturally most creatures weren’t prepared to argue. But after watching the eel repeatedly ruining fishing nets, splashing about and flooding the land, and generally stuffing himself with fish, the local fishermen had had enough. They lined up their boats and drove him towards Brean Down, forcing him up the narrow River Axe. The eel had no choice but to keep swimming, and eventually squeezed himself into Wookey Hole, where he’ll probably be stuck forever. He must get pretty hungry.

It’s possible you know. Some mad cave divers set the British record by diving down nearly 80 metres, and the cave system still isn’t fully explored.

(mentioned in the collection “Reader’s Digest ‘Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’“)

If you like frightening your children by driving with your knees while you point at prehistoric monuments, this is the site for you. Dunmail Raise is a 4m high Bronze Age cairn right on the central reservation of a dual carriageway. It marks the boundary of the old areas of Cumberland and Westmorland, and lies on what would always have been a useful N-S pass through this region.

It’s said that Dunmail, King of Cumberland, fought the Saxon army of King Edmund and the Scots led by King Malcolm (some time in the 10th century) right on this very spot. Unfortunately Dunmail met his end, and his remaining and loyal soldiers built the cairn over him. Some legends have it that he sleeps there King Arthur-style, waiting for when his country needs him.

Meanwhile (according to Kenneth Woolley) “tis said that his no1 man took his [gold] crown and flung over the top of Seat Sandal and it landed in Grisedale Tarn.Should you venture up Seat Sandal on a winter night it is said the king and his bride can be seen dancing in the moonlight.”

coast2coast.co.uk/ubb/Forum1/HTML/001423-2.html

From the information on Canmore:

“A cup marked and perforated slab lies in rough grass 20yds WSW of St Ciaron’s Chapel and 20yds N of the road. The slab is of schist 6ft by 3ft with a thickness of 6ins exposed, the rest being buried. Graham noted 22 cups in 1895 but only 18 are now visible, 6 1/2 ins in maximum diameter and 4 ins deep, clearly man-made but some having vertical sides. Two cups have penetrated the slab completely.”

The local tradition is that church-goers turned a pestle in any cup-mark and wished. The constant turning wore the cups, “in some cases right through the stone”.

A similar ritual is done with cups in the base of a cross at nearby Kilchoman (NR215632). According to the source used by Kevin Callahan in his article on rock art here:
tc.umn.edu/~call0031/folklore.html
it was still being used 1968 – the pestle would be turned 3 times sunwise, and a coin left. The cup was full of pennies and the church officer collected them up periodically.
But this cupped base just looks too neat and new.
rcahms.gov.uk/pls/portal/newcanmore.p_coll_details?p_arcnumlink=416799
Was it a ritual adopted from the (presumably)older Kilchiaran?

There is a holed stone here in the churchyard. If you’re a spotless Christian, an atheist, or just feeling lucky – you may like to take the following test. Close your eyes, stick out your finger, and try to shove it into the hole. If you’re successful first time, heave a sigh of relief, as you’re off to heaven when you die. I’m afraid less co-ordinated people are going The Other Way.

The stone was also called the ‘Trial Stone’ as a similar ‘pin the tail on the donkey’ style test would tell the world if you were innocent or guilty of a crime.

(story mentioned in the Bords’ ‘Magical Atlas of Britain’ among other places).

You can see a picture of the stone on geograph.

You might also find this hollowed stone seen on Canmore,“said to be a font or holy water stoup,” so says the database. Does it look rather like a bullaun stone?

Also known as Granny Kempock and Granny Kempock’s stone, this 6ft megalith was once a landmark to ships passing Kempock point. Now it’s surrounded by buildings and probably can’t be seen from the sea?

The sailors didn’t just use it as a landmark; they would visit it for luck.

“It was chiefly in connection with the winds and sea that the Kempock Stane was regarded with superstitious dread … sailors and fishermen were wont to take a basketful of sand from the shore and walk seven times round Granny Kempock, chanting a weird song to insure for themselves a safe and prosperous voyage.”

Rev. D. Macrae, “Notes about Gourock”, 1880.

Marie Lamont was burned in 1662 after confessing to having attended a sabbat of witches intending to throw the stone into the estuary. Let’s face it she’d probably have admitted to anything in the circumstances (including, as she did, turning into a cat). And besides, by the sound of it she’d have been doing Christians a favour by getting rid of all of its attendent weirdness. She’d also have stopped another custom the church surely didn’t like (mentioned by Macrae) – that of newly wedded couples taking a turn around the stone for luck in their marriage.

And Macrae also knew of the belief that the stone revolved three times on the stroke of midnight. Perhaps the stone would even come alive:“On Hogmanay night it was one of the freaks of the Gourock lads to go and array Granny Kempock in shawl, mutch, and apron, that she might appear in dress on New Year’s morning.”

“Granny” Kempock is said to wear a hooded cloak. But ‘Granny’? Is it just my imagination, or does she look decidedly unfemale, if you know what I’m saying? Have a look for yourself at the photo on the Inverclyde Council site (where there’s also a detailed map):
inverclyde.gov.uk/Economic_Development/index.php?module=article&view=189

Aubrey Burl says that this site used to be called ‘Elfhaugr’*. Haugr means mound in Old Norse; and Elf – well, one would like to think this meant ‘elf’ rather than a person with an elf-inspired name.

Haugr may imply burial mound, (like ‘howe’) but as the stone circle on Elva plain isn’t actually a mound, could it refer to Elva Hill itself? Does the whole hill belong to the elves? Better watch out if you pay a visit, just in case.

*spotted at
britarch.ac.uk/ba/ba17/ba17int.html

Gareth Evans at ‘Time Travel Britain’ claims
“The hill itself is locally reputed to be a fairy hill and, according to some, hides a secret gateway into the otherworld, which only opens at certain times of the year.”
timetravel-britain.com/05/fall/fairy.shtml

The composer John Ireland was much influenced by the English landscape. He lived in sight of Chanctonbury Ring, and it was there and at Harrow Hill that Ireland found the inspiration for ‘Legend for Piano and Orchestra’.

On one occasion John Ireland arose early, cut some sandwiches and chose Harrow Hill as the place for his picnic. Just as he was about to start eating, he noticed some children dancing around him in archaic clothing -very quiet, very silent, He was a little put out about having his peace invaded by children; he looked away for a moment, when he looked back they had disappeared. The incident made such an impression on him that he wrote about his experience to Arnold Machen whose books had greatly influenced much of his music. The reply he received was a postcard with the laconic message “So, you’ve seen them too!”

Children – or fairies, eh?
Taken from the article by Iain Lace, quoting Norah Kirby at musicweb-international.com/ireland/lace.htm

In 1720, Stukeley wrote: “On Salisbury Plain near Stonehenge in the sheep-penning there several barrows called the Kings Graves. The stones which once stood there are lately carried away.”

The existence of these stones is apparently corroborated by the detailed drawing of Stonehenge and its surroundings made by J Hassell (for Inigo Jones’ ‘Stonehenge’): he drew stones on the side of the hill above ‘Penning Bottom’.

It’s likely the stones went for road making. And speaking of which, here’s a peculiar tale told by “the late Mr Soul, grocer and baker of Amesbury”:

The Marquess of Queensbury set out to make a road to Shrewton, the remains of which can be seen today. It left the Amesbury road just after the Seven Barrows, crossed the valley, went over the Stonehenge Avenue, and nearly got to the Cursus. But one day the Marquess rode up to see how the work was getting on and then went on to Shrewton. It was Trinity Monday, the Shrewton fete day, and he found them all so drunk that he decided Shrewton was no fit place to be connected with Amesbury.

Now what’s all that about? Various Marquesses certainly made their mark on the land round here*. Perhaps it’s based on a truth. But doesn’t the story smack slightly of the town rivalry / devil folklore you get elsewhere? Perhaps my imagination.

In ‘Notes’ on the Seven Barrows, WAM 61 (1966)

* eg see the history mentioned in the 2002 ‘Stonehenge World Heritage Site – Archaeological Research Framework’ at
apollo5.bournemouth.ac.uk/stonehenge/pdf/section2.pdf

This granite standing stone is 2.3m tall and sits on an old river terrace of the River Don. The stone fell in 1991, but was re-erected the following year after the hole had been partially excavated (the original packing stones were reused). Info at Canmore’s record
rcahms.gov.uk/pls/portal/newcanmore.details_gis?inumlink=17168

The stone is also called the ‘Treasure Stone’ as some was buried there by a Pictish prince. When someone attempted its removal they suffered a heart attack*. Another name for the stone is the Bullhide Stone, but I can’t find an explanation. It is a motif found at other sites, eg Lled Croen Yr Ych and Maiden Bower.

*This modern-sounding medical diagnosis is from a snippet of information at the ‘Alternative Approaches to Folklore’ bibliography at
hoap.co.uk/aatf1.rtf.
the original info in Northern Earth 64.

This lone 5’8” stone is said to have once been part of a stone circle. The other 10 or 11 stones were removed c.1835, according to the 1905 source mentioned in the Canmore record. It was also said that the surviving stone originally had projections from two edges so that it resembled a cross. They were supposedly knocked off when the circle was destroyed. This tradition was collected in the 1930s (and was still known in the late 60s) – it seems quite a strange idea? The stone does have a kind of ‘waist’.

You can see a picture of it from 1904 at
rcahms.gov.uk/pls/portal/newcanmore.p_coll_details?p_arcnumlink=680007

Clach an Righ circle is now in a forest clearing. Two stones remain standing opposite each other; one is 6ft high, the other 8ft. Other stones from 5ft to 9ft lie fallen.

‘Clach an Righ’ means ‘King’s Stone’. The stones were also known as ‘King Harrald’s Pillars’. They were said to commemorate a victory of King William the Lion (or perhaps his army, led by Ragnvald Gudrodson / Reginald of the Isles) over a Norse army (led by Harald Madadson, Earl of Caithness) in 1196 or 1198.

Field clearance heaps in the area were said to be the burial mounds of the dead soldiers, including Harald Madadson, from whom another alternative name ‘Dalharrold’ (or Dailharraild), is said to be derived. The mounds have now been ploughed and planted with trees.

Info from the Canmore record.
rcahms.gov.uk/pls/portal/newcanmore.details_gis?inumlink=5540

This granite standing stone is over 2 metres tall. An urn was apparently found almost underneath it “some time ago” (according to a source in 1866). It was also recorded that:

It is remarkable that the corn grows very luxuriant around this solitary pillar to a distance of fifteen yards, and has always been eighteen inches higher than the crop immediately beside it.

This surely implies some pretty special fertility-promoting quality of the stone. When visited in 1996 the field was in cultivation, so perhaps you can check its powers for yourself.

Information from the Canmore database, at which you can find photos from 1904 and 1910.
rcahms.gov.uk/pls/portal/newcanmore.details_image_summary?inumlink=19480

The huge Recumbent Stone at Arn Hill is also known as the Ringing Stone or Iron Stone: it is said to give off a clear metallic noise when struck. The information on the Canmore database goes on to describe it as “set absolutely vertical, on a base 8ft 10” long by 3ft 4” broad. Its extreme length is 11ft 7” and it stands 10” clear off the ground. There are traces of much weathered concentric rings on the NE, which may be artificial.”

Canmore also has photos of the stone from 1909 (looking stoney and much like it does today) at
rcahms.gov.uk/pls/portal/newcanmore.details_image_summary?inumlink=17827

The Somerset Historic Environment Record has this to say:

Measures 6ft by 5ft 4ins by 5ft. Composed of hard sandstone of irregular shape, somewhat hollowed out on the sides and partly smoothed and rounded at the top. Several holes on the upper sides.

Local legend has it that the devil gripped it at these holes and flung it at the nearby church, or that hearing of the intended building of the church here, gathered some stones as he approached but fell asleep and dropped the stones.

It also seems that there are a number of similar, smaller stones in the vicinity (suggesting the natural nature of the Devil’s Stone) but still, the stone is near the crossroads at the heart of the village.

At Staple Fitzpaine, a few miles west of Taunton, there is by the roadside a big ‘Sarten,’ known as “the Devil’s Stone”, because, having come overnight with a lot of big stones on his back, wherewith to pelt the builders of a church which he heard was to be built, against his wish, in that then benighted place, he suddenly saw in the morning the beautiful tower of the finished church; and in his chagrin and amazement he was so taken aback that he dropped his budget of stones from his back; and this big one in particular, from off his shoulder, remains on the spot to this day, as a strong (though dumb) witness of the fact!

Sent in by ‘F’ on p61 of
Notes and Queries
The Folk-Lore Journal, Vol. 7, No. 1. (1889), pp. 53-63.

Canmore’s record tells us that this 8ft+ standing stone called St Marnan’s Chair is now within the walls of a churchyard, at NJ 59705020. There is another, smaller stone (perhaps moved from its original position SE of the Chair) at NJ 59715024.

The entry states the Chair “is almost certainly all that remains of a stone circle, probably one of the pillar stones of a recumbent stone circle centred to the NE where the church stands.”

A little further afield, in Banffshire, just beyond the Aberdeenshire boundary, two standing-stones represent all that remains of a circle which stood on the site of the present parish church of Marnoch. The taller of the two is known as St Marnan’s Chair, though it bears no resemblance to such an article of furniture in its present state. As, however, it seems likely to have been one of the pillar-stones associated with the recumbent stone, its original position may have given some excuse for the designation. St Marnan, or Marnoch, was a seventh-century missionary who is said to have died at his church here in 625.

This is from Ritchie, J., Folklore of Aberdeenshire Stone Circles, in Proc. Soc. Ant. of Scotland, LX, 1926, pp304-313.

Naturally the chair is where St Marnan (or St Marnoch, the name of the village/church) is said to have preached. He is associated with a curious bit of folklore – that his skull was taken from the church and washed every Sunday in his renowned (but now defunct) holy well near the river, the washing water being given to the sick*. One might be tempted to think of ‘Celtic head cults’ and the like. I don’t think drinking water out of a skull would make me feel any better, personally.

*from ‘Wishing Wells’ by Sandy Maclennan at
bath.ac.uk/lispring/sourcearchive/fs7/fs7sm1.htm
original source – ?

Canmore also mentions that one of those geometric favourites, a 7-knobbed carved stone ball, was found somewhere in Marnoch (but is now far away in the Ashmolean Museum, Oxford).

The 1845 ‘New Statistical Account’ recorded the belief that this stone was set up to commemorate the death of Duncan II. He was unkindly but alliteratively murdered here at Mondynes by Mormaer Malpei of the Mearns in 1094. It also states “’Duncan’s shade’ or ‘field’ lies nearby.”

A later account of 1914 by J C Watt said (unbelievingly) that the stone was the judgement seat of the Barony of Mondynes.

It is apparently 6ft 9ins tall but leans to the NW, and stands “in a prominent position.. commanding a wide view.”

Aerial photographs from 2001 may show an enclosure around the stone, about 25m in diameter, with the stone inside the south edge.

(basic info gleaned from record on Canmore)

The Stone of Morphy.---This is an obelisk situated on the lands of the same name, in the western division of the parish. With reference to it, the writer of the former Account [ie the first Statistical Account] says, that it is difficult to determine whether it had been erected to preserve the memory of some gallant warrior of the name of Graham, to which Noble family the lands of Morphy originally belonged, or whether it may be a remnant of a Druidical temple; while, at the same time, he appears not to have been aware of the existence of a tradition, which says, that it was erected in memory of a son of Camus, or some other important personage in his army, who was killed here in an engagement with the Scots, after the defeat and death of the Danish leader at Panbride. The Danes, on that event, immediately retreated northward, and, according to the tradition, encountered the Scots near the Stone of Morphy; and that a battle had there taken place, is probable, from the immense number of stone-coffins, containing human bones, which have been found, particularly in and near a field called “the sick man’s shade,” close by the stone. The farm adjoining that on which the pillar stands, bears the name of Comeston, or, as it is written in old records, Camuston..

p282 in The New Statistical Account of Scotland, vol 11, 1845. Online at Google Books.

According to Canmore,
“it was knocked down shortly before 1856. Digging prior to re-erection revealed part of a human skeleton, buried in black unctuous earth.”

Canmore says:

‘...the name appears to have arisen from an old belief that the place was haunted by a ghost, and at this cairn St Knauchland conjured or subdued it. It is likewise known by the name of Devils Cairn.‘
Name Book 1867.

This grassy bump sits atop of Bo Hill. Beneath was alleged to be the kirk and holy well of St Knauchland (the most recent record on Canmore is most sceptical of both claims). It’s possible that ‘Knauchland’ is from St Nachlan, a saint renowned for his ability to grow crops when everyone else’s were failing.

You might also want to look out for the remains of ‘Kemp’s Cairn’, also close by. In 1745, a large cist was found at NJ 564514. It was said to be covered by a large stone. The farmer who was quizzed in the 1960s pointed out this reputed capstone, now built into a wall at NJ 5642 5141. “The stone is flat and measures 1.5m x 0.8m x 0.2m, being roughly rectangular.”

(this is not ‘strictly’ in Aberdeenshire, but in a tongue of Moray that sticks into it, so is surrounded by Aberdeenshire sites.)

Stukeley wrote in 1743: “In an orchard near the church is a cove consisting of three stones.. this they call the parson, the bride and bridegroom.”

Aubrey, who visited in 1664 knew the stones as the Bride, the Parson’s Stone and the Cooke’s Stone. (Presumably the groom had sneaked off into the pub?)

Within the Camp, near the brow of the hill are ‘Fairy Sleets’, these, as the Rev. HH Winwood explained, are ‘slits’, narrow and shallow trenches formed when ore has been found by cutting through the rock to follow it out.

I found this in the 1904-08 volume of the Somersetshire Arch Soc Proc (Bath Branch). Perhaps someone knows more about to what it refers?

Much in former times has been written on their miraculous origin, and still superstition has not entirely died out, for a native told Prof. Lloyd Morgan that if he hit the stones with his hammer he would smell the brimstone.

Lloyd Morgan was professor of psychology at Bristol University. He ‘spoke to the natives’ on a field trip c1887.

From the Somerset Arch. Soc. Proc. (Bath Branch) for 1906.

In the parish of Columb Major stands Castell-an-Dinas. Near this castle, by the highway, stands the Coyt, a stony tumulus so called, of which sort there are many in Wales and Wiltshire, as is mentioned is the ‘Additions to Camden’s Britannia,’ in these places, commonly called the Devils Coyts. It consists of four long stones of great bigness, perpendicularly pitched in the earth contiguous with each other, leaving only a small vacancy downwards, but meeting together at the top; over all which is laid a fiat stone of prodigious bulk and magnitude, bending towards the east in way of adoration (as Mr Llwyd concludes of all those Coyts elsewhere), as the person therein under it interred did when in the land of the living; but how or by what art this prodigious flat stone should be placed on the top of the others, amazeth the wisest mathematicians, engineers, or architects to tell or conjecture. Coit, in Belgic-British, is a cave, vault, or co[r?]n-house, of which coyt might possibly be a corruption.” --Gilbert’s Parochial History.

also from Hunt’s book (as below)

Plenty of testaments to the well’s healing properties can be found in Hunt’s ‘Popular Romances of the West of England’ (1886), online at the sacred-texts archive, here:
sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/prwe/prwe148.htm

You can also find out when you will be married:

In Madron Well--and, I have no doubt, in many others--may be found frequently the pins which have been dropped by maidens desirous of knowing “when they were to be married.” I once witnessed the whole ceremony performed by a group of beautiful girls, who had walked on a May morning from Penzance. Two pieces of straw, about an inch long each, were crossed and the pin run through them. This cross was then dropped into the water, and the rising bubbles carefully counted, as they marked the number of years which would pass ere the arrlval of the happy day.