Rhiannon

https://www.northernearth.co.uk/61/brothers.htm
This article by Rob Wilson in Northern Earth magazine relates the somewhat hard-to-swallow story behind the two stones.

Apparently two brothers grew up happily in this area, but went off separately to find their fortunes far away. When they returned (curiously, at the very same time) one of them had become a firm believer in Catholicism, the other was a staunch Protestant. Foolishly starting a conversation about religion (surely a renowned topic to avoid) and finding they could not agree, they took the obvious decision to draw swords and sort it out in a duel (Jesus would be so proud). Naturally they both suffered a mortal blow and died – just on the spots where the two stones are, which were erected by the local people in memory of them. To place further burden on our credulity and add another popular theme it is also said that the brothers did not recognise each other when reunited (until, no doubt, just before they expired). I must be turning into a cynic.

***

This may well be the source, from a 1930 excursion of the Berwickshire Naturalists’ Club:

The party then drove to Brotherstone farm, from where a short walk was taken to the two tall Greenstone Monoliths, from which hill and farm take their name. The rain ceased just long enough for this to be done in moderate comfort, but much of the fine view – practically the whole of the Merse to Berwick, the Lammermoors, Lauderdale, and the valleys of Tweed and Teviot – which lies spread out before the eyes on a clear day, was lost in heavy cloud.

The Rev. W.S. Crockett, D.D., said the Brotherstones must have stood there for a thousand years. They are one hundred yards apart, and might mark the burial place of some ancient chieftain. Some people held that the stones marked the site of a battle, but history made no mention of a battle ever having been fought there.

Local tradition held that the two stones were erected because of an incident that took place in Covenanting times. It was said that two brothers, having fought in foreign wars, returned home, and meeting on the top of the hill began an argument on theology. They grew so angry with one another that swords were drawn, and they fought until one was fatally wounded. It was only then, as he cried out his name, that the survivor realised he had killed his own brother. Dr Crockett pointed out, however, that long before Covenanting times the name “Brotherstone” appeared in the charters of Dryburgh Abbey as far back indeed as 1150.

A link to the journal is here.

Woodhenge’s potential as something that little bit different (ultimately a mad site full of wooden posts) was spotted from the air by a chap called Insall, and it was excavated by Maud Cunnington in the 1920s. Before this it was known as ‘The Dough Cover’ – its low bank and vaguely domed middle looked like the wooden lid of a bread dough dish (like wot people used to prove their bread in before Mother’s Pride was invented).

(mentioned by Mike Pitts in his ‘Hengeworld’)

The following was written by Thomas Hardy (he quotes from an account of 1706), printed in the Times in 1908.

“...Maumbury was the scene of as sinister an event as any associated with it.. which darkens its concave to this day. This was the death suffered there on March 21, 1705-06, of a girl who had not yet reached her nineteenth year.. This girl was the wife of a grocer in the town, a handsome young woman “of good natural parts,” and educated “to a proficiency suitable enough to one of her sex, to which likewise was added dancing.” She was tried and condemned for poisoning her husband, a Mr Thomas Channing, to whom she had been married against her wish by the compulsion of her parents.

“The present writer has examined more than once a report of her trial, and can find no distinct evidence that the thoughtless, pleasure-loving creature committed the crime, while it contains much to suggest that she did not. Nor is any motive discoverable for such an act. She was allowed to have her former lover or lovers about her by her indulgent and weak-minded husband, who permitted her to go her own ways, give parties, and supplied her with plenty of money. However [at the assizes] she was found guilty after a trial in which the testimony chiefly went to show her careless character before and after marriage.. She conducted her own defence with the greatest ability, and was complimented thereupon by Judge Price.. but he did not extend his compliment to a merciful summing up.

“When sentence was about to be passed, she pleaded her condition [she was ‘soon to become a mother’]; and execution was postponed. [She gave birth in gaol to a son in December].

“Her execution was fixed for the 21st [and] on that day two men were hanged before her turn came, and then, “the under sheriff having taken some refreshment,” he procedded to his biggest and last job with this girl not yet 19, now reduced to a skeleton by a long fever, and already more dead than alive...

“When fixed to the stake she justified her innocence to the very last, and left the world with a courage seldom found in her sex. She being first strangled, the fire was kindled about five in the afternooon, and in the sight of many thousands she was consumed to ashes.”

“There is nothing to show she was dead before the burning began, and from the use of the word ‘strangled’ and not ‘hanged’ it would seem that she was merely rendered insensible before the fire was lit. An ancestor of the present writer, who witnessed the scene, has handed down the information that “her heart leapt out” during the burning, and other curious details that cannot be printed here. Was man ever slaughtered by his fellow man during the Roman or barbarian use of this place of games or of sacrifice in circumstances of greater atrocity?”

In ‘Thomas Hardy’s Personal Writings’ ed. Harold Orel. Macmillan 1967

According to George Osborn (in ‘Ancient Dorset’), 10,000 people gathered to see this poor woman burn to death. Delightful behaviour. They probably thought it an excellent day out. You can imagine the fast food stalls and people selling the equivalent of t-shirts.

There are three tall stones at Carse, all aligned East-West – a pair (8 and 10ft tall) eight feet apart and a third (8ft) 130 yards to the NNW. Miss Campbell, in a little magazine ‘The Kist” 8 (1974), relates how she visited the stones close to the Vernal Equinox and saw the setting sun dip into the hill directly over the singleton, when viewed from between the pair. She also mentions a long stone she found lying half buried in the grass near the field –gate leading to the pair of stones, and suggested this could have been another stone in the setting.

Miss Campbell’s researches showed that at some date before 1864, drainers apparently found ‘portions of thin Plates of Bronze, with embossed chevrony patterns, perforated’, at the base of one of the standing stones. These were presented by a Mrs Campbell (perhaps her ancestor) to the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, but when Miss M went to investigate she unfortunately found nothing in the box where they were supposed to be.

She talks of other local landmarks: the rocky outcrop overlooking the stones is known as Sron a’Mhionnain (’Cursing Nose’) and condemned criminals were supposed to have been hurled from it. Below stood Clach a’Bhreitheamh (the Judge’s Stone) which was a large boulder with a ‘natural seat and canopy’. A drawing was made by the then Minister, but the chair was broken up in the 1890s for road-metal: “only its stump remains near the road”.

She then tells a local legend which incorporates many local landmarks – a true hidden geography of the area. It is about a stand-off between two clans, perhaps the MacIvers and the MacNeills (and is even more detailed than my précis below). The MacNeills have raided the MacIvers’ cattle near Loch Fyne and are making off up the Stronachullin, the old drove road that goes over Sliabh Gaoil, high above the springs of the Lergnahension river. They are on the downhill stretch back towards the sea, but the MacIvers catch them up at Carse. The fighting starts on the plain around the Stones. The MacIvers have a trick up their sleeves – they have brought their Wise Old Woman with them: but she can only work her magic from horseback. Naturally the MacNeills try to drag her to the ground. The MacIvers yell “Cur a’Chailleach air a capull!” – get the Old One back on her Mare!

The Wise Woman (being wise) decides not to hang about – she clings to her mare and makes for a notch in hill on the western skyline, ‘Creag a’Stars’. On reaching it the horse leaps into the sky and they gallop away.
On one side of the road up to the notch there is a ledge that is always full of pebbles. People throw the pebbles from the roadside for a wish (three shots are allowed, white pebbles are advised, and the wish is granted if you can get a stone to stay on the ledge). There is also a hollow up here (Slochd na Chapuill) which was renowned for its unpredictable effect on horses (“it is honestly advisable to dismount and lead a pony through it”) and another called Glac na h’Iomarte: the hollow of the conflict.

Unfortunately at the loss of their Wise Woman the determination of the MacIvers wavered. In Celtic stylee at least one of their heads was ceremonially cut off by the other clan and ritually washed in the deep pool, Slochd na Cinn (’the pool of the head’): today you can see fish leaping here towards the upper falls of the river.

Another tale recorded by Ruth E St Leger-Gordon:
Once there was a young man who’d just arrived in Devon. (Probably one of those rich people from London who have just sold their house for a squillion quid and want to Move to the Country – like you see on tv every half hour). He decided he wanted some sheep to put on his land, so he went along to the local market. He saw loads of sheep but felt quite disorientated by the mysterious goings-on of the auctions. Retiring to the pub he got chatting to a friendly local. It turned out he had some sheep to sell – two flocks in fact. And they seemed very reasonably priced. The young farmer decided to buy them and began to discuss how he would come and collect them. Ah, don’t worry – they could be delivered. If he went up to Sittaford Tor next Thursday they’d be there waiting for him. The young man handed over his cash and went home happy. In due course he set out across the moor to the Tor. He could spot the sheep grazingly happily there in the distance...

This story comes from Ruth E St Leger-Gordon’s “Witchcraft and Folklore of Dartmoor” (1973); she heard it from an elderly man from Chagford.

“Long ago faithless wives and fickle maidens were forced to expiate their misdeeds” in the following way. First they had to go and wash at Cranmere Pool. This was, and still is, a very remote spot – so it would have been some penance to get there in the first place. (Cranmere Pool has other legends connected with it – for example, that a no-good ex mayor of Okehampton, ‘Binjy’, had to empty it with a sieve.. having craftily done this he now sits on the bottom to spin the sand into ropes.. but that’s another story).

They then had to cross the moor to Scorhill stone circle, and run round it three times (supposing they had any energy left).
Next they were driven down to the banks of the River Teign, where they dropped through the hole in a water-worn rock known as the Tolmen. Rumour has it this is a good cure for arthritis – but probably only if you’ve been good.

Next they went soggily up to the Grey Wethers stone circle. Each woman would fall to her knees in front of one of the stones. They would pray for forgiveness (to whom or what the story doesn’t mention).

If nothing happened they could then assume they had been forgiven and purged of their transgressions could get up and stagger home. However, if a particular woman’s sins were just Too Bad, the stone in front of her would topple forward crushing her to death.

“And that,” added R.E.St L-G’s informant, with a twinkle in his eye, “is why so many of the stones was lying flat before they was set up again.”

No mention is made of what fickle and unfaithful husbands had to do. One suspects nothing probably.

Many Cornish tourist sites on the internet point out that the quoit was where King Arthur stopped for a bite to eat before his last battle. Perhaps he was in his larger-than-life giant guise and used it as a table.

This fort makes use of a natural triangle-shaped promontory of the east Quantocks. Today it is swathed in trees and doesn’t look very accessible. But it does come with some creative folklore (as recorded by Grinsell, in his ‘Folklore of Prehistoric Sites in Britain’). His source was from 1857 and gave the following fairy-tale like details:
The fort is said to conceal an iron castle, which is guarded by gnomes and spirits (gnomes aren’t very British, surely?). They’re closely guarding their treasure – mounds of silver and gold. Now, they’re tricky and it’ll be impossible to even see them, let alone their treasure – unless you follow this prescription. You must dig for the iron gateway into the castle at noon, and be sure you dig in silence. I’m afraid there’s no guidance about what to do when the angry gnomes and spirits turn up. Still, some people must have had some luck – Grinsell also mentions that a nearby field is called ‘Moneyfield’ because of the coins that have supposedly been found there.
There is also supposed to be one of those mysterious underground passages in the hill – the EH record on MAGIC mentions an 1890 source saying that ‘a subterranean passage, 100 yards long, now
filled in, gave the occupants of the camp access to a spring of water on the side of the hill’.

Canmore lists this as a ‘possible’ standing stone. It’s a very curious looking thing – its general size and shape suggest a prehistoric standing stone, but in 1821 someone saw fit to attach a round sandstone ball to the top of it with an iron bar. It’s 1.6m tall and is supposed to have been moved from wherever its original position was when someone wanted to widen the road.

In 1982 local folklore held that prior to the 19th century messings-about, newly wed couples strolled around it for good luck (in a sun-wise direction, I’d like to bet).

‘Dagon’ is actually the name of a Philistine god, who was half-man half-fish. But with a Scottish accent it no doubt derives from something much closer to home (assuming it’s not just the romantic invention of an antiquary).

When the tenants of Cotetown were asked about the stone in 1866 they said they remembered a cairn being around it (and admitted they’d actually nicked the stones to build Cotetown itself). There’s said to be no sign of the cairn now.

The stone is 6 1/2ft high, 2 1/2ft broad and a foot thick. It has a single cupmark on its eastern face and four on its west.

(info from the Aberdeenshire scheduled monument record).

If you strike the stone it is said you can hear it seven miles away in Portsoy. It’s said to ‘ring through the rocks’ according to the link, but that’s still pretty loud. What can it mean?

Also the stone is said to be haunted.

The English Heritage record claims that the name Waulud is a corruption of Wayland; that is, the same chap who would shoe your horse at Wayland’s Smithy. I am tempted to say that Waulud’s Bank is where he kept all those silver coins, but that would be silly.

The record also mentions that ‘some early writers’ believed Waulud’s Bank to be a place called Lygeanburgh (the similarly sounding Limbury is nearby). This was a settlement supposedly captured by Cuthwulf, (Prince of Wessex?) in 571AD. Though it probably was unrelated in reality.

I assume the name is pronounced rather like ‘Warlord’? If any tales exist among local kids, this must surely influence the type of story told?

If you see a raven when you visit the Clumps, keep your eye on it. It’s said to be the guardian of a huge treasure, at a place called ‘The Money Pit’. But I expect it’ll be too wiley to give away the exact spot.

The poem tree that Riotgibbon mentions is a beech (the beech plantation clumps were created in the 1740s, by the Dunch family – hence the rather disrespectful name ‘Mother Dunch’s Buttocks’). As young vandals everywhere will recognise, beeches have ideally smooth bark for carving graffiti into, and it persists for years, becoming more and more distorted as the tree grows. Apparently the tree died in the 1990s but some of the trunk still stands. In 1994 a plaque was put up to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the poem, and it has on it a tracing of the poem that was taken in 1965, when it was a bit more legible. (see northmoortrust.co.uk/home/countryside/nature_reserve/past_land_use for more)

A traveller was once lost on the Downs and was worried he wouldn’t get safely to a village or town before it got dark. He met some shepherds sitting on the mound and asked them the way to Lambourn. The first man said nothing but just nodded his head in a particular direction. The second went to the trouble of raising one finger (not like that – politely) and pointing in the same direction. The third shepherd stirred himself enough to vaguely wave a toe. And lo, the place was consequently named Idle Tump. Despite being a pretty ridiculous story it does include your classic ‘three times’ motif. And it could indeed have been a place where shepherds would have a bit of a kip.

This story is mentioned by Alfred Williams in his ‘Villages of the White Horse’ (1913).

Another tale claims the bushes and trees on the barrow are too lazy to grow properly. “About 1800 some trees were planted on it which would not grow on account of the bleak situation,” claimed Grinsell’s mysterious source in ‘Ancient Burial Mounds of England’ (1936). This seems a very dull explanation to me. You’ll have to go and look yourself to judge the truth of this one.

David Nash Ford has suggested here
https://www.berkshirehistory.com/legends/smithy02.html
that the ‘idle’ actually derives from the meaning ‘empty’, implying that the barrow was unsuccessfully dug into for treasure in the dim and distant past.

Also, as mentioned by wysefool below, the mound was known in Saxon times as Hawk’s Low, but also apparently as Wade’s Barrow (’Weardaes Beorh’): Wade being Wayland’s father. So it seems that the mythic landscape that included Wayland’s Smithy spread further out, and perhaps there were other local places that were part of the stories too.

Those wishing to squeeze some fairies into the equation (that’ll be me) will be able to get some mileage from this:

As many as a dozen or moor horses run, and they started from Idle’s Bush, which wur a vine owld tharnin’-tree in thay days – a very nice bush.

Because fairies do like a good thorn tree. From The Scouring of the White Horse, by Thomas Hughes (1859).

If the dodgy stonework isn’t enough to put you off entering the cairn, perhaps this story from Martin McCarthy’s Ancient Scotland site will be.

There is a tale of a visitor to this tomb who squeezed his way in with great effort, and then exitted with much greater speed and skill after--so he says--something kicked him in the kidneys. Yes, it’s a stupid superstitious story; but after visiting the tomb you can’t help but wonder....

Katy Jordan describes her spooky experiences on the Beckhampton to Devizes road in her book ‘The Haunted Landscape’:

At one time I used to travel this road quite often at night, and after passing the Beckhampton roundabout I would usually start to feel uneasy, as if there was something in the car behind me, and I would find myself looking in the mirror to check. This feeling of uneasiness would not lift until I crossed Wansdyke, and for some reason I always associated it with the round barrows in the area. Quite recently, and without knowing of my experience here, my friend Alison Borthwick told me that she often hears people calling to each other on just this section of road.

Prehistoric sites are often misattributed to the Romans (British history started with the Romans, didn’t it???) – and Figsbury Ring is one of those sites. It has been known as Chlorus’s Camp. Chlorus (the pale) was the nickname of Flavius Julius Constantius, who was sent over to sort out the unruly natives of Britain. It does seem rather an unlikely name for an ordinary person to think up, so I rather suspect it was the bright idea of some erudite middle-class antiquarian in the 18th or 19th century??

You know how when you pop past Stonehenge and you don’t want to pay, you stand there pressing your nose to the fence at the Heel Stone? Well, the recumbent stone you can also see between you and the main circle is known as the Slaughter Stone. Katy Jordan records this story in her book ‘The Haunted Landscape’. It was told to the folklorist Theo Brown by T C Lethbridge.

A vicar he knew accompanied a small party there for a couple of days. The first day they wandered round the stones till they came upon the so-called Slaughter Stone. Here they paused, until a small dog in the party sat down and howled dismally. The next day they returned to the same spot and the dog repeated its performance. Everyone was most impressed and told Mr Lethbridge about it later. ‘The dog knew,’ they said.

Lethbridge had been very amused by this tale, because the stone’s name is simply a piece of romantic supposition, and there is no evidence that the stone has ever had any sacrificial function. His interpretation of the event was that the dog had sensed the mood of the people as they looked at this ‘site of slaughter’ and had howled in response to their unease.

Naturally you would assume that once upon a time a great battle was fought here – that was certainly the current story recorded by Ella Noyes in 1913 (and quoted in Katy Jordan’s ‘The Haunted Landscape’ (2000)). There are indeed many camps around here, and battles have no doubt been fought (eg at Bratton) but Jordan supports the idea that the name originally came from the name Paettel – it’s the burh of Paettel or ‘Paettel’sburh’ – and has gradually been changed over the years.

Katy Jordan includes the following story in her ‘Haunted Landscape’ book. It’s rather like the story of St Dunstan, who pinches the devil’s nose with his red-hot blacksmith’s pincers. Remember, the line of the blacksmith goes back to the awesome way skilled people could create metal objects out of rocks. And don’t forget, if you’ve got a bit of iron in your pocket you’ll be safe from the fairies at the very least.

Many years ago there lived at St Edith’s Marsh, Bromham, a blacksmith whom the Devil was very anxious to convert for his purposes. The unfortunate thing was that all his envoys, the devilkins, could not win the blacksmith over. As a last resort the Devil called on the blacksmith at his forge in the shape of a very well-dressed gentleman. The blacksmith recognised him, however, and clapped the red-hot horseshoe he was making onto the heel of the Devil, causing him to jump into the air. Legend says that he landed on Roundway Hill, at the spot still known as the Devil’s Jump. As a result of this experience the Devil does not like the shape of the horseshoe and will always avoid it. Thus many people nail a horseshoe over the door of their house to keep this evil one away.

Gallibury Hump is the most conspicuous of the barrows on Brightstone Down – in fact, at three metres high it’s probably the biggest round barrow on the Isle of Wight. According to Dyer’s ‘Southern England’ it’s largely composed of flints.

Sir John Oglander described it in 1640 as being “where ye ffrench weare buried, being overcome theyre in a battayle” – hence neatly explaining its purpose and name in one.

Dyer however backs the explanation that a gallows probably stood on it.

The Down on which the barrow sits is called Julliberrie Down. Would it be beyond all likelihood that it’s got something to do with berries? Perhaps that’s far too simple.

It is said that it was here the Ancient Britons stood against the Tenth Legion and kicked their behinds so they had to return to the continent (as you can read at Peter Blanche’s ‘Kent Resources’ page at digiserve.com/peter/chilham.htm)

Another explanation is that the mound is the grave of a giant called Julaber (so says Grinsell in his 1936 ‘Ancient Burial Mounds of England’).

THE BALLAD OF THE WHITE HORSE.

“The owld White Horse wants zettin’ to rights;
And the squire hev promised good cheer,
Zo we’ll gee un a scrape to kip ‘un in shape,
And a’ll last for many a year.

A was made a long, long time ago,
Wi’ a dale o’ labour and pains,
By King Alfred the Great when he spwiled their consate,
And caddled thay wosberds the Danes.

The Bleawin Stwun, in days gone by,
Wur King Arthur’s bugle harn,
And the tharnin tree you med plainly zee,
As is called King Alfred’s tharn.

There’ll be backsword play and climmin the powl,
And a race for a pig and a cheese;
And us thinks as hisn’s a dummel sowl
As dwoan’t care for zich spwoarts as these.”

from Thomas Hughes’s 1859 book ‘The Scouring of the White Horse’.

Beacon Hill is topped by a univallate hillfort – the only one of its type in Leicestershire. It probably dates from the late Bronze Age / early Iron Age. In 1858 a late Bronze Age founder’s hoard was discovered, including two spearheads and a socketed axe. An axe mould and a bronze bracelet were also found on the hill, which hasn’t been systematically excavated (info from the SMR on Magic).

Its name suggests it was once used for lighting signalling fires – or maybe, being the second highest hill in the county, it is a pretty conspicuous beacon in itself.

Janet and Colin Bord say in ‘Mysterious Britain’ that the fort is haunted by a monk accompanied by a dog. ‘Surely a dogwalker in a big coat,’ I hear you cynically mutter. However, the monk is said to have a ‘skeletal face’ – spooky.

Collinson also suggested:

“It undoubtedly is one of the noblest sepulchres of the kind in Great Britain; and probably contains the fragments of many brave chieftains, whome some fatal battle near the spot forbad to revisit their natal country.”

As so often, here is the pervasive idea that ‘foreigners’ built the tombs (and only foreigners could have built such tombs).

He also says:

“The field in which this barrow stands has from time immemorial been called the Fairy field; and the common people say that strange noises have been heard underneath the hill, and visions, portentous to children, have been seen waving in the thickets that crown its summit.”

Well, at least the inhabitants sound friendly.

The Reverend John Collinson mentions of the stones “it is an impiety to attempt reckoning their number.”

Blimey, can’t even count them without offending God, apparently. I suppose it’s because a good Christian shouldn’t associate him or herself with such superstitious nonsense.

‘History and Antiquities of the County of Somerset’ (c1780)

From ‘The History and Antiquities of the County of Somerset’ – three completely huge tomes forming a major achievement written by the Reverend John Collinson in the 1780s, before he died (exhausted, no doubt) in his early 30s.

“In the road lies an immense stone called Hautville’s Coit (a name that has sustained for many ages) and is by tradition reported to have been thrown hither by that gigantick champion Sir John Hautville, from Mays-Knolle-Hill [Maes Knoll] upwards of a mile distant, the place of his abode. The tump on that hill is also affirmed to have been the cleanings of the same man’s spade, and so confident are the common people of the reality of the manoevre, that a farmhouse erected of late years near the coit was distinguished by the title of Hautville’s Coit Farm, which doubtless it will preserve until records are no more.

“This stone was formerly of a vast magnitude, being computed to have weighed upwards of 30 tons; but the waggon loads of fragments that have been broken from it at different times, for the purpose of mending the roads, have diminished its consequence as to bulk and appearance, though not as to antiquity or the design of its erection, for it was part of a very remarkable monument of antiquity, which has distinguished the parish for many ages and has diverted the steps of many a traveller... [ie, the circles at Stanton Drew].”

So, even the Reverend thought the stone ought to have been bigger, much bigger, at one point. Was it really ever 30 tons? Is it just a tall story (like the legend?) – or does its proximity to the road mean it was used for roadmending? Or is the fact that the story connects Stanton Drew with the prehistorically occupied Maes Knoll (a prominent hill from the circles) the most important thing?

The stone at the east is called the ‘Stone of Sacrifice’ – how traditional this is is debatable (it does rather smack of Victorian ideas of druidism): certainly the other folklore associated with it is more upbeat in tone! It has a depression in it, and if you pop your newborn baby there for a few minutes (it has to be less than a month old, mind) then this will bring it excellent luck. Another custom is to sprinkle water from the dip around the threshold of your house – and this will protect your home from witches.

Mary Trevelyan also collected the story that a group of witches were holding their strange rituals at the circle one night. Suddenly ‘stern maledictions’ were heard from the Stone of Sacrifice. They were so scared two of them died and another went mad! Sometimes terrible cries were heard issuing from it, and frequently moanings, sobbings, and wailings could be heard above the wind on stormy nights. Maybe they still can.

She also has a version of the fatal incident with the Deity Stone:

A man from South Wales played cards with some friends beside this stone on a Sunday, and when the men returned to the village with cuts about their heads, the people knew the Deity Stone had smitten them, though they would not admit having had punishment. A notorious blasphemer who came from Merionethshire laughed to scorn the story of this stone. One night he went to the Druids’ Circle alone and at a very late hour, and shouted words of blasphemy so loud that his voice could be heard ringing down the Green Gorge. People shuddered as they heard him. The sounds ceased, and the listeners ran away in sheer fright. In the morning the blasphemer’s corpse was found in a terribly battered condition at the base of the Deity Stone.

(In ‘Folklore and Folkstories from Wales’ 1909 – available online at red4.co.uk/Folklore/trevelyan.htm)

Some more modern weirdness around Carreg-y-Bwci (which means, in English, Stone of the Goblin / Weird Welsh Supernatural Thing. The english Puck may well be (etymologically) related to the Bwci? – see the forum posts).

I found a webpage by Karen Martel, who grew up nearby to the Goblin Stone. She hints at some curious goings on at
tellmeabout.co.uk/stuff/Paranormal/Secrets-in-the-stones.asp

She says she knew the site as ‘Rhiannon’s Navel’ – I’m assuming this is a genuine local name? I only mention my doubts because she ‘runs her own psychic business’ in Canada and goddesses are popular new-age fare: I haven’t seen the name mentioned elsewhere, that’s all.

“During my teenage years.. I would ride to the top of the ridge where the Cairn was. It’s a prominent landmark that marks the valley for miles around.. I ventured up there one day with my horse but we didn’t stay long. Foaming at the mouth my horse galloped to the edge of the cliff at the head of the valley stopping just short of a sheer drop. The Carreg Y Bwci seemed to be haunted. That was the general consensus in the village and not many villagers would go up there.

“[She was coming back from Lampeter once – though it strikes me as a very weird way back? and] it was the solstice. Driving past in my friends Dad’s car, we stopped for a brief second to watch the sunset go down. I didn’t know that a stone circle existed below the Cairn. But the megalith stretched out before us had the sun set behind it. Elongating the sun into a long strip. Perhaps a trick of the light, or the heat of the stone. It had been hot that day. The air was also very clear and clean up in the mountains. It could have been any number of things.

“Most [villagers] didn’t want to talk about the cairn, or the stone circle, most told me it was haunted and had bad vibes. Some villagers who went up there, would topple the stones that were piled on top of each other. But most warned me not to go up to the stone circle or cairn during the summer months.”

“The Goblin Stone of Cynwyl Gaio occupied a spot which few people cared to pass at night. In the seventeenth century a young man who had gone far in search of work came in the twilight to a large stone surrounded with grass. The place looked tempting for a night’s resting-place. After making a good but simple supper, the traveller placed his bundle containing clothes on the grass in shelter of the stone. For a time he slept soundly, but about midnight he was awakened by somebody pinching his arms and ears and pricking his nose. He got up, and, looking around in the starlight, saw a goblin sitting on the stone, with many others around him. The man tried to run away, but the master goblin would not permit him, and at his command his minions interlaced their grotesque arms around him and prevented him moving. They tweaked his ears and nose, pinched him, gave him pokes in his ribs, and tormented him all through the night in every conceivable manner. He sat down to rest and wait for the dawn, and in the meantime the goblins screamed and laughed and shrieked in his ears until he was nearly mad. When the first streak of morning light appeared, the goblins vanished. The stranger got up in the dawn, and when he went onward he met some workmen, to whom he related his adventure. They said he had slept under the Goblin Stone.”

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

Eric Dauncey Tongue (doubtless a relation to Ruth, below) had an unpleasant experience at these barrows in 1908. He saw ‘a crouching form like a rock with matted hair all over it and pale flat eyes’ – ‘the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.’ When he spoke of the experience twenty years on he still emphasised its terrifying nature, although by this time he must have had some moments as he had become a District Commissioner and big game hunter in East Africa. He believed that what he had seen was a ‘barrow guardian’.

In ‘Somerset Folklore’ by Ruth Tongue (!965).

This weird story is described in ‘The Secret Country’ by J and C Bord.

One evening in September 1974, Michael Byatt (a registered gliding instructor and senior NCO in the Air Training Corps) was driving his car up over Eggardon. Suddenly the engine began to lose power, and the headlights dimmed. He and his passenger became intensely cold and ‘felt an eerie presence’. In the sky they saw a yellow-blue [sic] light ‘in the form of an eclipse’ [sic – an elipse?]. It moved slowly backwards and forwards and ‘had a sort of glow about it’.

A couple of years earlier three cars climbing the hill at night had simultaneously stopped suddenly; they had no power and no lights, but these returned after a short time. Ooh sounds like your typical UFO incident.. or dodgy alternators.

Just to elaborate on Pure Joy’s story, (more details of which are given in J+C Bord’s ‘Secret Country’). A warning so you don’t go wasting your time the same way. Perhaps we can put events down to the activities of the fairies mentioned before.

There was once a rich local man who decided he was going to have the treasure hidden in one of these barrows. He was probably rich enough already – but he was greedy. Besides, he could afford to pay some poor people to dig for him – and it would be worth the outlay. The hired workmen began early in the morning, but after a hard day’s slog of digging trenches and carting the soil away, it seemed the barrow was no smaller. Feeling confused, they put some stakes in the ground to mark where they’d got to, and hurried off home for the night.
The next morning they returned and were bemused to find no trace of the previous day’s labour. Were they in the right place? They couldn’t find the trenches or piles of earth they’d made anywhere. Gorse and grass grew over the mound as before. The workmen had had enough of this weirdness – they chucked their tools down and headed for home. The rich man reluctantly decided he’d have to start digging for himself. After all, if you want a job doing properly – those superstitious paupers couldn’t even dig a simple hole. Rolling up his shirtsleeves he set about digging. He was unused to the exertion but concentrated on the task in hand, seeing nothing but the shovelfuls of earth he carried – thinking of the treasure kept him pretty motivated. At last he decided it was time for a break and downing his spade mopped his sweaty face with his handkerchief. As he took the handkerchief away from his eyes – he could hardly believe it. Where he’d been working – no hole existed at all. The grass and daisies waved in the breeze mockingly. He realised here was nothing he could do but angrily admit defeat as he stomped off back down the hill.

Castle Neroche’s outer defences are thought to be Iron Age – later on a Norman castle was built here too. It is traditionally said to be hollow and bursting with treasure. Unsurprisingly there have been various attempts to find this legendary hoard.
The following was written by a Reverend F Warre in 1854 (’Proceedings v5’) and quoted by J&C Bord in their ‘Secret Country’. To his credit! he seems to welcome superstitious / unchristian? thought if it’ll protect ancient sites:

“About a hundred years ago a number of labouring men, urged on by the love of filthy lucre and not have the fear of archaeological societies before their eyes... with sacrilegious spade and pick axe violated the sanctity of this mysterious hill. But before they had found a single coin they were seized with a panic fear, renounced their presumptious enterprise, and wonderful and awful to relate, within one month of the commencement of their enterprise, some by accident, some by sudden death and some by violent fevers, all paid with their lives the penalty of their covetous and most presumptious attempt. Oh! that this most veracious legend were universally published as a warning to all wanton mutilators of ancient earthworks.”

You expect to stir up a thunderstorm if you mess with any barrow – but what if you start digging into Silbury Hill? You’re surely asking for it. Perhaps that’s why EH won’t touch it – they’re scared of the consequences.

The following is a description of what happened during the 1849 dig (I don’t know who wrote it.. could it be Lukis mentioned below? it is quoted in ‘The Secret Country’ by J&C Bord).

“As a finale to the excavations, the night following work in unfavourable weather, a dramatic high Gothick thunderstorm set the seal on [Dean] Merewether’s Wiltshire sojourn. This event was much to the satisfaction.. of the rustics, whose notions respecting the examination of Silbury and the opening of the barrows were not divested of superstitious dread. It must have been a spectacular affair. The Dean described it as ‘one of the most grand and tremendous thunder-storms I ever recollect to have witnessed.’ It made the hills reecho to the crashing peals, and Silbury itself, as the men asserted who were working in its centre, to tremble to its base.”

Robert Hunt (in his ‘Popular Romances of the West of England’, 1881) wrote:

This stone must have been venerated for the saint’s sake when the church was built, or it would certainly have been employed for the building. It is more than fifty years since I first made acquaintance, as a child, with the St Leven Stone, and it may be a satisfaction’ to many to know that the progress of separation is an exceedingly slow one. I cannot detect the slightest difference in the width of the fissure now and then. At the present slow rate of opening, the pack-horse and panniers will not be able to pass through the rock for many thousands of years to come. We need not, therefore, place much reliance on those prophecies which give but a limited duration to this planet.

I think I’ll still be keeping an eye on it.

Treryn fort is mentioned in ‘Popular Romances of the West of England’ by the Victorian Robert Hunt.

The giant’s castle at Treryn, remarkable as a grand example of truly British Cyclopean architecture, was built by the power of enchantment. The giant to whom all the rest of his race were indebted for this stronghold was in every way a remarkable mortal. He was stronger than any other giant, and he was a mighty necromancer. He sat on the promontory of Treryn, and by the power of his will he compelled the castle to rise out of the sea. It is only kept in its present position by virtue of a magic key. This key the giant placed in a holed rock, known as the Giant’s lock, and whenever this key, a large round stone, can be taken out of the lock, the promontory of Treryn and its castle will disappear beneath the waters. There are not many people who obtain even a sight of this wonderful key. You must pass at low tide along a granite ledge, scarcely wide enough for a goat to stand on. If you happen to make a false step, you must be dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Well, having got over safely, you come to a pointed rock with a hole in it; this is the castle lock. Put your hand deep in the hole, and you will find at the bottom a large egg-shapped stone, which can be easily moved in any direction. You will feel certain that you can take it out,--but try! Try as you may, you will find that it will not pass through the hole; yet no one can doubt that it once went in.

He also recorded the following:

Treryn Castle, an ancient British fortress, the Cyclopean walls of which, and its outer earthwork, can still be traced, was the dwelling of a famous giant and his wife. I have heard it said that he gave his name to this place, but that is, of course, doubtful. This giant was chief of a numerous band, and by his daring he held possession, against the giants of the Mount, of all the lands west of Penzance. Amongst the hosts who owned allegiance to him, was a remarkable fine young fellow, who had his abode in a cave, in the pile of rocks upon which the Logan Rock stands. This young giant grew too fond of the giantess, and it would appear that the lady was not unfavourably inclined towards him. Of their love passes, however, we know nothing. Tradition has only told us that the giantess was one day reclining on the rock still known as the Giant Lady’s Chair, while the good old giant was dosing in the Giant’s Chair which stands near it, when the young and wicked lover stole behind his chief and stabbed him in the belly with a knife. The giant fell over the rocks to the level ridge below, and there he lay, rapidly pouring out his life-blood. From this spot the young murderer kicked him into the sea, ere yet his life was quite extinct, and he perished in the waters.

The guilty pair took possession of Treryn Castle, and, we are told, lived happily for many years.

Robert Hunt’s book is available online at sacred-texts.com/

The Bords (in ‘The Secret Country’) advise that you don’t fall asleep at Tinkinswood on any of the three ‘spirit nights’ of May Day eve, St John’s eve (23rd June) or Midwinter eve. Not unless you’re prepared for one of the following to happen: you will either die, go mad, or become a poet. Not very good odds for a positive outcome.

Marie Trevelyan (’Folklore and Folkstories of Wales’ – 1909) describes how the site is haunted by the spirits of druids – and that they are particularly unkind to drunkards, not to mention other wicked people. One victim said that

“they beat him first, then whirled him up into the sky, from which he looked down and saw the moon and stars thousands of miles below him. They held him suspended by his hair in the midheaven until the first peep of day, and then let him drop down to the Dyffryn woods, where he was found in a great oak by farm labourers.”

Which rather makes you wonder what his drink had been spiked with.

A Mr R Cousins of Wold Newton told Leslie Grinsell that Throwl Egg used to be played here on Shrove Tuesdays.

“Men and youths used to have hard-boiled eggs, which they ‘throwled’ (rolled) on the grass. The eggs were dyed, and he whose egg rolled the farthest, or longest, was the winner.”

(John Nicholson, Folklore of East Yorkshire, 1890; quoted by Grinsell in ‘Ancient Burial Mounds of England’ 1936).

From ‘The Witchcraft and Folklore of Dartmoor’ by Ruth E St Leger-Gordon (1965?):

“The circle has.. acquired the reputation of being in some way eerie. I know several people who say that they are unable to ride their horses along the old track that winds right through it. Their mounts become restive and evince such unwillingness to pass inside the circumference that a detour has to be made, and the track regained on the farther side.”

King Lud’s Intrenchments were long considered to be Saxon – the King Lud in question being Ludeca of Mercia (a bit too far for King Lud, legendary founder of London?). However, it’s now thought that the bank and ditches are prehistoric and part of an extensive boundary system stretching from Northamptonshire to the Humber: the ‘Jurassic Spine’. The Intrenchments cross it at right angles. Three banks run parallel, separated by two ditches (one originally V-shaped, the other U-shaped, apparently). To the East they join a prehistoric trackway called Sewstern Lane (Sewstern Drift)*. The parish boundary runs along their entire length.

A Bronze Age barrow cemetery lies alongside – there were at least twelve barrows originally but now only one (or two?) survive. They were reused for burials in Saxon times.

Near the barrows is an area known as ‘The Tent’, a small quarry where legend has it King Lud kept his horses (according to Leonard Cantor in his ‘Scheduled Ancient Monuments of Leicestershire and Rutland’ (1993) – other info from the EH record accessed at MAGIC) and see * this book also.

Neil Fairbairn (in his Traveller’s Guide to the Kingdoms of Arthur) says the site is also known as Cadon Barrow. It is the grave of Cador, an Earl of Cornwall and close friend of Arthur. Guinevere was supposed to have been living at his house/castle when Arthur met her.

In the Dream of Rhonabwy (in the Mabinogion) his name is spelt Cadwr, and he is named as the man responsible for arming Arthur as he goes into battle.

Don’t get too excited – tradition has it the cist had ‘treasure formerly buried in it’ – so it looks like you’re too late if you were hoping to find some gold.

(recorded in Grinsell’s ‘Folklore of Prehistoric Sites in Britain’ 1976)

Dinas Emrys is a small hill-fort in the valley of Nant Gwynant. It is thought to be originally Iron Age, but was reused many times since.

Nennius wrote about some of the happenings at the fort (with his usual embroiderings). You can read a translation of the original at the
Internet Medieval Sourcebook - this is rather a precis.

Vortigern had a bit of an embarrassing episode in which he had a child with his own daughter. His advisors told him it might be best to find a nice quiet place in the country and build a secure fort there. Vortigern found an ideal site at Dinas Emrys and arranged for builders and carpenters to start work. However, after the building materials were delivered, they mysteriously disappeared during the night. This happened three times.

The advisors were called in again – what was going on? Apparently it wasn’t the neighbours stealing stuff – what Vortigern actually needed was to find a boy born without a father, and then to sprinkle the foundation stones with the child’s blood. Despite already having a poor reputation Vortigern didn’t seem to see anything wrong with this and sent his men out to search for such a boy – and eventually they found one (his mother claimed that she had never slept with a man).

The boy was brought back to the king. Unimpressed by the sound of his fate he showed Vortigern the true source of his problems. Under a pavement lay a pool – and in the pool a vase containing a tent. In the tent were two dragons, one red and one white. They began to fight. The white one seemed to be winning, but then the red one prevailed and the white was driven from the tent. The boy explained the scene – it represented how the Welsh would eventually recover their lands from the Saxons.

He added that the citidel was actually destined for himself, and that Vortigern would have to go elsewhere. Which he did. The boy’s name was Ambrose (Emrys in Welsh, and this bit could be a fudge to fit other stories) – later known as Merlin.

I suppose the king (brenin) in the name of this cairn could be Arthur, or some other nameless king lost to memory. It would be more exciting though if it were the spooky Brenin Llwyd – the Grey King of Snowdonian myth. But I suppose he’s not really mortal enough to need a grave.

Read about the Brenin Llwyd at Mary Jones’s site:
maryjones.us/jce/breninllwyd.html

This stone is a pointy 7’6” tall, with a (natural?) oval hollow in its southerly face. It is said to be the spot where a Danish general called Ulric is buried – he was killed in a battle here (Ulric, incidentally, means ‘wolf’). There are several prehistoric (and some more recent) cairns in the vicinity too.

(information on Canmore)

This standing stone would be 4m tall if it stood upright – but it leans somewhat. This is because Rocky Campbell dug beneath it looking for treasure (some time before 1900, apparently) – he stopped rather hurriedly no doubt when he saw it starting to bend towards him. Whether it was doing this deliberately to put him off looking is more than I can say. That story is mentioned by Grinsell (collected in his ‘Folklore of Prehistoric Sites in Britain’) – the following was heard by Angus Martin much more recently and can be read at kintyremag.co.uk/1998/20/page8.html. It seems that a group of tinkers were partying it up at the stone on the Sabbath – drinking, gambling, swearing – when suddenly a hole appeared in the ground next to them and out popped the Devil himself. No doubt they were pretty startled, but Auld Nick just said ‘Carry on, ye’re doin’ fine’ and left them to continue with their game.

Thom suggests that the stone was used as a lunar observatory. If you visit it be sure to look carefully at its south face as it has at least 17 cup marks (some very faint).

Grinsell (’folklore of prehistoric sites in Britain’) does not explain the folklore that goes with this site very much – but it sounds rather like your witch/giantess/devil + broken apron strings story: he says the stone was being carried by a (presumably rather large) old woman, and that it fell to the ground when one of her withies broke (withies are ropes made of long whippy willow twigs). (story recorded 1927).

East of the chambered cairn is a round cairn, known as the Fairy Knowe, due to its one-time? otherworldly inhabitants.

(Grinsell – ‘Folklore of Prehistoric Sites in Britain’)

One imagines the fairy hill of the story to be the cairn at Kintraw.

Many years ago, the wife of the farmer at Kintraw fell ill and died, leaving two or three young children. The Sunday after the funeral the farmer and his servants went to church, leaving the children at home in charge of the eldest, a girl of about ten years of age. On the farmer’s return the children told him their mother had been to see them, and had combed their hair and dressed them. As they still persisted in their statement after being remonstrated with, they were punished for telling what was not true.

The following Sunday the same thing occurred again. The father now told the children, if their mother came again, they were in inquire of her why she came. Next Sunday, when she reappeared, the eldest child put her father’s question to her, when the mother told them she had been carried off by the “Good People” (Daione Sìth), and could only get away for an hour or two on Sundays, and should her coffin be opened it would be found to contain only a withered leaf.

The farmer, much perplexed, went to the minister for advice, who scoffed at the idea of any supernatural connection with the children’s story, ridiculed the existence of “Good People,” and would not allow the coffin to be opened. The matter was therefore allowed to rest. But, some little time after, the minister, who had gone to Lochgilphead for the day, was found lying dead near the Fairies’ Hill, a victim, many people thought, to the indignation of the Fairy world he had laughed at.

from
Lord Archibald Campbell, Waifs and Strays of Celtic Tradition, Argyllshire Series, vol. 1 (London: David Nutt, 1889), pp. 71-72.

Campbell’s source: Mrs. Annie Thorpe née Miss MacDougall of Lunga, Ardbecknish, Lochow.

online at Folklore and Mythology
Electronic Texts
pitt.edu/~dash/abduct.html#fairyhill

Below Gwal-y-Filiast the Afon Taf snakes through a wooded valley, and in the river is a naturally created hollow called Crochan Arthur (Arthur’s cauldron).

Wirt Sikes mentions it in ‘British Goblins’ (1880):

This [feature] is under a cromlech at Dolwillim, on the banks of the Tawe, and in the stream itself when the water is high; it is a circular hole of considerable depth, accurately bored in the stone by the action of the water. This hole is called Arthur’s Pot, and according to local belief was made by Merlin for the hero king to cook his dinner in.

Perhaps Arthur kept his dog in Gwal-y-Filiast (the lair of the greyhound bitch) to keep her out of the way while his dinner was stewing.