Rhiannon

Graeme C’s ‘Yorkshire Rock Art’ site has this quotation:

WELL OF THE CUPS, North Uist. PSAS vol 16 p 400. – Near the old churchyard on the Ardivoran peninsula, there is a holy well called the Well of the Cups. The spring of water flows from beneath a rock which has a cross carved on it, there are also several cup marks along the top of the rock and on other stones nearby. An old inhabitant remembered hearing that people used to make an Easter pilgrimage to the holy well, taking hard boiled pashe eggs with them to place in the cup marks around the well.

alkelda.f9.co.uk/lore1.htm

According to the Scottish Monuments Record on Canmap, the well was variously known as the well ‘of the priest’, ‘of the cross’ and ‘of the cups’. Above it is a massive rock and just above the high water line, a 14” Latin cross has been inscribed.

Nine yards to the SE are 24 cupmarks arranged along the twin narrow and parallel ridges of a boulder embedded in the beach. Other cupmarks are said to exist, both above the well and on various stones at the NE side of the same promontory, but perhaps some of these are natural hollows.

lmid1.rcahms.gov.uk/pls/portal/newcanmore.details_gis?inumlink=10335

Graeme C’s ‘Yorkshire Rock Art’ site has the following quotation:

CUP MARKED STONE near Arisaig, PSAS vol 16 p397 – In the ground of Arisaig House there is a large block of stone with over eighty cup marks on its upper surface. A local belief connected with the stone is that an apprentice blacksmith could gain additional skill and strength in the craft by washing his hand in the water collected in the largest cupmark/basin on the stone, this act was to be performed at sunrise on the first of May.

alkelda.f9.co.uk/lore1.htm

Amongst the remains of the easternmost of six stone-walled round huts here there is a stone, in which is cut an 8” deep/diameter cup. The information in the National Monuments of Scotland record says it is locally supposed to have curative properties and is/was known as the “Wailing Stone”.

This block of hard mica-schist has a 6” diameter hole, 11” deep. Traditionally known as ‘St Columba’s Font’, it was used for baptisms “within living memory” according to a 1970 source, and for medicinal purposes. On the banks of Loch Ness, it is apparently set within a 3m diameter circle of large irregularly shaped boulders. It is put forward in the Scottish National Monuments Record that it isn’t actually a half-finished millstone, in case you were wondering. It is a strangely deep hole compared to its diameter though?

Saint Columba himself apparently once saw off the Loch Ness Monster, according to his biographer Saint Adamnan (c597AD). One imagines the heathen picts were so impressed that they would have been queuing up for baptism in the aforementioned font.

On another occasion also, when the blessed man was living for some days in the province of the Picts, he was obliged to cross the river Nesa (the Ness); and when he reached the bank of the river, he saw some of the inhabitants burying an unfortunate man, who, according to the account of those who were burying him, was a short time before seized, as he was swimming, and bitten most severely by a monster that lived in the water; his wretched body was, though too late, taken out with a hook, by those who came to his assistance in a boat. The blessed man, on hearing this, was so far from being dismayed, that he directed one of his companions to swim over and row across the coble that was moored at the farther bank. And Lugne Mocumin hearing the command of the excellent man, obeyed without the least delay, taking off all his clothes, except his tunic, and leaping into the water. But the monster, which, so far from being satiated, was only roused for more prey, was lying at the bottom of the stream, and when it felt the water disturbed above by the man swimming, suddenly rushed out, and, giving an awful roar, darted after him, with its mouth wide open, as the man swam in the middle of the stream. Then the blessed man observing this, raised his holy hand, while all the rest, brethren as well as strangers, were stupefied with terror, and, invoking the name of God, formed the saving sign of the cross in the air, and commanded the ferocious monster, saying, “Thou shalt go no further, nor touch the man; go back with all speed.” Then at the voice of the saint, the monster was terrified, and fled more quickly than if it had been pulled back with ropes, though it had just got so near to Lugne, as he swam, that there was not more than the length of a spear-staff between the man and the beast. Then the brethren seeing that the monster had gone back, and that their comrade Lugne returned to them in the boat safe and sound, were struck with admiration, and gave glory to God in the blessed man. And even the barbarous heathens, who were present, were forced by the greatness of this miracle, which they themselves had seen, to magnify the God of the Christians.

online at fordham.edu/halsall/basis/columba-e.html

Graeme C’s ‘Yorkshire Rock Art’ site additionally mentions that the stone was “held to be beneficial in connection with child birth.” The cavity was said also “to be always full of water and if it was emptied out it would fill up of its own accord”.
alkelda.f9.co.uk/lore1.htm_

It is commonly said that all the heirs of Balvarran were christened
at the stone, a new cup or basin being made for each infant, but that
General Reid was not so christened: at his baptism in the house a silver
bowl was used, with the disastrous result that there were no more male
heirs and the family died out.

From the article by John Dixon at
ads.ahds.ac.uk/catalogue/adsdata/PSAS_2002/pdf/vol_055/55_095_099.pdf
in the 1920/21 volume of the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland.

From Graeme C’s ‘Yorkshire Rock Art’ site:

The Witchcraft Stone – Clach na Buidseach – Strathtay, Perthshire PSAS 1920-21 p38 – This is the name given to a large cup marked boulder built into a dry stone wall on Tullypowrie farm. No tradition was noted regarding how the stone came by this name, although local opinion was that the stone was a cresset to hold lamps for monks attending midnight services.

alkelda.f9.co.uk/lore1.htm

“The top of Beacon Hill is the finest view-point in the county. The outlook embraces Lincoln Cliff, the Carr lands as far as the Ouse, and the country west of the Magnesian Limestone escarpment. Here are earthworks believed to date back to Roman or British times. Prince Rupert encamped here before going to the relief of Newark in 1644.”
nottshistory.org.uk/swinnerton1910/chapter26.htm
from ‘Nottinghamshire’ – HH Swinnerton (1910)

The spectacular view out may have looked rather different in the past when the lower lands were undrained – and from down there, the elevated beacon looked even more impressive?

The road up the hill is associated with a classic ‘road ghost’ – recounted at the Road Ghosts website
tudor34.freeserve.co.uk/CasesUKaccounts6.htm

“We were travelling From Misterton to Gringley (Notts). Just before the last corner leading up to Beacon Hill, in the headlights we saw a white figure about 3ft into the road. It was that of a young lady, beckoning us to come towards her with her left hand. My father slowed down. As he did she was smiling.

“At this point we noted that her flowing white gown was somewhat 8 to 10 inches from the floor with no feet visible. As my father accelerated past she retreated (floated) backwards at an angle in front of us with an angry scowling face, through a closed iron farm gate and quickened pace until almost a blur, across the field until she vanished into the hillside. Lengthy discussions followed on the way home with my father refusing to believe what he had seen.

“Over the past years since then, both my mother and father have seen the same apparition twice, years apart, but around the same autumn period in the same place. Discussions have ensued after each occurrence, my father now reservedly admits he has seen something; my mother, well, she would not mind seeing her again.

“Some years after our experience, a bus crashed at that same spot, he was coming down the hill and said he had swerved to miss a ‘woman in white’. No one else was found around the crash.”

The Cheese Well fairies are mentioned in Sir Walter Scott’s 1806 ‘Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Vol. II’, which is online at
fullbooks.com/Minstrelsy-of-the-Scottish-Border-Vol-II-of3.html

The ‘Mysterious Britain Gazetteer’ says that the circle is associated with strange lights. This stone
themodernantiquarian.com/post/30255
is called the Fairy Stone – are the lights the work of fairies or are they ‘earthlights’? (some cynics would go for neither, of course.)

The caption to the MBG photograph suggests that the shape of the fairy stone deliberately matches that of Win Hill (SK186850) on the horizon.

mysteriousbritain.co.uk/england/derbyshire/derbyshire3.html

William Simmonds lived near Stroud and collected photographs and information about local rural life. An online exhibition is at the Museum of English Rural Life
ruralhistory.org/online_exhibitions/simmonds/cat_photo.html

“[He spoke to] George Hunt, a plasterer, from Far Oakridge
(A pencil note adds, ‘died 1937 aged 93’) “W.G.S.:Do you know Haresfield Beacon Mr Hunt. Cromwell is said to have watched his armies from there.
Mr H. : Oh yes and the story goes that he fired at the cathedral tower from there, and they put sacks round it to protect it. That’s how the story goes but I aint never been up there. ”

British History Online has the information that the earthworks at Haresfield Beacon were once known as Evesbury / Ezimbury.
british-history.ac.uk/report.asp?compid=15822

This is a massive quartz block 2m long, 1.2m wide and 1.65m high. The Somerset Historic Environment record says that the farmer of the land gives its local name as ‘The Devil’s Stone’ and that the Devil hurled it from Dunkery Beacon. The field name is “Hour stone” which sounds suspiciously like “Hoar stone” – another quite common name for lone standing stones in England. Apparently in local tradition it was also thought of as a boundary or path stone. It looks as though it’s on a direct (and old) path between two villages, and very near to where the path crosses a stream.
Despite all this hopeful folklore pointing at its importance in local consciousness, the record suggests it’s probably not prehistoric. I guess it’s just big. But you could go and look at it.

In his ‘Popular Romances of the West of England’ Hunt describes a rock in Looe that turns around 3 times when it hears a cock crow. He adds:

The topmost stone of that curious pile of rocks in the parish of St Cleer known as the Cheesewring is gifted in like manner. Even now the poultry-yards are very distant, but in ancient days the cocks must have crowed most lustily, to have produced vibrations on either the sensitive rock or the tympanum of man.

Online at the sacred texts archive sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/prwe/index.htm

The sarcastic Davis Gilbert said “With respect to the stones called the ‘Hurlers’ being once men, I will say.. ‘Did that the ball which these Hurlers used when flesh and blood appear directly over them, immovably pendant in the air, one might he apt to credit some little of the tale..‘

Hunt, who was quoting him in his ‘Popular Romances of the West of England’ retorted
May we not address Mr Bond, “O ye of little faith!“- A very small amount of which would have found the ball, fixed as a boulder of granite, not as it passed through the air, but as it rolled along the ground.

* ‘Popular Romances’ online at the sacred texts archive: sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/prwe/prwe071.htm

Tom White, of Post Bridge, was the favoured suitor of a girl from Huccaby, five miles away across the moor. After tea he’d walk over to see her, and late at night he’d walk back home. One summer night Tom had stayed considerably later than usual, and the stars were beginning to fade with that pre-dawn light. As he got nearer Bellever Tor he fancied he heard voices in the distance. He stopped to listen but came to the conclusion it was just the sighing of the wind. However as he got to the tor it was evident that a very merry party was somewhere close at hand. As he passed a huge granite block, he came upon a strange and bewildering sight.

On a small level piece of velvety turf, entirely surrounded by boulders, a throng of pixies were dancing in a ring, while others perched on rocks laughing and shouting. Before he could decide how to sneak off he was spotted, and the figures ran to form a ring around him, dancing and singing, spinning him round, round, round. He couldn’t help but be caught up with the pixies but he was terrified what would happen. Luckily for him the sun was at that moment about to peep over the ridge, and as its first rays hit the ground Tom found himself abandoned and exhausted.

It’s said that Tom couldn’t face going to see his girlfriend after that. I’ve heard some excuses... “Honestly, it’s not you, it’s me and it’s the pixies.”

An even more long-winded version of this is to be found in Tales of the Dartmoor Pixies, by William Crossing [1890] at
sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/tdp/tdp05.htm

From Tales of the Dartmoor Pixies by William Crossing [1890]. online at sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/tdp

The following was told me by old George Caunter, of Dartmeet (Uncle George)..

A man named Hannaford, together with his wife, once lived at Lough Tor Hole*, which is situated on the East Dart, at no great distance below Bellaford Bridge. The few dwellers in the neighbourhood had often heard them speak of their children, but no one, when chancing to call at the house, had ever seen anything of them there. Sometimes as they approached it a troop of ragged little imps would appear for a moment to their view, and immediately vanish among the bracken as if by magic. Occasionally a farmer or a moor-man seeking his cattle near the place, would see several little forms scrambling among the boulders of granite, but on the slightest attempt to get near them they disappeared.

At length it was hinted among the people round about that what Hannaford and his wife called their children were nothing more nor less than a troop of pixies, for they disappeared in the same extraordinary fashion, on the approach of anyone, that those little elves were said to do. This belief continued to grow, and in a short time there were none who doubted that Hannaford and his wife were connected in some mysterious manner with that tribe of little goblins, and folks began to shun passing that way.

But of witchery there was none, for, as Uncle George explained, Lough Tor Hole is a very out-of-the-way place, and those who visited it but few, and the young children being accustomed to see scarce anyone but their parents became frightened on the approach of a stranger, and hid themselves with all speed, keeping out of the way until they had departed.

* I am not sure as to the correct mode of spelling the name of this place. The tor above it is sometimes rendered Laugh Tor, and sometimes Lough Tor. The old spelling of the name is Lafter Hole, and it is often so pronounced at present on the moor, though more frequently spoken of as Larter Hall

What, now Dartmoor people don’t know the difference between a child and a pixie? Give me a break.

There are other curious traditionary notices of the Rhymer in Aberdeenshire; one thus introduced in a View of the Diocese of Aberdeen, written about 1732.

’ On Aiky brae here [in Old Deer parish] are certain stones called the Cummin’s Craig, where ‘tis said one of the Cummins, Earls of Buchan, by a fall from his horse at hunting, dashed out his brains. The prediction goes that this earl (who lived under Alexander III.) had called Thomas the Rhymer by the name of Thomas the Lyar, to show how much he slighted his predictions, whereupon that famous fortune-teller denounced his impending fate in these word, which, ‘tis added, were all literally fulfilled:-

Tho’ Thomas the Lyar thou call’st me,
A sooth tale I shall tell to thee:
By Aikyside
Thy horse shall ride,
He shall stumble, and thou shalt fa’,
Thy neck bane shall break in twa,
And dogs shall thy banes gnaw,
And, maugre all thy kin and thee,
Thy own belt thy bier shall be.‘

So maybe not exactly the Aiky Brae stones. Though it seems to good a landmark to miss if you’re going to dash your brains out. From p21 of ‘Select Writings of Robert Chambers: popular rhymes of Scotland’ 3rd edition, 1847. Online at Google Books.

A very short distance away at SS497899 there is a holy well. According to Marie Trevelyan’s “Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales” (1909) it is “a spring which is said to flow with the ebb and flow of the tide. It is called Ffyn[n]on Fair, or Our Lady’s Well. The water therefrom was lifted in the palm of the hand while the person who drank it wished.”
The site is not miles from the sea in any direction, as it is on the Gower peninsular, but it’s still hardly close, so its alleged ebb and flow would make it rather special.

I have later found out that Camden mentioned this in his ‘Britannica’:

They are to be seen upon a jutting at the north west of Cefn Bryn, the most noted hill in Gower; their fashion and posture is this, There is a vast unwrought stone, probably about 20 tons weight, supported by six or seven others that are not above four feet high, and these are set in a circle, some on one end, and some edgewise or sidelong, to bear the great one up. The great one is much diminished of what ithas been in bulk, as having five tons or more by report, broke off it to make millstones, so that I guess the stone originally to have been between twenty-five and thrity tons in weight.
The common people call it Arthur’s Stone; under it is a well, which, as the neighbours tell me, has a flux and reflux with the sea.”

Could it be true about the millstones? Or would it be unnecessary bother?

Standing stones supposed to be of Druidical or memorial origin are seen in Glamorgan near Cottrell, the seat of Mrs. Macintosh, wife of the Macintosh of Macintosh. The story about these stones is that some women had sworn falsely against an innocent man, who was put to death on the gallows on Bryn Owen Mountain, subsequently known as the Stallingdown. These women were turned into stones on their way home.

(the other stone is possibly the one at Redland Park). From Marie Trevelyan’s “Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales”, published in 1909 and online at V Wales:
red4.co.uk/Folklore/trevelyan.htm

[A] stone on Orme’s Head is known as Cryd Tudno, or Tudno’s Cradle. It is supposed to have been a rocking-stone, but has long since been dismounted. People said two centuries ago that if any mothers wanted their children to learn to walk quickly, they should put their babes to crawl three times in succession once a week around the cradle of Tudno.

From Marie Trevelyan’s “Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales”, published in 1909 and online at V Wales:
red4.co.uk/Folklore/trevelyan.htm

She mentions another stone linked to the saint, otherwise known as ‘Hogalen Tudno’:

The whetstone of St. Tudno, near the ancient oratory on Great Orme’s Head, was included among the thirteen curiosities of the Isle of Britain. It was said that if the sword of a brave man were sharpened on it, anybody wounded thereby would surely die; but if the sword of a coward were sharpened on it, the blade would hurt, and not kill.

Is this a handy confusion with the whetstone of Tudwal Tudclud? which is mentioned as being one of the thirteen precious things in the basket of Gwyddneu Garanhir (see Lady’s Guest’s Mabinogion notes at sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/mab/mab17.htm)

Bleary Pate is a round barrow 6+ft high, crowned by a tree and a pesky trig point. It is called ‘Bleary Pate’ on the modern OS map – but old maps have it as ‘Bloody Pate’. Leslie Grinsell collected the grisly rhyme that “the blood ran down the hill from Bloody Pate up to the second straddle of the gates”, and says the name change was a euphemism of the prim Victorians, who didn’t quite get it. Bleary pate doesn’t even make sense. Pate is a word for ‘head’ – so what’s the full story? Were people allegedly having their heads chopped off on the mound? Is it another story connected with giants? More research required.

Somerset Historic Environment Record:
webapp1.somerset.gov.uk/her/details.asp?layer=smr&PRN=34182

It’s thought that there were once two cairns in the middle of the circle (about 9 ft high?) – mentioned by Burl in his ‘Great Stone Circles’, who feels it is unlikely they were just the product of field clearance or suchlike. Bainbridge, writing in c1600, said “Ther are within the compasse of these stones two great heapes of small stones under the wiche, they say, that the dead bodies were buried ther.” Stukeley, even more gruesomely, thought the stoney patches that remained in his day were the place where sacrifices had been burnt.

The late Col. Lacy, it is said, conceived the idea of removing Long Meg and her daughters by blasting. Whilst the work was being proceeded with under his orders, the slumbering powers of Druidism rose in arms against this violation of their sanctuary; and such heavy rain and hail ensued, as the fell-side never before witnessed. The labourers fled for their lives, vowing never more to meddle with Long Meg.. ..All lovers of antiquity must be thankful for the providential throwing of cold water on so wicked a design.

I’m not quite sure who Burl is quoting here, but it’s in his ‘Great Stone Circles’ book. Lt-Col Lacy, owner of Salkeld Hall and Long Meg in the late 18th century, consequently tidied the site up by removing the fence that crossed it E-W. He must have been quite ruffled..

Before this in 1725 Stukeley mentioned that the northern half of the site was planted with crops, and the south side a common. “Many [stones] are standing, but more fallen, and several carried away; but lately they have destroyed some by blasting, as they call it, ie blowing them in pieces with gunpowder; others they have sawed for millstones.”

A giant once lived at Carn Galva. (I’m warning you. This is another one of those depressing Cornish stories about giants. Don’t read it if you’re feeling delicate).

A giant once lived at Carn Galva, and he was a nice chap. He had a human friend from Choone, who used to take a turn over to the carn every now and then, just to see how the giant was getting on and to cheer him up a bit, or play a game. One afternoon they’d been playing quoits and when it was time for his friend to leave, the giant patted him on the head. “Same time tomorrow then?” But unfortunately the young man dropped down dead. The giant’s fingers had gone right through his skull. He tried to plug up the fingerholes, but it was a bit late.
“Oh, my son, why didn’t they make the shell of thy noddle stronger? A es as plum as a pie-crust, doughbaked, and made too thin by half. How shall I ever pass my time without thee to play bob and mop-and-heede?” And the poor giant was never happy after that. He pined away and died seven years later (probably the blink of an eye to a giant).

You can see how big the giant was, because his logan stone was just at the right height to sit on, with his feet comfortably on the turf below.

(story from William Bottrell’s ‘Tales and Hearthside Traditions of West Cornwall’ (c 1870?)quoted in Katherine Briggs’ ‘Folklore and legends of Britain’)

Women can be cruel. But you expect better from a saint.

There lived then in that part of the country a famous Wrath or Giant, by name Bolster, of that ilk. He got hold of the saint [Saint Agnes], and obliged her to gather up the stones on his domain; she carried them in three apron-fulls to the top of the hill, and made with them three great heaps, from which the hill is now called, sometime Carne Breanich, sometimes St. Agnes’ Beacon.

At last this Giant or Wrath, attempted to seduce her; she pretended to yield, provided he would fill a hole which she showed him with his blood: he agreed to this, not knowing that the hole opened into the sea; she thus cunningly bled him to death, and then tumbled him over the cliff. This they still call the Wrath’s Hole. It is on the top of the cliff, not far from St. Agnes’ chapel and well; and, enlarging as it goes downward, opens into a cave fretted-in by the sea, and, from the nature of the stone, streaked all over with bright red streaks like blood.

After this she lived some time here, and then died, having first built her chapel and her well. The water of this well is excellent; and the pavement, they tell you, is coloured with her own blood, and the more you rub it, the more it shows, = such being, indeed, the nature of the stone.

She likewise left the mark of her foot on a rock, not far from it, still called St. Agnes’ foot, which they tell you will fit a foot of any size; and indeed it is large enough to do so. These monkish stories caused great resort here in former days, and many cures are pretended to have been done by the water of this well, so blest by her miraculous blood.” Polwhele’s History of Cornwall, i, 176-7

Found in the ‘Poetical Works of Robert Southey’ v1, 1843 – on Google Books.

One evening the Laird of Balmachie was riding home from Dundee, to see his wife who was ill in bed. It was getting dark, and he took a short cut off the road, riding across the knolls called the Cur-hills, near Carlungy. He suddenly came across a troop of fairies, who were apparently carrying a human being on a kind of litter. As he got nearer he drew his sword, and bravely demanded “In the name of God, release your captive.” The fairies disappeared, and he found it was his wife they had been carrying. He put her on his horse and they rode the short distance home.

Arriving at his house, a servant hurried to attend to his wife, and he went upstairs to help prepare the bedroom. To his amazement, his wife appeared to be still in her bed, complaining away at being neglected by him. Pretending to be most concerned, the Laird told her she should sit by the fire while he had her bed changed. She claimed she couldn’t get up – but he picked her up and shoved her on the fire! “She bounced like a sky-rocket, went through the ceiling, and out through the roof of the house, leaving a hole among the slates.” (They could never satisfactorily fix this hole, either: once a year the mended slate would come off). His poor real wife explained that some time after sunset a multitude of elves had come in at the window, thronging like bees from a hive. They filled the room, lifted her from the bed and carried her out the window, after which point she remembered nothing until she saw her husband at the Cur-hills.

Story in Gibbings’ ‘Folklore and Legends, Scotland’, quoted in Katherine Briggs’ ‘Folklore and legends of Britain’.
See https://www.gutenberg.org/files/17071/17071-h/17071-h.htm (page 57).

It’s interesting it should have the motif of fairies as bees – also see Twmbarlwm in Wales.

So watch it at the Cur-hills – they are only on the opposite side of the road from Carlungie. The Carlungie souterrains would seem the inspiration for a fairy story – but they were only discovered (or discovered by archaeologists, at least) during ploughing in the 1940s. So I figured there must be older tales to account for the area’s strange reputation, and found this in the

Near the 8th milestone, E. from Dundee, there is a ridge of small hills, called the Cur-hills, where within these 14 years several stone coffins have been found. In the vicinity of the same place, were found upward of 6 feet below the surface of the earth, several trees, oak, fir and birch. There were also found urns, covered with broad stones, below which were ashes, supposed to have been human bodies reduced to that state by burning. To the south of the Cur-hills were found several heads of deer, and horns of a very large size, among marl, about 9 feet below the surface.

Linton Hill is a outlier of the Cheviot hills. In the 12th century it was the home of the Linton Worm. You might think that the slight earthworks here are the remains of a fort – but actually they are where the Linton Worm squeezed the hill. With its bad habits of breathing fire and poisoning cattle with its breath – not to mention the latest development of it growing wings, local people were getting a bit fed up of the worm. Its reputation reached a man called Somerville, and he travelled north to see it in person. He went to the ‘Worm’s Lair’ – the hollow on the NE side of the hill where the worm liked to hang out. The worm looked up, stared him straight in the face, opened its mouth, and.. went back indoors. You or I would then have left the creature to get on with its life, but Somerville decided he was going to kill it. Ooh so brave. He rigged up a lance with some burning peat and galloped at the worm, sticking the lance down its throat. As the poor animal writhed its death throes it squeezed the hill. For this act of animal cruelty the cad Somerville was given a knighthood, made Royal Falconer and Baron of Lintoune.

(details from JF Leishman’s ‘Linton Leaves’ quoted in ‘British Folktales and Legends’ by Katherine Briggs)

To the south of the fort are a number of cairns, and to the east, a little clump of trees called ‘Poky Knowe’ – surely the haunt of the local fairies?

Dowsborough is a hillfort in the Quantocks. It’s covered in oaks, but perhaps there are some places you can look out and see the views along the coast. Inside the bank and ditch is a round barrow from the Bronze Age (possibly later reused as a beacon mound) – so this prominent hill wasn’t ignored in times before the fort.

To the south on the curiously named ‘Robin Upright’s Hill’ is a spring called Lady’s Fountain; to the south of this a prehistoric dyke known as Dead Woman’s Ditch. One theory has it that the dead woman was a woodcutter’s wife – he was hanged for her murder in the 1780s. But the info on ‘MaGIc’ says that a map exists with this name on it from before this date – maybe an insight into how folklore gets updated over time.

As the wood continues north of Dowsborough it becomes Shervage Wood, and this was the home of the infamous Gurt Vurm – a dragon who used to eat six or seven ponies and sheep at one sitting before settling down for a nap curled around the hills. He was as fat round as two or three great oak trees. Things were fine for a while, but then local people started noticing that their livestock was disappearing. A few went up the hill to see what was going on. They didn’t come back. Everyone else was a bit loathe to go up there after that.
Every year there was a fair, the Triscombe Revel, and one old lady made all her money for the year by selling wort (bilberry?) tarts there. This year she was getting rather anxious as she couldn’t go up to check on the berries, and no one was daft enough to volunteer. Eventually a woodsman from Stogumber came by looking for work. She convinced him that he should go up to the wood and packed him off with some sarnies and some cider. After the steep climb he sat down for his lunch, on a comfy looking log. He’d just got nicely started when the log started squirming under him. “Hold a bit!” he said, picking up his axe. “Thee do movey, do thee? Take that, then.” And he hit the ‘log’ so hard, it was cut in two. One end ran off in one direction, the other the opposite way. The two ends couldn’t find each other – so the poor gurt vurm died.
The woodman made his way back to the old woman, carrying a hatful of worts. “There were a dragon there fust go off,” he said, thoughtfully. The woman tried to look innocent – didn’t he realise? hadn’t anyone told him? “Her were a Crowcombe woman,” he said later. (Can this whole story just be and excuse to have a dig at another village?!)

Story derived from version by Tongue in ‘Somerset Folklore‘

The Taunton Community Action website has yet another tale:
”The wood also has other legends and may have been always had a reputation of being otherworldly. A pool known as Wayland’s Pool is traditionally where the smith god cooled the horseshoes he made to shoe the horses of the Wild Hunt, Odin’s nocturnal ride across the skies to search for the souls of the damned. Horses are said to be wary of this area, perhaps not wishing to join their spectral companions!”
can-taunton.com/somersetlegends.php

I can’t see this pool on the map – but perhaps you may know it? This is mentioned by Tongue as well (see above). If you had the courage to leave your pony and not look back he might shoe it for nothing. ‘It is a strange thing’ (said a farmer to Ruth Tongue) ‘how still a horse will stand at Wayland’s Pool. Why you can dismount and walk away, and they won’t move.‘

Local Traditions of the Quantocks , by C. W. Whistler, in Folklore, Vol. 19, No. 1. (Mar. 30, 1908), pp. 31-51, says that ‘Wayland’s Pond’ stands ‘at the intersection of four ancient boundaries’. Which of course must make it an even spookier spot.

The StonePages link below mentions two apparently standard folklore tales connected with Maen Llia. But are they more complex than at first sight?

One legend has it that whenever a cock crows, the stone goes to drink in the River Nedd. Look at the map and you will find this is rather perverse, because the stream that runs right near the stone isn’t the Nedd Fechan at all. It would require a strenous walk up over the hill Fan Nedd, and then down the other side.

According to another story, the stone visits the River Mellte for a swim on Midsummer morning. The Mellte runs through the village of Ystradfellte to the south – it’s the same watercourse as that near the stone, but up there it is surely called Afon Llia? So does the stone wander all the way down to Ystradfellte? I have read that the stone is actually visible from there. Besides, it’s probably worth the trek – it’s a pretty strange river. The whole area is full of caves and shake holes, and the river actually disappears into a cave (Porth yr Ogof) – to flow underground for 300 yards before reappearing at the surface in the mysterious Blue Pool!

When ‘discovered’ in 1811 by the Rev. John Skinner, the site lay in a field. By 1880 it had been incorporated into the grounds of Druid Stoke House, and around this time was apparently used as a place of annual assembly by a sect of Druids. In 1904 the grounds were divided up and sold, and the present house was built in 1907. The (by then unfashionable?) druidic connection was incorporated into the houses and streets that were built: the Druid Stoke suburb grew in the 1930s with Druid Road, Druid Stoke Avenue, and Druid Hill.

The stones were probably part of a longbarrow with a false front entrance, and chambers along the sides. As they are ‘dolomitic conglomerate’ it’s thought they may have come from Henbury or Kingsweston Hill. Although it’s difficult to imagine now, the barrow is on a western spur of Durdham Down, and overlooked a stream. This origin fits nicely with the folklore Skinner collected from a local farmer. He was told that two giants had fought – one being at the Rock at Henbury, the other at St Vincent Rocks, Clifton. The Henbury giant threw a stone at his rival, but it fell short – and that’s the capstone at Druid Stoke. His name was Goram, or Gorm, and he’s also associated with the Giant’s Grave longbarrow at Holcombe, Maes Knoll, and Wansdyke. You can visit ‘Goram’s Chair’ at Henbury, and the cave of the other giant, Vincent, beneath the fort at Clifton.

(info from the 1979 volume (97) of Bristol + Glouc. Arch. Soc. Trans.)

This round barrow still stands about 2.5m high, perched on top of the hill. Today it apparently sports a triangulation pillar.

Grinsell and O’Neil’s research for the 1960 ‘Gloucestershire Barrows’ found that it was considered to be the grave of a famous highwayman from Westcote village. Perhaps you know more?

Further to RiotGibbon’s post, I found this in Peter Ackroyd’s “London the Biography”:

In the records of St Paul’s Cathedral the adjacent buildings are known as ‘Camera Dianae’. A 15th century chronicler recalled a time when ‘London worships Diana’. She was the goddess of the hunt, so perhaps linking with the ceremony “that took place at St Paul’s as late as the 16th century: a stag’s head was impaled on a spear and carried about the church; it was then received upon the steps of the church by priests wearing garlands of flowers upon their heads.”

The Iron-Age fort at Castle How has fairly unusual rock cut defensive ditches, and the top of the knoll is artificially levelled too – surely no small task. The top is known as ‘the fairy glen’, and – you’ve guessed it – is the haunt of the little people.

The Bords describe two anecdotes about the site in ‘Secret Country’. The first is about a man who was climbing up to the top of the fort. He stumbled, and in doing so overturned a rock. Clambering on, he happened to look back, and there was a man dressed in green sitting on the same stone. When shortly he turned to look again, the figure was gone.

Secondly, they tell of some children who (no doubt searching for treasure) were spending the day digging on the fort. They found a hut with a slate roof. Returning to the spot after their lunch they could not find the hut, though the spades appeared to be in the same place they’d left them nearby. A few days later the children’s father was walking his dog on top of the hill, when he saw two tiny figures dressed in green. In a rather unfriendly gesture he set his dog on them, but the poor animal stopped in its tracks before it reached them, and returned nervously. The man then saw the figures ‘step into the ground’.

From Mathews’ “Tales of the Blackdown Borderland”, 1923.

Many years ago when passing by the spot I was told that an old couple, who got their living by making brooms from the heather so plentiful hereabout, actually dug themselves a big cave in one of the barrows, and used it for a dwelling place for some years.

They obviously weren’t afraid of the ghosts – he also mentions how “A great battle took place there long ago and hundreds of Cromwell’s soldiers are buried there” and that “a tradition of ghostly possession persists” with children (and faint-hearted adults) not daring to pass the mounds at night.

The antiquarian Reverend David Royce (a Victorian rector of Nether Swell) said the barrow had been “seen at times, by those gifted with second sight, swathed in unearthly flame”.

Blimey.

(’Gloucestershire Barrows’ – Grinsell and O’Neil – Proc Brist Glos Arch Soc 1960)

Leslie Grinsell collected a couple of stories about the barrow. Mrs Clifford, who excavated the site, heard there was a tradition of an underground passage here extending for some distance from the Tump. He also spoke to a Mr Rymer of Cherington in 1960, who told him of the belief that a golden coffin lay buried inside.

(’Gloucestershire Barrows’ – Proc Brist Glos Arch Soc 1960.)

The ‘Grickstone’ itself is apparently a stone alone with no hint of a barrow. Grinsell and O’Neil’*s source said it “was put up when the Greek wars were in England” and “a Greek officer is supposed to have been buried under it.”

Not far away there was Grickstone Farm long barrow at ST782832. Its three chambers were excavated in 1844, revealing many skeletons. You could still see some slabs of stone at its SE end in 1960. The photo on the Megalithic Portal just has it as a bump in the ground. Their photo of the stone though makes that look worth visiting – and it’s conveniently next to a footpath.

(*’Gloucestershire Barrows’ – Trans Brist Gloc Arch Soc 1960.)

It is said that a mysterious passageway lies beneath Lamborough Banks.

(Grinsell and O’Neil: ‘Gloucestershire Barrows’ – Proc Brist Glos Arch Soc 1960.)

“Men have had the terrifying experience of seeing headless human beings [here] which have vanished.”
(Thank god they vanished, eh. Mentioned in Trans Brist Glouc Arch Soc 1931.)

Also, a look at the map shows that the stones are in ‘Battlescombe’ – you can’t help speculating that they might be caught up in a story about people (or giants?) killed in battle – many megaliths are said to be such graves. Maybe if you live locally you know more??

This barrow is on the edge of a slight spur and is 56m long, orientated ESE-WNW. It’s been rounded down by ploughing but a 1947 aerial photograph shows it trapezoid shape, with the wider end at the east.

In the 1940s, rumour was that the barrow had been opened 70 years previously in search of a golden coffin.

(info from Magic / ‘Gloucestershire barrows’ PBGArchSoc 1960)

Traditions of an underground passage at the site were noted by Grinsell and O’Neill in their ‘Gloucestershire Barrows’ edition of the Trans Brist Glouc Arch Soc for 1960.

The eminent Leslie Valentine Grinsell spoke to a local farmer in Puesdown Inn in 1959. He told him that the older farmers in the area would say that when the plough went over one of these longbarrows, the ground sounded hollow.

The south barrow used to have 2 upright stones at its SE end, but these were gone by the 1920s. Got in the way of the plough probably. Oh well. But they kind of indicate the ‘megalithic’ nature of the barrow and hence that it might well have sounded hollow, maybe having a chamber inside.

(Trans Brist Gloc Arch Soc 1960 – Gloucestershire Barrows)

Folklore from ‘DF’ at Driffield Online forum.greatdriffield.co.uk/forum/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=1062

Many moons ago – when I was small, we were led to believe that if you ran round the stone backwards 100 times an Angel would appear from the top, blowing a trumpet. Many’s the time that my friend and I got to 99 times but never dared to run the last lap!!

This is from ‘English Fairy and Other Folk Tales‘
by Edwin Sidney Hartland (1890). He quotes from an older book called ‘Pandemonium’ by Bovet (1684).

The place near which they most ordinarily showed themselves was on the side of a hill, named Black-down, between the parishes of Pittminster and Chestonford, not many miles from Tanton. Those that have had occasion to travel that way have frequently seen them there, appearing like men and women, of a stature generally near the smaller size of men. Their habits used to be of red, blue, or green, according to the old way of country garb, with high crowned hats.

One time, about fifty years since, a person living at Comb St. Nicholas, a parish lying on one side of that hill, near Chard, was riding towards his home that way, and saw, just before him, on the side of the hill, a great company of people, that seemed to him like country folks assembled as at a fair. There were all sorts of commodities, to his appearance, as at our ordinary fairs: pewterers, shoemakers, pedlars, with all kind of trinkets, fruit, and drinking-booths. He could not remember anything which he had usually seen at fairs but what he saw there. It was once in his thoughts that it might be some fair for Chestonford, there being a considerable one at some time of the year; but then again he considered that it was not the season for it. He was under very great surprise, and admired what the meaning of what he saw should be.

At length it came into his mind what he had heard concerning the Fairies on the side of that hill, and it being near the road he was to take, he resolved to ride in amongst them, and see what they were. Accordingly he put on his horse that way, and though he saw them perfectly all along as he came, yet when he was upon the place where all this had appeared to him, he could discern nothing at all, only seemed to be crowded and thrust, as when one passes through a throng of people. All the rest became invisible to him until he came to a little distance, and then it appeared to him again as at first.

He found himself in pain, and so hastened home; where, being arrived, lameness seized him all on one side, which continued on him as long as he lived, which was many years, for he was living in Comb, and gave an account to any that inquired of this accident for more than twenty years afterwards; and this relation I had from a person of known honour, who had it from the man himself.

There were some whose names I have now forgot, but they then lived at a gentleman’s house, named Comb Farm, near the place before specified. Both the man, his wife, and divers of the neighbours assured me they had at many times seen this fair-keeping in the summer-time, as they came from Tanton market, but that they durst not adventure in amongst them, for that every one that had done so had received great damage by it.

Chestonford is now called Churchinford.

The cave gazetteer at CAPRA
https://www.shef.ac.uk/~capra/1/caves.html#The%20map%20below explains that pottery and skeletons from the Neolithic and Early Bronze ages were found in the caves inside Elbolton. Finds are in the Craven museum in Skipton.

There are so many caves here with many weird names. Elbolton Cave /Pot itself is also known as Navvy Noodle Hole and Knave Knoll Hole. It is rather a strange landscape with these entrances to worlds below – it is any wonder it is famed as the haunt of fairies?

A tale related in the Readers Digest ‘Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’ mentions them – and they weren’t very nice ones either. A man from Burnsall was walking home in the moonlight, when he was surprised to come across a crowd of them dancing. They hadn’t seen him so for a while he tried to keep quiet, watching their antics. However, (quite well-meaningly I feel) he eventually piped up: “Na’ then, Ah’ll sing a song if tha loikes.” But the fairies were not impressed and actually beat him up. His bruises lasted for ages.

I’ve found the story in Yorkshire Legends and Traditions which says:

[The man from near Burnsall] was passing Elbothon Hill – the fairies’ haunt – when he saw a large number of them dancing in the moonlight. He knew their wishes always to be left uninterrupted; but he so far forgot himself as to off to join in their revellings by singing a song. He was at once attacked by the whole band, and so punished by pinches and kicks, that he was glad to get away as quickly as possible. He, however, succeeded, as he fled, in taking one of them prisoner – whether a lady or a gentleman the record sayeth not – and he secured, as he thought, him or her, in the pocket of his coat. Rejoicing in the capture, he hastened home, where he delighted his children, by telling of the beautiful living doll he had secured for them. But, alas! when the prison-house was opened and searched, the prisoner had fled!

The ‘Readers Digest Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’ suggests that the dyke is haunted by a spectral ‘White Lady’. I can’t find any more on her, but did notice on the map that there is a spring called the Gell/Gel-Spring at the southern end of the dyke – and white ladies are often associated with springs and water. Can ‘gell’ mean girl? Or is the fact it is an old word for ‘leech’ more significant? Or perhaps it’s just like the word ‘gill’ for a narrow stream.

This idea of a ‘druidic oracle’ stone and much more besides can be found at nidderdale.org/Antiquarian/Brimham%20Rooke/Illustrations.htm
Mr Rooke holds the usual opinion of the Britons as being ignorant, I’m afraid.

Some Account of the Brimham Rocks in Yorkshire
In a Letter to the Rev. Mr. Norris, Secretary
By Hayman Rooke Esq.
Read at the Society of Antiquaries, May 25th 1786.

I think [this] may be called an oracular stone, though it goes by the name of the Great Cannon. It rests upon a bed of rock, where a road plainly appears to have been made leading to the hole (a), which at the entrance is three feet wide, six feet deep, and about three feet six inches high. Within this aperture on the right hand is a round hole, marked (b), two feet diameter, perforated quite through the rock, sixteen feet, and running from south to north. In the above mentioned aperture, a man might lie concealed, and predict future events to those that come to consult the oracle, and is heard distinctly on the north side of the rock, where the hole is not visible. This might make the credulous Britons think the predictions proceeded solely from the rock deity. The voice on the outside is as distinctly conveyed to the person in the aperture, as was several times tried.

A less pleasant story than the ‘fairies/bees’ is that Twmbarlwm Hill was a fort where the Druids held their courts of justice. And people that had been very naughty, they threw down into the valley below: Dyffryn Y Gladdfa.

Well, that’s what I read in the ‘keep the references to yourself’ Reader’s Digest ‘Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain. Supposedly Twmbarlwm means ‘Hill of the Judge’ and Dyffryn y Gladdfa means ‘Valley of the graves’ – but perhaps a Welsh speaker can confirm or deny this. Elsewhere I’ve read that the earlier Twyn Barlwm just means ‘bare-topped hill’. Not quite so romantic. The story is probably just a Victorian fantasy as it’s about druids, based on a convenient mistranslation. I can’t see the valley on the map anyway – but do you know this story and where it’s set? Whatever, Druids gather yet at Twmbarlwm, as you can see at the Tylwyth Silwri page at
mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/silurian/page5.html

A local saying (mentioned in the ‘Reader’s Digest Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’) is: “There are enough witches in Long Compton to draw a load of hay up Long Compton Hill.”

Long Compton Hill is, I take it, the rise on which the stones lie, and from which the King was challenged to spot the village by the bad witch in the story.

The explanation related in ‘Reader’s Digest “Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain”’ has the effect of craftily Christianising the monolith’s arrival.

Legend has it that the stone simply fell from the sky “killing certain desecrators of the churchyard”. Act of God rather than the Devil. Makes a change.

From the