In 1802 the Reverend John Skinner reported that this was Branwen’s grave – the same story as told at Bedd Branwen.
(mentioned in Jennifer Westwood’s ‘Albion’ p267)
Rhiannon
This is the grave of Branwen, the daughter of Llyr. She was the ‘fairest damsel in the world’. Well, at least Anglesey I expect. Her story is told in the Mabinogion and you can read it here at the sacred texts archive:
sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/mab/mab22.htm
Let me summarise it for you: One day, the Irish King, Matholwch, came sailing over to Wales. He intended to make an alliance with the people there and to marry the beautiful Branwen. He was obviously a very important man with some impressive ships and the marriage was agreed by the family. That night there was a huge feast, loads of beer was flowing and everybody had a super time. However, the next day one of Branwen’s other brothers, who had not been present earlier, turned up. He was unimpressed by the arrangements that had been made without him, and carried out some rather unpleasant revenge on Matholwch’s horses (you don’t want to know). Matholwch was outraged and insulted and was about to leave without the usual pleasantries when Bran, another of Branwen’s brothers, called him back to smooth things over. He gave Matholwch his greatest treasure – a cauldron that could bring the dead back to life (albeit they wouldn’t be able to speak). So Matholwch went back to Ireland happy again and with his new wife.
For a year Branwen had the utmost respect in the Irish court, but then various stirrers started getting at Matholwch, saying that he shouldn’t have let her brother get away with what had happened. Poor Branwen was sent to work in the kitchens where the cook used to box her ears. She was stuck there for three years but eventually managed to tame a starling which flew a letter back to Bran for her. Bran and his army rushed to Ireland to rescue here. In the ensuing battle Bran was killed and his head was taken to the White Mound – now, the tower of London (’white’ also means ‘holy’ in Welsh, as I suppose it implies purity in English). Branwen blamed the entire mess on herself. She died of a broken heart and was buried under the cairn you see today.
So they cut off [her brother, Bendigeid Vran’s] head, and these seven went forward therewith. And Branwen was the eighth with them, and they came to land at Aber Alaw, in Talebolyon, and they sat down to rest. And Branwen looked towards Ireland and towards the Island of the Mighty, to see if she could descry them. “Alas,” said she, “woe is me that I was ever born; two islands have been destroyed because of me!” Then she uttered a loud groan, and there broke her heart. And they made her a four-sided grave, and buried her upon the banks of the Alaw.
The stone is embedded in the ground close to a hedge abutting on the road, and stands on end with the upper part bent. The legend runs that one night a man entered Llandyfrydog church and stole the Bible or church books. On coming out he went along the road with the books on his back, when he saw a person coming towards him, and he turned into the field to avoid him, where for his sacrilege he was transformed into a stone.
Every Christmas Eve when the stone hears the clock strike twelve it moves round the field three times. It is called Lleidr Llandyfrydog, i.e. the Llandyfrydog Thief, and the field name given above, when translated, means the Thiefs Field. The stone bears a very rude resemblance to a man with his back bent under the weight of some load.
R. P. HAMPTON ROBERTS.
From Notes and Queries, December 27th, 1879.
Wirt Sikes (’British Goblins’ 1880) says the thief must stand here until the last trump sets him free on Judgement Day.
Charlotte Burne (in Shropshire Folklore, 1883) related that:
There used to be more stones than there are now, but they have been taken away at one time or another. There was a farmer lived by there, and he blew up some of them and took away the pieces to put round his horsepond, but he never did no good after.
Once upon a time two giants lived in this area: one on Windover Hill and the other on Firle Beacon. They didn’t get on and one day their quarrelling got out of hand. They started throwing huge great rocks at each other – the Windover giant caught one right on his head and fell to the ground, dead. You can see the marks where they hurled the rocks to this day (some boring people will say they’re actually flint mines though). As the giant lay there people drew round him to produce a lasting memorial to him(that’s what the Long Man really is), and then he was hauled up the hill and buried in Hunter’s Burgh longbarrow. {or is it in the one on Firle beacon?}
(theme in Jennifer Westwood’s ‘Albion’. She also includes the following local rhyme, which predicts the weather in Alciston:)
When Firle Hill and Long Man has a cap
We a A’ston gets a drap
I was reading about this stone in ‘Holy Wells of the Bath and Bristol Region’ by Phil Quinn. It’s my pure speculation, but it could be relevant that the stone was situated by the pool – that is, perhaps the pool was the original place of veneration. The pool (now filled in) and stone were to the north-east of the church. I do realise they have to be in some direction, but it did remind me of the Rudstone Monolith which is also to the north of its church. And if it’s a genuine standing stone, it can hardly be a coincidence that they chose to build the church next to it, recognising its importance in some way.
In 1538, Leland (who was the king’s antiquary – what a position) wrote:
“It is of sum caullid the Round Table, and of sum, Arture’s Castel.”
In 1724 Stukeley said “The site is used to this day for a country rendez-vous, either for sports or for military exercises, shooting with bows, etc.”
The Cumberland historian Hutchinson was told by villagers in 1773 that the place was an ancient tilting yard where jousts had once been held. He said wrestling matches had taken place there within living memory.
info in Marjorie Rowling’s ‘Folklore of the Lake District’ (1976).
Jennifer Westwood in ‘Albion’ mentions this folklore (p398) – which in her words ‘smacks of Druidism’ and hence probably Victorian fantasy. But it’s a nice one.
At sunrise on Midsummer Day the ‘Shining One’ was said to walk along the avenue. His coming was heralded by the call of the cuckoo – the bird of Tir Nan Og, the Celtic land of youth.
{In your fieldnotes, didn’t you hear the cuckoo before your visit, TomBo?!}
*
And with regard to how Callanish was made –
A priest-king came to the island bringint the stones with him and black men to raise them. He was attended by other priests and all were adorned with bird skins and feathers.
When King Fergus defeated and killed Coel, King of the Britons, he was buried in a mound topped with stones – which is now in the grounds of Coilsfield House. There are many different spellings of his name, which presumably all derive from the same figure: Cul, Coel, Coil, Cole... (maybe deriving from the celtic god of war?)
Robert Burns knew this version of the rhyme:
Our auld King Coul was a jolly auld soul
and a jolly auld soul was he
Our auld King Coul fill’d a jolly brown bowl
and he called for his fiddlers three
Fidell didell, fidell didell quo’ the fiddlers
There’s no lass in a’ Scotland like our sweet Marjorie
(from Westwood’s ‘Albion’)
Another story connected with Willy Howe – in Jennifer Westwood’s ‘Albion’ (and originally from ‘Hone’s Table Book of 1827). I retell it as a warning to you all to respect the fairies.
One of the fairies who lived in Willy Howe had rather a crush on a local man. She wanted to help him, so she told him that if he came to the top of the Howe early every morning he would find a guinea waiting for him. However, he must never tell anyone where he got his money from.
For some time he did exactly as she said, and as his money grew he was able to live comfortably (and finally maybe a bit too comfortably). His friends were surprised and suspicious at his new found wealth, and couldn’t understand why he was so secretive about its source. Eventually one night the man could keep his secret no longer and told one of his friends. In the morning he took his friend to the hill to show him the guinea that would be there. Of course there was no money at all. He ‘met with a severe punishment’ and was beaten up by invisible fists. For ever after that he found he had lost his luck.
Obtrusch is a Bronze Age round cairn on Rudland Rigg, positioned so it looks on the skyline from round about. It has kerb stones and a central cist; nearby to the southeast there’s another smaller cairn.
It used to be known as Obtrush Rook (or Roque) in the nineteenth century – the Home of Hobthrush. Hobthrush was of course a hob (like a brownie) – the other part of the name may come from ‘thurs’ which is an old english word for a devil or giant.
Unfortunately you probably won’t find much remaining of the barrow that was here. But it was surely carefully placed here at the source of the river Gamber – the Licat Amr – the eye of the Amr.
Nennius wrote about the grave:
There is another wonder in the country called Ergyng. There is a tomb there by a spring, called Llygad Amr; the name of the man who was buried in the tomb was Amr. He was the son of the warrior Arthur, and he killed him there and buried him. Men come to measure the tomb, and it is sometimes six feet long, sometimes nine, sometimes twelve, sometimes fifteen. At whatever measure you measure it on one occasion, you never find it again of the same measure, and I have tried it myself.
(John Morris (ed. and trans.) Nennius: British History and The Welsh Annals (Arthurian Period Sources vol. 8, Phillimore 1980) p.42, marvel no. 13) at Thomas Green’s Arthurian Literature site.
Another classic piece of megalithic folklore is attached to Long Meg. In 1740 John Wood (the architect who styled much of Bath) visited the circle and surveyed it. Afterwards a storm blew up, and the villagers (no doubt shaking their heads wisely) said that it was his behaviour that had prompted it.
(mentioned by Jennifer Westwood in ‘Albion’ p32)
Glastonbury Tor and some of the surrounding land used to be pretty much an island. You can get a glimpse of this sometimes when the Somerset Levels are sodden and the water reflects the sky. In ‘Celtic’ thought there was the idea of an Otherworld island. King Arthur was buried in Avalon when he died, but you don’t have to see the Underworld as being inhabited by the ‘dead’. Gwyn ap Nudd was the king of the underworld, Annwn. Later he was seen more as a fairy figure. One of the legends associated with the tor combines his non-christian and fairy characteristics:
St Collen had come to live as a hermit on the Tor. Glastonbury of course had been long associated with Christianity – Joseph of Arimathea was supposed to have visited and planted his staff, which blossomed into a thorn tree.
He overheard two men talking about Gwyn ap Nudd and told them off for talking such un-Christian nonsense. They warned him that Gwyn would not look kindly upon such an attitude, but Collen dismissed their remarks. A few days later a messenger appeared in Collen’s cell with an invitation to Gwyn’s court. Collen declined the offer. The messenger came back every day but each day was turned away. Eventually he lost patience with the saint, threatening that ‘it would be the worse for him if he did not go.’ Perhaps tired of being pestered, Collen at last agreed.
They entered a secret door in the side of the hill and Collen was led along tunnels, finally emerging into the grand throne room, which was filled with courtiers. Gwyn welcomed him warmly and invited him to eat at the feast that had been prepared in his honour. ‘If this does not please you there is plenty more of all sorts.‘
However, Collen wasn’t blinded by fairy ‘glamour’ and could see perfectly well what was on the table. He replied ‘I do not eat the leaves of a tree.’ A shudder of horror rippled through the court. Collen clearly didn’t care about the dangers of being rude to fairies. Next he laid into the dress-sense of the king’s pages: their clothes were ‘scarlet for the ever-living flames’ and ‘blue for the eternal ice of Hell’. Collen didn’t believe in fairies – to him they were the demons of the Christian religion’s Hell.
To top off his rude behaviour he whisked out a bottle of holy water he’d had stashed under his cloak and sprinkled it liberally in every direction. The palace disappeared and Collen found himself in the pale light of dawn on the summit of the Tor. To him this proved the point that they were demons – but maybe they were just fed up of their discourteous guest and ejected him.
(details from various sources, for example ‘Culhwch ac Olwen’ – see Lady Guest’s Mabinogion notes here at ‘sacred texts’..)
Of course it’s possible that the story has nothing to do with Glastonbury at all – St Collen and the story is comprehensively discussed in Bord’s 2004 ‘Fairy Sites’ book. The saint is far more associated with Llangollen. Perhaps early writers equated Annwn (Annwfn) the Celtic otherworld, with Avallon, and thus Glastonbury.
The weather on Dartmoor can be very changeable. Make sure you pack a jumper and some waterproofs if you look for Childe’s Tomb – or you may end up repeating this ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ moment:
“It is left us by tradition that one Childe of Plimstoke, a man of fair possessions, having no issue, ordained, by his will, that wheresoever he should happen to be buried, to that church his lands should belong. It so fortuned, that he riding to hunt in the forest of Dartmore, being in pursuit of his game, casually lost his company, and his way likewise. The season then being so cold, and he so benumed therewith, as he was enforced to kill his horse, and embowelled him, to creep into his belly to get heat; which not able to preserve him, was there frozen to death; and so found, was carried by Tavistoke men to be buried in the church of that abbey; which was so secretly done but the inhabitants of Plymstoke had knowledge thereof; which to prevent, they resorted to defend the carriage of the corpse over the bridge, where, they conceived, necessity compelled them to pass. But they were deceived by guile; for the Tavistoke men forthwith built a slight bridge, and passed over at another place without resistance, buried the body, and enjoyed the lands; in memory whereof the bridge beareth the name of Guilebridge to this day.”
(Thomas Risdon’s Survey of Devon, early 17th century, quoted by Jennifer Westwood in ‘Albion’).
‘Childe’ apparently comes from the Anglo Saxon ‘Cild’, meaning ‘young lord’. Obviously the tomb, if you follow the story, can’t be where he’s buried. Because that’s Tavistock. Oh well.
Carew entertainingly wrote in his 1602 Survey of Cornwall:
“.. a gentleman, dwelling not far off, was persuaded.. that treasure lay hidden under this stone: wherefore, in a fair moonshine night, thither with certain good fellows he hieth to dig it up.. a pot of gold is the least of their expectation: but... in the midst of their toiling, the sky gathereth clouds, the moonlight is overcast with darkness, down falls a mighty shower, up riseth a blustering tempest, the thunder cracketh, the lightning flasheth: in conclusion, our money seekers washed, instead of laden.. and more afraid than hurt, are forced to abandon their enterprise, and seek shelter of the next house they could get into.”
Another example of the bad weather and trouble you can expect if you mess with the monuments of our ancient forefathers.
at
gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/srvcr10.txt
(scroll down to 137)
* * *
Daphne du Maurier lived near where the Tristan stone stood before it was moved (crossroads at sx1051), and she wrote her own version of the Tristan and Iseult story, with which it has legendary connections (see also Castle Dor.)
In 1016 King Edmund Ironside fought and lost to the Danish invader Cnut at a place called Assundun. This was traditionally taken to be Ashdon, just south of Bartlow Hills .
In the parish of ASHDON, sparated from Bartlow, in Cambridgeshire, only by a small rivulet, are four large contiguous Barrows, called the BARTLOW HILLS, from their situation being not very distant from Bartlow Chuch. These are vulgarly regarded as the tumuli raised over the slain in the battle fought between Edmund Ironside, and the Danish King, Canute, in the year 1016; but as this tradition is not supported by any historical authority, it cannot be considered as deserving of credit.
(p380 of ‘The Beauties of England and Wales, Or, Delineations, Topographical, Historical, and Descriptive’ by John Britton and others, 1801. It’s online at Google Books.)
Cnut rather kindly built Ashdon church over the graves of the English, and created Bartlow Hills as the resting place for his own fallen warriors.
It’s true and if you want further proof, Camden reports in his ‘Britannia’ of 1610 that:
“Dane-wort which with bloud-red berries, commeth up heere plenteously, they still call by no other name than Danes-bloud, of the number of Danes that there were slaine, verily beleeving that it blometh from their bloud.”
The tradition is rather like the one we have of poppies growing on the WW1 battlefields. Danewort is thought to be dwarf elder (Sambucus ebulus).
(Actually the battle is now thought to have been in Ashingdon, some way away. And of course, the barrows aren’t Danish. They’re generally referred to as (shh) Roman – you can’t deny the wealth of Roman artefacts discovered there! but to be fair they were probably rich native people who were buried in the traditional British style through their own choice).
(info from ‘Albion’ by Jennifer Westwood, p103)
Geoffrey Grigson, in his fascinating miscellany ‘The Shell Country Book’ gives the name ‘Thunor’s Stone’ (Thunor is the Anglo-Saxon equivalent of Thor, fair enough).
Five barrows lie in a line from SE to NW: there are two bowl barrows and three bell barrows. These are in the woods of Mortimer Common. There are also a couple of outlying barrows – one now amongst the houses of Mortimer.
Jeremy Harte, in his ‘Alternative Approaches to Folklore‘ cites that a phantom army was seen on Mortimer Common in 1778, the soldiers being assumed to be real until they vanished!
The barrow is in a field called ‘Giant’s Ground’ and is said to be the grave of Giant Gorm (who appears in various local tales – eg that of Druid Stoke). The field is said to be the site of a great battle (- perhaps that refers to the demise of the giant?).
The barrow was also formerly known as Charleborow, whatever the derivation of that may be – perhaps the name of another purported occupant?
(information from the Somerset Historic Environment Record)
Saint Illtyd was King Arthur’s cousin and helped out with his funeral arrangements, according to the medieval writings of Nennius.
You can read about his rather eventful life at Mary Jones’ page:
geocities.com/branwaedd/illtud.html
One of his deeds involved turning two robbers into standing stones. Perhaps he did use this tomb as a hermitage – all the crosses carved on it suggest a lot of people believed he did.
He himself is supposed to be buried on Mynydd Illtud in the Brecon Beacons (apparently close to the visitor’s centre :)
This is one of the Dancing Stones of Stackpole.
This is one of the Dancing Stones of Stackpole.
I saw this stone alone in its field on a beautiful warm summer’s day. However, it’s not always alone. It is one of the Dancing Stones of Stackpole (the other two are here and here, the central one being in a field called ‘Horestone Park’, according to Sikes in ‘British Goblins’ – 1880). Sometimes they meet up and go to Rhyd Sais where they dance until they’re too tired to dance any more. Sometimes their music is provided by the Devil himself, who plays for them on his flute.
(folklore from Barber’s More Mysterious Wales)
Janet and Colin Bord specifically state (in ‘Secret Country’) that the stones dance ‘The Hay’ – a country dance.
William Howell, in “Cambrian Superstitions,” (1831) says that anyone witnessing the stones dancing is granted exceptionally good luck. He mentions that witches are also said to have conducted their ‘revels’ at the stones (presumably while they are standing still – it could get a bit dangerous dancing with them).
Rhyd Sais means ‘ford of the English’ – or Saxon, which Sais originally meant. (Where the ford actually is, I don’t know – do you?) I wonder whether this part of the story links with the fact one of the stones is called the Harold Stone. Harold is (according to the information on Coflein) Harold Godwinson – the Anglo-Saxon loser at the battle of Hastings, who had earlier successfully beaten Grufudd ap Llewelyn (who had control of the whole of Wales). Pembrokeshire has been known as the ‘Little England beyond Wales’ so maybe ‘Rhyd Sais’ wouldn’t have the negative connotations it might have elsewhere in Wales. It’s all very confusing.. do you know more?
Coflein even suggests there should be another stone, at SR97309530. The three are somewhat in a line, but the entry doesn’t suggest why there ‘should’ be another – I suppose it would make the gaps between the stones equal. If the line of the stones is important – could that imply that we’ve lost the site of Rhyd Sais? Bosherston lakes are artificial (made to go with the now demolished house) so are they covering where the ford would once have been – in line with the stones? Or am I really entering the realms of fantasy now.
Ok so these are ‘Roman’ and they do run alongside a Roman road. But keep it quiet, keep it quiet. It is suggested in the smr that they are the graves of native British aristocrats who “chose to perpetuate aspects of Iron Age burial practice” so I think they’re kind of allowable.
By the way – the earth in them comes from neaby Whormerly Wood (TL247236):
Near Stevenage are six barrows by the roadside. My father, John Emslie, was told, in 1835, by Mr. Williams, baker, of Stevenage, that in an adjoining wood are seven pits and one barrow. The devil, having dug out six spadefuls of earth, emptied them beside the road, thus making the six barrows. He then returned to the wood, dug another spadeful of earth (thus making the seven pits) and, walking along with this spadeful, dropped it and thus made the solitary barrow, which, I was told in 1883, had long since been cleared away.
(from Scraps of Folklore Collected by John Philipps Emslie, by C. S. Burne, in Folklore, Vol. 26, No. 2. (Jun. 30, 1915), pp. 153-170. )
If you’re passing through Stevenage on the train you’ll be able to see them if you look east through the buildings just south of the station.
This fort is one of the traditional sites of the last stand of Caractacus, ‘King of the Britons’, against the invading Romans. He was also known as Caradoc. Having regrettably lost the fight he was taken with his family to Rome – but apparently not to the unpleasant fate you might imagine for him: it seems the Emperor respected his reputation and spared him.
(Reader’s Digest ‘Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’)
Twyn-y-beddau means ‘mound of graves’. It is said to be the site of a terrible battle between the Welsh and Edward 1st’s supporters. So grim was the bloodshed that the nearby stream was said to have run red for for three days.
(from the trusty Reader’s Digest ‘Folklore, Myths and Legends of Britain’!)
This ring of stones is said to be the haunt of willow the wisps and scary black dogs, according to Paul Bennett in his ‘Circles and Standing Stones of West Yorkshire’. In his ‘Megalithic Faults of Rombalds Moor and District’ article in Earth 14 he even includes fairies in this menagerie.
According to Shapwick inhabitant Stephen’s (now defunct) website, the mounds here – or perhaps rather their high-status occupants – are known as the Three Kings.
Only one barrow is visible, but there are three round barrows here. Unfortunately two of them are now tucked under the spoil mound of a reservoir, but according to the Scheduled Monument record, they are untouched and safe under there.
Folklore in Box tells us they are the burial mounds of three kings.
Richard Holland’s 1989 book ‘Supernatural Clwyd’ gives these details of the folklore. These stories “supposedly” predate the discovery of the cape.
It seems that Bryn-yr-Ellyllon was the name given to the hill approaching Pentre. In 1830 a farmer’s wife was returning up it from Mold market when her horse began to get jumpy. She saw lights in the woods to her right and wondered if a fire had started in them. Suddenly a huge figure wearing golden armour strode out of the woods – he was shining with the weird golden light. He crossed in front of her and straight into the barrow on the opposite side of the road. Immediately the golden light disappeared.
The farmer’s wife pulled herself together and rode to the Rev. Charles Butler Clough’s vicarage. He took her statement and got two people to witness it. (He printed it in the 1861 book ‘Scenes and Stories Little Known.’) He did some more research and found that the barrow itself was known as Tomen yr Ellyllon, and that it was regarded as haunted and a place people avoided. An old man who lived nearby told him of Brenin yr Allt, the King of the Hillside. The field in which the mound lay was supposedly called Cae’r Yspryd (Field of the Ghost).
He also discovered there had been sightings in the previous century (look, this is a man of the cloth we’re talking about – would he lie for a good story?). A girl called Nancy had seen the spectre standing on the mound twice, and another woman who’d seen it had apparently gone mad for seven years. It was, she said ‘All glittering and shining in gold’. The story at icNorth Wales here mentions that Nancy was rather relieved when the gold cape was found, because it collaborated her story (and no doubt reassured her that she wasn’t totally bonkers). She felt that the ghost wouldn’t be seen again – which it wasn’t.
Various stories surround what happened after the barrow was broken into. It’s known that many of the amber beads found their way home in people’s pockets. One woman who took some home for her young daughter heard stamping feet at her cottage that night, and an invisible hand knocked on the doors and windows. Reluctantly she took the beads back and threw them on the remains of the barrow.
It is also said that many of the wedding rings handed down in Mold are made from melted gold from Bryn yr Ellyllon, though no associations with bad luck were mentioned with these.
One of the slabs from the tomb is said to be the first of the steps up the Bailey Hill in the centre of Mold.
Holland includes a photo of the house which was built on the site. A plaque is cemented into its garden wall commemorating the barrow and its find. It claims that the tomb was the burial place of the giant prince Benlli Gawr... but that’s a different story.
(However, there are discrepancies in Holland’s tale – he claims the book mentioned was written by the Reverend himself, but it was actually his wife.. so who knows what other aspects are factually a bit suspect. Still, it’s all folklore isn’t it – including the way new retellings get incorporated with the old ones. Nothing should come in the way of a good story).
Dr Clay supplied his first-hand account of the story to L V Grinsell for his book ‘The Archaeology of Wessex’ (p57).
‘During the winter of 1927/8 when Dr R C C Clay was excavating the Pokesdown urnfield, he met with the following experience. One night he was returning from Pokesdown to his home at Fovant and proceeding in his car along the road from Cranborne to Handley, when about 150 yards past Squirrel’s Corner he saw a horseman on the downs to the north-east, travelling in the same direction as himself.
“Thinking he was from the Training Stables at Nine Yews, I took very little notice of him at first. Suddenly he turned his horse’s head and galloped as if to reach the road ahead, before my car arrived there. I was so interested that I changed gear to slow my car’s speed in order that we should meet, and I should be able to find out why he had taken this sudden action. Before I had drawn level with him, he turned his horse’s head again to the north, and galloped along parallel to me about 50 yards from the road. I could see now see that he was no ordinary horseman, for he had bare legs, and wore a long, loose coat. The horse had a long mane and tail, but I could see no bridle or stirrups. The rider’s face was turned towards me, but I could not see his features. He seemed to be threatening me with some implement which he waved in his right hand above his head. I tried hard to identify the weapon, for I suddenly realised that he was a prehistoric man; but I failed. It seemed to be on a two foot shaft. After travelling parallel to my car for about 100 yards, the rider and horse suddenly vanished. I noted the spot, and the next day found at the spot a low round barrow.”
‘A few years later, the late Alexander Keiller reported to Dr Clay that two girls, returning from Cranborne to Handley from a dance, had complained to the policeman at Handley that they had been followed and frightened by a man on horseback. Within the last thirty years [since 1958] there have been other reports, from shepherds and others, of apparitions having been seen in the vicinity of Bottlebush Down.‘
Ruth Tongue (County Folk Lore v 8) quotes an informant at Ashridge in 1907:
“There be a bit of verse as do go:
“If Dolbury digged were
Of gold should be the share.”
but nobody hasn’t found the treasure yet. And for why? Well, to start up with it don’t belong to they, and so they won’t never meet up with it. Twill go on sinking down below never mind how deep they do dig. I tell ‘ee tis the gold of they Redshanks as used to be seed on Dolbury top. To be sure there’s clever book-read gentlemen as tell as they was Danes, and another say twere all on account of their bare legs being red with the wind, but don’t mind they.
My granny she did tell they were fairies, and all dressed in red, and if so the treasure med be theirs. If they was Danes how do ‘ee explain all they little clay pipes as ‘ee can find on Dolbury Camp. They did call em ‘fairy pipes’ old miners did. An’ if there be fairy pipes, then there was fairies, and nobody need doubt they was the Redshanks.”
(taken from ‘A dictionary of fairies’ by Katherine Briggs)
Grinsell records an earlier instance of the couplet, from 1540, when it was recorded by Leland.
(Folklore of Prehistoric Sites in Britain)
“It is not many years since a man, who thought he was fully informed as to the spot in which a crock of the giant’s gold was buried, proceeded on one fine moonlight night to this enchanted hill, and with spade and pick commenced his search. He proceeded for some time without interruption, and it became evident to him that the treasure was not far off. The sky was rapidly covered with the darkest clouds, shutting out the brilliant light o the moon--which had previously gemmed each cairn--and leaving the gold-seeker in total and unearthly darkness. The wind rose, and roared terrifically amidst the rocks; but this was soon drowned amidst the fearful crashes of thunder, which followed in quick succession the flashes of lightning. By its light the man perceived that the spriggans were coming out in swarms from all the rocks. They were in countless numbers; and although they were small at first, they rapidly increased in size, until eventually they assumed an almost giant form, looking all the while, as he afterwards said, “as ugly as if they would eat him.” How this poor man escaped is unknown, but he is said to have been so frightened that he took to his bed, and was not able to work for a long time.”
You have been warned.
from “Popular Romances of the West of England, collected and edited by Robert Hunt [1903, 3rd edition]”
as seen at the Internet Sacred Text Archive sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/prwe/index.htm
“Is it a stone circle with a later burial cairn built inside it or is it simply a cairn with a permanent stone kerb?”
Don’t be daft. It’s Fingal’s Cauldron Seat, made by Finn McCool. He sat here while he cooked his tea.
There’s a holed stone in the outer circle – this is where he tied up his dog Bran, to stop him making off with the stew before it was cooked.
(from the Atlas of Magical Britain, by J+C Bord)
In one of the stones of Fion-gal’s cauldron seat – Suidhe choir Fhionn – there is a remarkable perforation, which was probably associated with some old superstition or religious ceremony, now forgotten. The hole is sufficiently large to admit the two fingers, and runs perpendicularly through the side of the column. Tradition relates that to this stone Fion-gal was wont to tie his favourite dog Bran.
From p55 of ‘The Antiquities of Arran’ by John McArthur (1861).
From ‘Salopia antiqua’ by Charles Hartshorne (1841) p79:
“It is called ‘Hen Dinas’ or the old city; and anciently Caer Ogyrfan, or Ogyrfan’s Castle, who was a hero contemporary with King Arthur.”
– Ogyfan was the father of Guinevere, of the King Arthur myths.
You can read more about the legends at ‘buzzpages’ buzz-pages.com/features/oswestry/Fest2000/OldOS.htm
which has excerpts from the ‘History of Oswestry’ by a Mr Watkins.
As Earthstepper says, Dinas Bran has been suggested as the resting place of the holy grail – but this hill of the fairies is also connected with another treasure. Gold – maybe a golden harp, specifically – will be found by a boy who is led to it by his white dog with a silver eye. Dogs like that can see the wind, you know. Susan Cooper uses the theme in her book ‘The Grey King’.
It’s also possible that the St Collen story now associated with Glastonbury Tor ( themodernantiquarian.com/post/26342 ) was originally intended to be set somewhere round here (after all, St Collen spent plenty of time here and the town below, Llangollen, is named after him).
Janet and Colin Bord (in ‘Prehistoric Britain from the Air’) claim that people once tried to build a church on this site – but once they’d gone home for their teas the Devil pulled down what they’d built during the day (into the earth, one assumes – hence Sunken Kirk).
The stones that are left (in common with many other sites) are said to be countless.
Marjorie Rowling mentions in her ‘Folklore of the Lake District’ (1976) that the earliest source giving the name of the site is from 1642, when it was called ‘Chapel Sucken’ (sucked down or sunken down?)
John Wood (the one who designed Bath’s Crescent) wrote in 1750:
“No one, say the country people about Stantondrue, was ever able to reckon the number of the metaphosed stones, or to take a draught of them, though several have attempted to do both, and proceeded till they were either struck dead upon the spot, or with such an illness as soon carried them off.”
When he tried to count them (why oh why, considering the warning) a cloudburst followed.
(quoted by J and C Bord in ‘Prehistoric Britain from the air’)
Janet and Colin Bord (in ‘Prehistoric Britain from the air’) add that after his death, King Arthur lived on – lives on? – at Badbury Rings in the form of a Raven.*
According to an ‘ancient chronicler’ mentioned in the superbly illustrated ‘Readers Digest Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’:
“Arthur carried the cross of Our Lord Jesus Christ for three days and nights on his shoulders, and the Britons were victorious.” (I assume that’s a metaphorical cross or it would have got in the way of the fighting). The Battle was said to have given Britain 21 years of peace – until Arthur had to take up arms against his treacherous nephew Mordred.
*According to Westwood and Simpson (’Lore of the Land, 2005) this idea came from A H Allcroft, who in 1908 linked a passage in Don Quixote about Arthur and ravens to this particular site. They also mention the folklore current in the 1960s – that at midnight you might see King Arthur trotting around the hill with his knights.
Grinsell in his ‘Dorset Barrows’ picks out one of these mounds – at SY699854. It is locally known as Culliford Tree, or the Music Barrow. It used to be the meeting place of the Hundred.
If you listen right at its apex, right at midday, you ought to hear fairy music.
Though, as Grinsell said: “The present writer has done so (May 1954) but heard only the cuckoo and some jet aircraft.”
Perhaps he just wasn’t listening hard enough.
--------------------
There’s some confusion about this, as I read in John Symonds Udal’s ‘Dorsetshire Folklore’ (1922). He’s quoting Charles Warne’s ‘Celtic Tumuli of Dorset’ (1866) so I suppose the best thing is to find that book first hand.
He says Warne states “on Bincombe Down there is a ‘Music Barrow’ of which the rustics say that if the ear be laid close to the apex at midday the sweetest melody will be heard within.” And then, Udal says “Mr Warne speaks of a similar superstition attaching to a certain tumulus at Culliford Tree as he has attributed to the Music Barrow on the neighbouring Bincombe Down.”
Are there two musical barrows or one? It’s all very confusing (and probably bemusing, if you are a cynic who doesn’t believe in musical barrows). I advise anyone who is truly interested to take a different barrow each day and press their ear to them.
Maybe you’d half expect the following experience, as it is told, to happen to someone like Colin Wilson – after all, he has written extensively and sympathetically about things that go bump in the night.
He was visiting Boscawen-un in 1975 with some friends, and left them in the circle while he nipped off, hoping to visit a nearby hillock and the ‘Giant’s Footprint’. I can only assume this would be at Creeg Tol. He was trying to be quick because his friends needed to catch a train, so finding that it was taking him longer than he thought to battle through all the bracken, he decided to turn back before he actually reached the landmark. He clearly saw the direction he had come from, though the circle was not in view, so he plodded downhill.
Then, to his own surprise, he found himself lost. He veered left to the path at the bottom of the hill, and climbing over a wall found himself in a strange field altogether. It took him ‘half an hour’ to find his way back to the circle, via winding up at the main road – which was in completely the wrong direction. I mean if you look at a map the path goes directly from Creeg Tol to the Circle, so it does seem a bit peculiar.
Wilson put his experience down to the crossing point of ley lines – well afterall, this is a node on the major ‘Michael and Mary’ cross-England leys, y’know.
Maybe that was it – or maybe he was ‘pixie-led’ – a common enough experience in the presence of the little people. Either you’ll find yourself utterly lost in a place you know well, or perhaps you’ll find yourself unable to find your way out of a quite ordinary space like a field, and spend your afternoon wandering round and round.
I’m going for the pixie explanation myself. Though it is possible he just got confused. On my own visit I liked the way the circle only appears right at the last minute when you burst through the gap in the hedge – perhaps it is easy to miss unless you’re heading in just the right direction. But that’s just boring.
(Story described in Patrick Harpur’s ‘Astray with the Fairies’ in Fortean Times 142 – PH having read Colin Wilson’s ‘Mysteries’)
Very close to the stones at Borve is a broch, which was once inhabited by the fairies. For some reason the local villagers didn’t get on with their otherworldly neighbours and were determined to get rid of them. One day they hatched a plan, and early the next morning surrounded the fairies’ fort. They raised a huge racket, shouting that the fort was on fire. The fairies rushed out at once. On realising they’d been duped, they felt so disgusted that they promptly left the district.
However, perhaps the fairies ultimately got their own back, because the village of Borve has never flourished.
The story was collected by Grinsell, for his ‘Folklore of prehistoric sites in Britain’ (1976) – I haven’t noted his source.
He also mentions the name of the site, which like the ‘River Avon’ is a double naming: Dun and Borve both mean fort, in Gaelic and Norse respectively.
Grinsell reported from his source that..
... a Bronze Age stone cist was discovered by a crofter in his garden. Inside was a huge skeleton, so huge that when the crofter lifted up the skull he was able (as you would want to) to place it completely over his own head. What a ghastly idea.
He was unable to get any sleep at all until he reburied the bones.
(L V Grinsell: Folklore of the Prehistoric Sites of Britain)
John Aubrey claimed the site had ‘a tradition of a fight’ and that a great man was supposed to be buried in the mound. (from Burl’s ‘Prehistoric Avebury’ p178).
“In Cardiganshire, the tradition respecting an encampment called Moyddin, which the fairies frequented, is that they were always in green dresses, and were never seen there but in the vernal month of May.”
(Wirt Sikes, ‘British Goblins’ 1880)
Ringsbury Camp sits on an outcrop of coral rag and has views over the clay plain south towards the Marlborough Downs.
Although the earthworks are from the Iron Age – it’s described as a small multivallate hillfort in the scheduled monuments description – neolithic flints have also been found there. Also discovered has been an uninscribed gold coin depicting a disjointed horse and a wheel, probably from the Iron Age. It’s thought that the ditches and banks of such hillforts were for showing off your high status as much as for defence, and that the site would have been lived in pretty much full time.
Locally it is said that the camp is ‘as old as Stonehenge or Avebury’. The red spotted flints and pebbles which can be found there are splashed with the blood of the Saxons and Danes who fought nearby.
(folklore from ‘More Ghosts and Legends of the Wiltshire Countryside’ by K Wiltshire: collected from Mr G Harris of Purton in 1975)
A Bronze Age round barrow lies within this later Iron Age fort on the highest point of Long Mountain. ‘Beacon Ring’ rather implies that the site has also been used for beacon fires.
Grinsell (Folklore of Prehistoric Sites in Britain) recorded that it is a haunt of fairies, and J+C Bord (Atlas of Magical Britain) describe it as ‘atmospheric’.
There are remote districts in our county where the more ignorant part of the population still put their faith in witchcraft; and the fairies are still believed to hold their assemblies at the Beacon ring on the Long Mountain.. From p64 of ‘On the Local Legends of Shropshire’ by Thomas Wright. p56 in ‘Collectanea Archaeologica’ v1, 1862. Online at Google Books.
A woman robed in grey formerly used to frequent a spot on Moel Arthur, overlooking the Vale of Clwyd, in North Wales. Under a rock near which the grey lady was chiefly seen, treasure was concealed in an iron chest with a ring handle. People said that the place of concealment was illuminated by a supernatural light. Occasionally in the evening, or soon after dawn, men dug for this treasure; but their efforts were rewarded with fearful noise and they were driven away by thunder, lightning, and rainstorms. One man found the grey lady beckoning to him as he ascended with pickaxe and shovel. He went to her, and she gave him some peas in a pod, and whispered, “Go home.” He did so, and the peas turned to gold in his pocket.
From Mary Trevelyan’s ‘Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales’ of 1909.
The site is also rumoured to be Queen Boudica’s burial place.( J+C Bord’s ‘Atlas of Magical Britain’)
The name of Moel Arthur (bare hill of Arthur) was recorded before the 17th century (so at least it’s not a romantic fabrication of the Victorians). (mentioned in Grinsell’s ‘Folklore of Prehistoric Sites in Britain’)
Local tradition points [the encampment] out as the residence of a prince, and as a spot charmed against the spade of the antiquary.
“Whoever digs there,” said an old woman in Welsh to some of the men going home from their work after a drenching wet day, “is always driven away by thunder, and lightning, and storm; you have been served like every body else who has made the attempt.”
Then there is a current belief that treasure, concealed in an iron chest with a ring-handle to it, lies buried within the camp, and I was told that the place of concealment was often illuminated at night by a supernatural light; several had seen the light, and some, more fortunate than the rest, had even grasped the handle of the iron chest, when an outburst of wild tempest wrested it from their audacious hold, and blasted their aspiring hopes of wealth.
To such stories I think there are two solutions. They may have been grounded upon the fame of some celebrated chief who, while he held this spot, acquired some degree of power and renown; or they may have been fabricated by those who, having really discovered treasure here, devised them as a means of securing it to themselves; and, from stories told me when examining these Clwydian camps, I think there is reason to believe that treasure has been discovered on these hills, and made away with by those who were lucky enough to find it.
from p181-2 of ‘A record of the antiquities of Wales and its marches (vol 1)’ by the Cambrian Archaeological Assoc. Published 1850 and now online at Google Books.
The field in which the stone lies is called the ‘Devils Flights’, and it is said that the stones sometimes turn over at midnight – presumably if they haven’t got the energy for the activity Kammer mentions above.
(folklore info from J + C Bord’s ‘Atlas of Magical Britain’)