Rhiannon

Legend of Fiddler’s Hill
Does Warham Discovery Prove Old Legend True.

Is the old legend of Fiddler’s Hill, Warham, true?
What appears to be surprising confirmation of it has been brought to light by Norfolk County Council men working on the roads. They have discovered in a mound at the crossing of the Wighton and Stiffkey road and the Binham and Warham road the skeletons of a man and a dog.

For generations the cross-roads have been known as Fiddler’s Hill because of the old folk story of the fiddler. Centuries ago there was a secret passage joining Walsingham Abbey to Binham Priory. One day a fiddler and his dog, runs the legend, attempted to walk from the Abbey to the Priory by way of the old secret tunnel. Their progress was followed by some friends above ground, for as he walked, the fiddler played. The strains of the music were plainly heard slowly moving away from Walsingham towards Fiddler’s Hill. Then they ceased. The fiddler and his dog were never seen again, but mysterious music, it is sometimes heard at midnight.

The bones have been handed over to the police, who took them to Dr. Hicks, of Wells, for examination. Later they may be seen by an anthropologist.

From the Thetford and Watton Times, 15th April 1933.

Beacon Fire- Mr. Langham, of “Needless Inn,” informs me that he well remembers that thirty-four years ago there stood, on the highest point of Beacon, an erection of rude and ancient masonry, about six feet high, of a round form, and having in its centre a cavity about a yard deep and a yard in diameter, the sides of which were very thickly covered with burnt pitch. This, he says, had all the appearance of having been used for holding the beacon fires. He remembers, too, that at that period, the entrenchments were much more visible than they are now [...]
History and Antiquities of Charnwood Forest, T.R. Potter, 1842, p48.

Beacon Hill. – Not satisfied with my single opinion of these extraordinary remains, I requested Mr. Lester, a highly intelligent farmer and surveyor, who lives at the foot of Beacon, to examine them. He was perfectly astonished. Though long resident, almost upon the spot, and aware of the remains described as lying on the south-west side of the hill, it had never occurred to him that there were others. “Often,” says he,” as I have crossed that wonderful hill, and always with the feeling that it was a charmed spot, I have been either so occupied with the distant prospects, or so circumscribed in my immediate view by the inequalities of the surface, that I have never before once noticed the most remarkable fortifications to which you have directed me.”
Potter, p49.

Wake at Nanpantan. – The Annual Wake, now kept on Nanpantan, but formerly kept on Beacon, the origin of which is lost in obscurity, may be a remnant of [a Druidical] festival.
Potter, p45.

I’ll take the Druidical festival with a pinch of salt, but the Beacon must have seen its fair share of revels. I totally understand the farmer not being able to look round for “inequalities of the surface” (i.e. trying not to fall over) – that often affects me. And I like his italicisation of charmed... it hints at a fairyish spot.

Collected into ‘County Folk-lore: Printed extracts no. 3, Leicestershire and Rutland’ by C.J. Billson (1895).

From the church we walked up to the Roman encampment of “Cadbury Castle,” which is most interesting. It was partially excavated in 1848, and on the previous evening we had been shown many interesting relics taken from it. The most valuable of these is a large ring of debased silver. On an intaglio of a light green antique paste is engraved an object supposed to be connected with the sacrifices of Apollo or Hercules. There are, besides, some smaller rings, some armlets, reminding one singularly of the present fashionable bangles, and making one remember that there is nothing new under the sun. Both the workmanship and design of these are singularly delicate. There were glass and enamel beads, horses’ teeth, fragments of pottery, &c.

All these had been taken from a well in the centre of the camp. There has been an attempt to fill up this well, but it persistently sinks down in the centre. There is a tradition that there is an underground passage from the top of Cadbury Castle to Dolberry Hill (Killerton). Risdon gives us the following couplet:-

“If Cadbury Castle and Dolberry Hill down delved were,
Then Denshire might plow with a golden coulter and eare with a guilded sheer.”

From the same source we learn “that a dragon, forsooth!” is supposed to guard these treasures.

The views from Cadbury Castle are both extensive and beautiful. The Dartmouth Tors were all plainly visible, and we saw Cawsand white with snow. Farther to the left our eyes rested on Exmouth and its Bar, and on the other side we saw the range of hills at Wellington, in Somersetshire.

By ‘Volo non Valeo’ in the Exeter and Plymouth Gazette, 29th May 1885. Tristram Risdon wrote his ‘Survey of the County of Devon’ in 1632.

I don’t understand how the traditional rhyme isn’t already written here. So I don’t apologise for the length of the following:

[...] Folklore and science, romance and archaeology, the unlearned and the learned, have all contributed answers [to the meaning of the stones]. From the folklore of the neighbourhood we have gleaned the story of the stones which has undoubtedly proved the most popular, and which will probably be attached to them as long as they stand. Indeed it is probable that if we searched the whole of England we should not find a site in which the folklore is a more living thing.

The story is well-enough known, but here it is:--
A certain King set out to conquer all England and had arrived at the head of his forces at the hill on which Rollright stands. He had almost reached its crest when a witch who claimed the ground appeared and stopped him with the words -

Seven long strides shalt thou take and
If Long Compton thou canst see
King of England thou shalt be.

Exulting greatly, thinking his victory assured, the King called out –

Stick, stock, stone,
As King of England I’ll be known.

and took the seven long strides, when, lo! there arose before him a mound of earth, which at the completion of the strides prevented him from seeing the village of Long Compton below. The witch then pronounced the doom --

As Long Compton thou canst not see,
King of England thou shalt not be,
Rise up stick, stand still stone,
For King of England thou shalt be none.
Thou and thy men hoar stones shall be,
And I myself an eldern tree.

And so it came about.

[...] The elder is abundant all around the stones and several bushes have been pointed out as that embodying the witch. If you find the right one and cut it her blood oozes out, and the stones are seen to shiver, in an endeavour to come to life, for when the witch’s blood is drawn her spell is broken and the King and his army will pursue their triumphant march.

On Midsummer eve, when the elder was in bloom it was formerly the custom for people to come to the King Stone and stand in a circle. Then an elder bush near by was cut and those present have affirmed that the King moved his head. The inhabitants of the district have, however, a dread of breaking the spell, and the writer was told, not so long ago, that those of Long Compton will not burn elder sticks in their grates.

The fairies dance round the King Stone of nights. One Will Hughes, of Long Compton, now gathered to his fathers, had seen them. They were little folk, he said, like little girls to look at. His wife’s mother, who had been murdered as a witch, remembered a hole in the bank out of which the fairies came, and she and her playmates had often placed a flat stone over the opening to keep them in, but it had always been turned over before the morning. Folklore and religion blend in the attitude felt towards the spot and Sir Arthur Evans tells of a labourer who always went to the stones on Good Friday, for there he would be on Holy ground.

Away to the south-east on the edge of the large field in which the circle is situated, is a rather jumbled group of five large stones, called the Whispering Knights, which are said to be five treacherous officers who had detached themselves from the King’s army and were plotting treason when the spell operated. They have their own particular piece of folklore and at midnight are said to run down the hill to drink at a spring in little Rollright spinney, every night according to some, only at special seasons according to others. At dusk, it is said, you can hear them whispering to each other.

Many of the stories attached to Rollright are to be found in other parts of Europe, and it is evident that we have in them something more than local superstition, but the subject is too great to be discussed here.

Another legend says that the stones become men at midnight, join hands and dance round in a circle and in Cornwall the name “Stone Dance” is attached to such circles as Rollright, the explanation there being that they are dancers turned to stone for dancing on the Sabbath.

[...] Rollright and its kindred circles were to the prehistoric people who erected and used them, places as sacred as our cathedrals and churches are to us to-day. That it should come, as it did yesterday afternoon, under the auctioneer’s hammer in a public saleroom, would have filled our ancestors, could they have foreseen and understood such a contingency, with the same kind of horror we should feel if the same auctioneers were to offer Westminster Abbey to the highest bidder.

From an article in the Banbury Guardian, 30th June 1927.

To the Editor of the West Briton. [...] In the year 1851 I was induced to visit Prospidnick village and hill, particularly the latter, by reading in Norden’s Speculi Britanniae Pars, &c., 1584, an account, accompanied by an engraving, of a singular mass of rocks that is in the neighbourhood; and, on making inquiries, was informed that Men Amber was still in existence, but not in the same state as when sketched by Norden, whose description is here given verbatim: “Mayne Amber, certain huge stones so sett and subtillye combined, not by art as I take it, but by nature, as a childe may move, the upper stone beinge of a huge bignes, with one finger, so equallie balanced it is, and the forces of menie strong men enjoyned, can do no more in moving it. It is to be imagined that theis stones were thus lefte at the general floude, when the earth was washed awaye, and the massie stones remayned, as are mightye rockes uncovered, standing upon lofty hills.” The following is from Carew, 1602:- “More certain though less wonderful, and yet for the strangeness well worth the viewing, Mayn Amber is a rock; Amber as some say signyfieth Ambrose, and a great rock the same is, advanced upon some others of a meaner size, with so equal a counterpoise, that the push of a finger will sensibly move it to and fro, but further to remove it the united forces of many shoulders over weak. Wherefore the Cornish wonder-gatherer thus describeth the same:-- “Be those thy mother Nature’s work, Or proof of Giant’s might, Worthless and ragged though thou show, Yet art thou worth the sight. This hugy rock one finger’s force Apparently will move, But to remove it many strengths Shall all like feeble prove.” Mr. Scawen, whose family had been established for a long time at Molenick, in St. Germans, tells us in his MSS., written in the latter part of the 17th century, when and by whom this logan stone was thrown down. Complaining of the mischief done by strangers, he writes:- “Here, too, we may add what wrong another sort of strangers has done to us, especially in the civil wars, and in particular by destroying Mineamber, a famous monument, being a rock of infinite weight, which as a burden was laid upon other great stonesn; and yet so equally thereon poised up by Nature only, as a little child could instantly move it, but no one man or many remove it. This natural monument all travellers that came that way desired to behold, but in the time of Oliver’s usurpation, when all monumental things became despicable, one Shrubsall, one of Oliver’s heroes, then governor of Pendennis, by labour and much ado caused to be undermined and thrown down, to the great grief of the country, but to his own great glory as he thought, doing it, as he said, with a small cane in his hand. I myself have heard him boast of this act, being a prisoner then under him.” There was a tradition or prophecy, current at the time, that Mineamber, so called by Scawen, should stand as long as England had a king; its overthrow by Shrubsall seems to have been for the purpose of showing the loyal Cornish that kings were to reign no longer. Borlase’s account is as follows:- “In the parish of Sithney stood the famous Logan stone, commonly called Men-amber; it is 11 foot long from east to west, four foot deep, wide six foot; there is no bason on the surface, but on the stone B there is one plain one. This top stone was so nicely poised that, as Mr. Seawen in his MSS. says, &c. There are some marks of the tool upon this stone, the surface, C D, being wrought into a wavy place, as in the Icon; and by its quadrangular shape I should judge it to have been dedicated to Mercury, as by a bason cut in the under stone B, I judge the stone A to be placed on the top of this karn by human art. However that be, certain it is that the vulgar used to resort to this place at particular times of the year, and pay’d to this stone more respect than was thought becoming good christians, which was the reason that by cleaving off part of the stone B, the top stone A was lay’d along in its present reclined posture and its wonderful property of moving easily to a certain point destroyed. It was the top stone, therefore, of this Cragg which drew the common people together and raised their admiration; and I find that in the Cornish language Mea-an-bar signifies the top stone, and I do not at all doubt but that Men-amber is a corruption of Men-an-bar, and signifies nothing either relating to Ambrosius Aurelius, King of Britain, or to the Petrae Ambrosiae of the Ancients, as some learned men have thought.” – Antiquities, 1754. The letters in the last extract refer to a plan of the rock.[...] Yours obediently,

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From a letter in the West Briton newspaper, 20th January 1870. He signs himself as a capital Delta. I guess the 1870 equivalent of an internet name perhaps?!

The “Wart Stone,” or “Font,” appears on the Ordnance Survey Map, No. 26, as “Doughnambraher Font.” Thinking it very unlikely that there should be a font without a church, I came to the conclusion that there might be a bullaun at the spot marked. It is about three-quarters of a mile from Drummeen, or Barrycarroll Castle, and there is a sort of road all the way to it. We turned aside to visit the Castle, and so had to cross the fields to get to the bullaun.

We made inquiries once or twice from the inhabitants, and found out that the name of the place was Kyleane (three syllables), Killian on map; and that there was a stone there which would cure warts.

When we reached the place they pointed out, we soon found a large bullaun, of which I send a sketch. My friends thought it lay in a sort of fort, or enclosure, but I am not so sure. It is a large, flat sandstone, with one large basin in it, and something which looks like the beginning of a second. There are nine round stones in it which make part of the charm against warts: I suppose to turn them round like the Killeany stones.

We measured it as carefully as we could. The length of the stone is about 5 feet 7 inches, the width 3 feet 4 inches, while the basin is 1 foot 8 inches long, and 1 foot 3 inches wide. [...]

Miss G C Stacpoole reports in the 1904 volume of the Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland.
The information via the Historic Environment Viewer describes the bullaun and its stones. It says the stone is also known locally as ‘Jack Baker’s Well’ and is made of Old Red Sandstone. It contains ‘seven water-rolled ‘cursing’ stones’. Situated in the basin of a ballaun stone lying in the perimeter of an ecclesiastical enclosure. Seven ‘fist-sized’ egg-shaped water-rolled stones lie in the basin which is sometimes waterfilled and associated with the cure of warts. There were previously ten stones although the number seems to vary up and down over time. Stacpoole includes nine stones in his [her!] drawing. ‘Rounds’ performed here involved rubbing each stone against the afflicted part of the body and placing an offering of some sort under the bullaun. In February 1993 this practice continued. While stones of this type are generally classified as cursing stones there is no known evidence of their use for that purpose in this instance.

I cannot tell you how long it’s taken me to track down the location of this site... variant spellings and unfamiliarity with the area did not help. But anyway it sounds superb so all this is worth the effort. I’d love to visit.

This is a naturally curious place, with a stream disappearing into the ground and reappearing: it’s no wonder it’s replete with folklore and Christianisation. I advise a glance at the Historic Environment Viewer map to see where the well, stream, ‘bed’, and bullauns all are.

This is an extract from an article on ‘The antiquities of the Parish of Kilcomenty’ in The Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries for 1904:

About 30 yards east of the graveyard, a rapid stream which there issues from the ground is called St. Commaneth’s Well. This stream flows from Ballinahinch, about two miles distant, and close beside the saint’s bed; it is carried underground for nearly 200 yards, emerging at and forming the well; then, turning sharply by the south wall of the graveyard, it finally empties itself into the bog of Shower.

One of the legends told concerning the well is that long ago it was situated close by the stone known as St. Commaneth’s Bed, but that some cattle having been accidentally allowed to sully its waters, the well in a single night moved down to its present site.

Two of the traditional trout said to frequent holy wells in Ireland are supposed to be here.

Over the well, completely shading its waters, are four ancient trees – one sallow, one whitethorn, and two ash. Those two last are in reality one enormous tree, which, near the lower part of the trunk, is divided in two, and its branches and the hollow by the well are covered with rags and votive offerings of every description, deposited by pilgrims who have made their rounds.

The summer of 1902 was exceptionally dry in North Tipperary, the month of August being phenomenally so. Springs, wells, and streams that in living memory had never been known to do so, ran dry; and St. Commaneth’s Well formed no exception to the general rule, for it must be recorded that we failed to find even one drop of water within its usually brimming basin.

The rounds practised here are seven in number. Having taken seven pebbles from the stream running from the well, and having repeated the Lord’s Prayer, Hail Mary!, Creed, and Gloria, the pilgrim throws one of the pebbles back into the brook, and proceeds to walk round the well. Following the course of the water for a time “sunwards,” through the field south of the stream, he crosses it by a small bridge and enters the graveyard by a gate at the extremity of the south wall. Proceeding along a well-worn pathway by its north and east sides, he quits its precincts by a stile, which brings him to the well again, where he kneels and prays, and so on, until the appointed number of rounds are performed. While Mr. Westropp and I were in the cemetery, a country woman and two children “were making their rounds.”

Close by the spot where the water of the stream disappears for a space under ground rests the traditional bed of the saint, lying north of the stream, and nearer to the road than the graveyard and well. It is a large irregular block of brownish sandstone, 8 feet long, and 4 feet 9 inches wide, extreme measurements, and stands about 2 1/2 to 3 feet high. The highest end is to the west, and here is a large and deep bullaun. To the west of this is a shallow, dish-like bullaun, and there are traces of two or more basins. Two sets of scorings are to be found on the stone; that nearer the top consists of six irregular broad strokes, not ogamic in character, while the set lower down consists of four slight scores. These markings are reputed to represent the impressions of the saint’s ribs and hands.

There’s some extra folklorey information in Lives of the Irish Saints by John O’Hanlon. He mentions that the prayers at the well are good for “bodily and mental ailments.”

He says of the trout: “The following is a local legend. A person of the neighbourhood, at one time, scorning to respect the well, took one of these trout home, and made an effort to roast it; nothing but blood appeared, and the rascal had to bring the trout back to the well; but from that day forward, the family has not had good luck.”

He mentions of the bed: “About two hundred yards noth-east of the well, in the midst of hawthorn and alder trees, there is a great Druidic rock basin, of brown sandstone, quite unlike stone of the immediate place, which is limestone,” and that the basins are “always full or half full of water.”

I love the way he mixes Druids and saints. He says “There is no doubt, that the stone lay, in its present position, long before the period of the patron saint. On the conversion of the Druids, he may have used the basins for baptizing the early Christians of the place, and may have rested on it occasionally. There is nothing impossible or improbable in this presumption, and tradition may be perfectly correct.”

The Hertfordshire HER says there is a (probable) henge here, with its entrances east and west, and a diameter of 85m. There used to be a dene hole inside it, in which Neolithic arrow heads were found. The hole was also known as being ‘Jack O’Legs’s Cave’ (dully, it’s now filled in). But you can’t help thinking that a henge with built-in cave would be a rather marvellous thing.

On Jack O’Legs:

At Weston, two stones in the churchyard, 14ft. 7 inches apart, are said to be the head and foot stones of the giant Jack o’ Legs, who is there buried with his body doubled up. He lived at Baldock, – where, as he walked along the street, he would look in at the first-floor windows, – and thence he shot an arrow, saying that where it fell he wished to be buried. It fell in Weston Churchyard, and, in its flight, knocked away a corner of the church tower. (Told in 1883).

From ‘Scraps of folklore collected by John Philipps Emslie’, C.S. Burne, in ‘Folklore’ v26, no. 2 (June 1915).

Likewise he’s mentioned in ‘Handbook to Hitchin and the neighbourhood’ by Charles Bishop (1875):

On the Great North Road, near the village of Graveley, is a considerable elevation which goes by the name of “Jack’s Hill,” from its having been the scene of depradations on travellers by a noted highwayman called “Jack o’ Legs.” [...]

In fact if you’re interested, there’s a whole book about this character by W.B. Gerish (1905). It suggests the cave was filled in around 1850.

The Camp At Portskewett.
(From a Correspondent).

[...] Thanks to the members of the corps – about 20 in number – who, under the command of Captain Williams, proceeded to the camp on Saturday last, a sufficient number of tents had been pitched for our accommodation before our arrival en masse on Monday.

[...] There is nothing which indicates the whereabouts of the “soldiery” until one is as it were in the midst of them. The tents are completely hidden from view by the high ramparts which extend from the north-east to the south. The piece of ground enclosed within the ramparts is of a triangular form, the eastern line being formed by the waters of the Severn. Coming suddenly into a deep moat without the ramparts, one is as suddenly confronted by a sentry, marching with a soldier-like air, a guard-room, or rather a guard tent, and a number of the guard lounging about.

Immediately in front of the guard tent, there is a gap, cut right in the angle of the encampment, and looking through this the whole of the tents and their occupants within are at once visible, presenting to the visitor a lively and picturesque scene, of which, two minutes before, he could have had no perception.

[...] The weather has been glorious throughout the week, but the heat, which would be exceedingly oppressive in town, is rendered delightful here, with a stiff fresh breeze flowing across the water. Each day the men have worked and drilled with a subordination that would be creditable even to a soldier of long service, and order has been maintained night and day. Heavy gun drill has been gone into most zealously, and some good practice has been made [...]

Ghost stories are not wanting in the guard room, for one good reason. On the north-east are the ruins of an old Roman chapel known as the chapel of the Holy Trinity, and no doubt was connected with the Roman encampment. Sundry remains of the genus homo in decay have been found in this spot, although the outline of the graveyard which adjoined the chapel has been effaced. A sentry is posted in the vicinity of the old chapel, and more than one have felt a chill creep over him during the still hours; but it is unnecessary to mention the little rumours which have currency during the last couple of days.

I have forgotten to mention that the immediate vicinity of the camp is called Sudbrook, and also that the advantages of the spot were utilised as a place to land, conceal, and protect his soldiers by Oliver Cromwell before he stormed Caldicott Castle. The place is in the highest degree classic and historic ground, and is well worth visiting.[...]

From the Western Mail, 4th August 1871.

The Druid’s Circle is situated two miles from Raphoe at Beltony. It is composed of sixty seven stones all standing erect in a circle.
South of this circle there is a large stone where all the victims were hung for there is a trace of a chain on it.

From this circle a giant threw a large stone to Nagherahane where a giant’s grave now lies. Another grave is to be found in Mrs Craig’s land. On top of it there is a large stone standing erect.
There is gold to be found at the Druid’s Circle. Many tourists came from Derry to dig for the gold but found none.

Adjacent to this circle there is the ‘Old Wind Mill’ where a number of giants were buried.
The druids worshipped the sun or fire Bael teine – “fire of Bael”.

Giants’ graves are numerous in Ireland so that shows us there were a great many giants in olden times.

Molly McClean (age 14)

Collected for the Schools Collection of the 1930s, now being transcribed at Duchas.ie.

Within 20 perches of where I live in Ballyglass is a Druidical circle formed of a big pile of stones each about 10 cwt. To the North of this circle is something like a rude altar composed of stones and also to the South end of the altar is another one.

Antiquarians who visit this place describe it as where the Druids offered up their sacrifice to their Gods in pre Christian times. Outside the Northern end of the circle are huge stones sunk in the earth and separated from each other. Antiquarians describe them as graves which are marked by these huge stones. Notwithstanding that it is of Druidical Origin the local people hold it very sacred and wouldn’t interfere with it for their untold lives.

An old man who once lived in the vicinity of the Druidical Circle found himself on a Sunday morning without a razor to shave himself to go to Mass. It been on a fine Summer’s day instead of going to Mass he entered the Druidical Circle and knelt down on a cromlech which is supposed to be the grave of some chief and said his prayers as he could not attend Mass. When he had his prayers said he lay down on the cromlech and fell asleep. When he awoke he found a razor by his side. It was so good that it would shave all the people in Mayo without an edge.

For about a hundred years it was an heirloom of the family until some young man stole it some years ago.

Collected by Thomas Pryal from Andrew Pryal in the 1930s, for the Schools Collection (now being transcribed at Duchas.ie.

Tlachtga is an important site in many early Irish sources, incorporating several strands of Irish mythology. The site is reputedly named after a druidess, the daughter of the quasi-mythical sun-god figure Mog Ruith, named in another tale as the executioner of John the Baptist.

According to Geoffrey Keating’s History of Ireland, Tlachtga was one of four great fortresses (along with Tara, Teltown and Uisneach) built by the high king Tuathal Techmar following the creatio of the kingdom of Mide in the early decades of the first millennium AD. Each of these fortresses was constructed from part of an existing kingdom: Uisneach from Connacht, Tlachtga from Munster, Tara from Leinster and Teltown from Ulster.

Tlachtaga was strongly associated with the festival of Samhain. It was reputed to be the site of the ‘Fire of Tlachtga’ which was used to summon ‘the priests, the augurs and druids of Ireland’ to assemble on Samhain eve in order to ‘consume the sacrifices that were offered to their pagan gods’. It was decreed that all fires within the kingdom on that night were to be kindled from the Fire of Tlachtga, under penalty of fine. In recent times the tradition of a Samhain gathering on the hill has been revived, and fire once again burns on Tlachtga on Samhain eve.

In 1167 Tlachtga was the site of the last of the reform synods to be held under Irish kingship. Presided over by Ruiadri Ua Conchobair, the last high king of Ireland, 13,000 horsemen are said to have attended, along with provincial kings and key ecclesiastical figures of the day, including Gelasius of Armagh, St Laurence O’Toole of Dublin and Cadhla of Tuam. Five years later, in 1172, Tigeman Mor Ua Ruairc, king of Breifne for over 40 years, was slain on the hill ‘by treachery’ following failed negotiations with Hugh de Lacy regarding the succession of Meath to the Anglo-Normans. Later still, both Owen Roe O’Neill (1643) and Cromwell (1649) are reputed to have encamped on the Hill, accounting for some of the disturbance evident at the site today.

From ‘Heritage Guide no. 63: The Hill of Ward: A Samhain site in County Meath.’ (Archaeology Ireland, December 2013).

The Hill of Slane overlooks a key fording point of the River Boyne, with clear views of the Hill of Tara and Skryne to the south. Little is known of the hill’s prehistory, although geological work suggests that some stone for the Bru na Boinne tombs came from here.

A large enclosed mound hidden in the wood on the hill’s western edge is classified as an Anglo-Norman motte. The nature of its enclosure and its association with a possible ring-barrow suggest that it originated as a prehistoric monument. Herity has compared it to other large mounds, such as that at Rathcroghan, and has stressed its possible ritual significance.

The hill was first associated with a life of St Patrick written by the seventh-century hagiographer Muirchu, who described the saint’s journey from the mouth of the River Boyne and the lighting of the paschal fire at Fertae Fer Feic (’grave-mound of the men of Feic’). A central figure in the story is Erc, first bishop of Slane, who was linked with an area containing Fertae Fer Feic and Slane.

Cathy Swift has shown that the antiquarian James Ware linked Fertae Fer Feic with the hilltop, although souces suggest that this place may have been elsewhere along the Boyne Valley. Swift stresses, however, that early medieval mounds, churches and forts were often connected with legal centres. The Hill of Slane contains both an enclosed mound and an important church site documented as an important legal centre from the eighth century AD, with links to French monastic sites. Therefore, while Slane is unlikely to have been the site of the legendary paschal fire, it has important links to the Patrician story.

From Matthew Seaver and Conor Brady’s “Heritage Guide No. 55: Hill of Slane” (Archaeology Ireland, December 2011).

There are several big Kairnes of Stone on the East-side this Island [ South Uist ], and the Vulgar retain the antient Custom of making a Religious Tour round them on Sundays and Holidays.

From

‘A description of the Western Islands of Scotland‘ by M. Martin, 2nd edition, 1716.

You can see some pictures of the stone on Canmore.

There is another [stone] at the Key, opposite to Kirkibast, 12 foot high: the Natives say that Delinquents were ty’d to this Stone in time of Divine Service.

From

‘A description of the Western Islands of Scotland‘ by M. Martin, 2nd edition, 1716.

The most remarkable Stones for Number, Bigness, and Order, that fell under my Observation, were at the Village of Classerniss; where there are 39 Stones set up 6 or 7 foot high, and 2 foot in breadth each: they are plac’d in form of an Avenue, the breadth of which is 8 foot, and the distance between each Stone six; and there is a Stone set up in the Entrance of this Avenue: at the South end there is join’d to this Range of Stone a Circle of 12 Stones of equal distance and height with the other 39. There is one set up in the Centre of this Circle, which is 13 foot high, and shap’d like the Rudder of a Ship: without this Circle there are 4 stones standing to the West, at the same distance with the Stones in the Circle; and there are 4 Stones set up in the same manner at the South and East sides.

I enquir’d of the Inhabitants what Tradition they had from their Ancestors concerning these Stones; and they told me, it was a Place appointed for Worship in the time of Heathenism, and that the Chief Druid or Priest stood near the big Stone in the center, from whence he address’d himself to the People that surrounded him.

From

‘A description of the Western Islands of Scotland‘ by M. Martin, 2nd edition, 1716.

The Thrushel Stone in the Parish of Barvas is above 20 foot high, and almost as much in breadth. There are three erected Stones upon the North side of Loch-Carlvay, about 12 foot high each. Several other Stones are to be seen here in remote places, and some of them standing on one end. Some of the ignorant Vulgar say, they were Men by Inchantment turn’d into Stones; and others say, they are Monuments of Persons of Note kill’d in Battel.

‘A description of the Western Islands of Scotland‘ by M. Martin, 2nd edition, 1716.

If you had £3m you could have bought the house that owns the land this stands on. It would be nice to overlook the Puggie Stone from your windows. I wouldn’t say no.

Scarcely half a mile above Holy-street, a tor rises near the river’s brink on the south side, called, by the country people, the Puckie, or Puggie Stone, and celebrated for the large rock-basin, or pan, (as it is popularly called,) on its summit. The antiquary, trusting to local report, will be disappointed when after having succeeded in scaling the rock, he finds that the characteristics of the genuine rock-basin, as described [on p.29] are not sufficiently clear to enable him to pronounce, that this is not one of the examples, attributable exclusively to the operation of natural agencies. Although of large size, it is not of the usual circular form, nor do its sides display any decisive indications of artificial adaptation. But if disappointed in the main object of his research, the explorere will be repaid for his escalade, by the commanding view he will have gained of the wild-wood glen down which the Teign rushes, foaming along its rock-bound channel, in all the youthful vigour of a mountain-born torrent.

For the means of examining this basin, as it can only be reached by a ladder, I am indebted to the kindness of Mr. Nicolas Clampit, the hospitable occupier of the interesting old mansion at Holy-street, one of the Forest tenants.

Samuel Rowe’s ‘Perambulation of the antient and Royal Forest of Dartmoor and the Venville Precincts’ (1848). You’d think he would like the fact the basin’s not ‘real’ and natural. You’d think he might like that someone deliberately adjusted it (c.f. druid sacrifices). If anyone even did. I would like it either way, natural or artificial.

‘Puckie’ surely has to have connections with the piskies – like ‘puck’. (Though a ‘puggy’ was a word for a squirrel far away in eastern England).

JLW Page (in his ‘exploration of Dartmoor and its antiquities’ 1889) says “This isolated stone is certainly the largest single mass off the Moor, though some of the blocks under Combe Farm, at the entrance of the Teign Gorge, rivals. It has a length of twenty-five feet, a breadth of eleven, and is no less than fourteen feet in height.”

[There is] the tradition that “Bowerman” lived in the locality at the time of the Conquest. He must have had something peculiarly striking in the pattern of his nose! Still we like to keep our “Bowerman” as a personality, and feel hardly grateful to modern learning, which comes down upon us with ponderous weight and says we have ignorantly corrupted the Celtic name of Vawr Maen, the Great Stone.

From ‘Dartmoor and its surroundings: what to see and how to find it.’ by Beatrix F Cresswell, 1900.

Historic England’s website mentions the alternative name of Roundago, so I guess this is the place. It says ‘the round was first depicted on the 1840 Tithe Map when it still had a massive stone outer wall with an entrance to the south and a colonnade of stones which led to an inner circular enclosure. When described by Blight in 1865, the inner enclosure could hardly be traced and the avenue had been removed. However, the ramparts were still massively constructed.‘

Unfortunately, not a few of the hoary remains of an unlettered age have been wilfully or ignorantly destroyed, although some owe their preservation as much to the lasting superstitions of the people as to their remote positions, apart from the haunts of man. The following story will shew that some ojections still remain in the popular mind against interfering with these ancient stones. Farmers find the rude crosses, which are still very numerous in Cornwall, extremely convenient as gate-posts, and to that use many of them have been brought. Such an one set his labourer to sink a pit for a post, but when the pit was finished and the labourer weas told that the cross standing in the field, a little distance off, was to be placed in it, the man absolutely refused to have any hand in the matter; not, be it said, on account of the beautiful or the antique, but for fear of “the old people.”

Another farmer related that he had a neighbour who “haeled down a lot of stwuns called the Roundago, and sold ‘em for building the docks at Penzance. But ne’er a penny of the money he got for ‘em ever prospered, and there wasn’t wan of the hosses that haeled ‘em that lived out the twelve-month; and they do say that some of the stwuns do weep blood, but” --reluctantly-- “I don’t believe that.”

From ‘Cornwall Pre-historic and Present’ by C G Harper in ‘Architecture’ v2, pp176-184 (1897).

In the grounds of the Lodge, which command a fine view of the Thames, St George’s Hills and Kingston Vale, is a mound, marked as the King’s Standinge on the oldest extant map of the Park, dated 1637, the year of its first enclosure. This quaint name, the real meaning of which cannot be determined, is supposed to have reference to the legend that Henry VIII. stood upon the mound to watch for the going up of the rocket which was to announce to him that the head of Anne Boleyn had fallen, and, in deference to this tradition, care was taken when Sidmouth Wood was planted not to intercept the view from the mound, by leaving a clear space, through which the dome of St. Paul’s can be seen on exceptionally clear days, between two rows of trees that some years hence will form a fine avenue. Unfortunately, however, there is really no more historic foundation for the romantic story connected with the King’s Standinge-- Henry having been far away from Richmond on the day of the unfortunate queen’s death -- than for the even more improbable supposition that Oliver’s Mount takes its name from Oliver Cromwell having witnessed from it a battle between the Royal and Parliamentary forces, no struggle having taken place that could possibly have been seen from Richmond Park.

From ‘The Royal Manor of Richmond, with Petersham, Ham and Kew’ by Mrs A G Bell (1907).

From ‘Hell’s Gate’ we ascend to ‘Heaven’s Gate’ and so win our way to the brow of the Wrekin, 1,335 feet above the sea. ‘There is on the Toppe of this Hill a delicate plaine Ground, and in this plaine a fayre Fountaine,’ wrote Leland, the antiquary, long ago. No water is to be found there now except such as collects, from time to time, in the ‘Raven’s Bowl,’ a cup-like depression on the top of a conical outcrop of rock, know as the ‘Bladder, (or Balder’s) Stone.’ At the foot of this rock there is a deep, narrow, crooked cleft, yclept the ‘Needle’s Eye.’ Now the fable goes that, if any young maid dips her foot into the Raven’s Bowl, and then ‘threads the Needle’s Eye,’ by scrambling through the cloven rock, she will be married within a twelvemonth, ‘so sure as there’s acherns in Shropshire.

Acherns = acorns? From ‘Nooks and Corners of Shropshire’ by H T Timmins (1899).

John Wood mentions in the 1769 edition of his ‘Description of Bath’ that –

The predominant Colour of that part of the Stone in the Works of Stantondrue, supposed to have been taken from Oaky Hole, is Red; and it is so exceedingly hard, that it will polish almost as well as some of the purple Italian Marble, and is as beautiful: The other Stone is of two Colours, White and Grey; the white Stone seems to have been the Produce of Dundry Hill, but the grey Stone resembles the Sand Rocks about Stantondrue, and seems to have been taken from them.

Oaky Hole , I thought... where can that be? I think he’s determined to get oaks in there because it’s the favourite tree of druids. And where would a druid and his disciples hang out – a cave, like (so he says) Pythagoras and his disciples did. He says that the cave is situated by the City of Wells – so it’s Wookey Hole. Geologists probably have alternative theories, but it’s interesting as a mythological explanation that gets the druids in there. Wood hypothesised that Stanton Drew itself was a druidical temple and college.

The stone called “Hawkwell’s Quoit” is accounted for by a [...] legend. An ancient knight, whose name was Hawkwell, and whose effigy is preserved in Chew Magna church, is reported to have been a giant of immense strength and of a very wicked and malignant disposition. Amongst his other exploits he is reported to have dug a spadeful of earth out of the side of Dundry-hill and flung it from the hole (which is still to be seen in the hill side) to the top of a hill above Norton Malreward, two miles distant, where it forms a considerable tumulus, or barrow, visible many miles round. On his jumping to where the earth had fallen, and having the capabilities of “Spring-heel Jack,” he did so at one bound, he scraped his feet on his shovel and so formed a second but smaller barrow; then being an excellent quoit player he threw one of his quoits from the top of the heap intending to knock down the steeple of Stanton Drew church, distant about two and a half miles; in this instance, however, his aim was deficient, and the stone quoit fell short of the mark.

‘The Cheerful Visitor’ writing in The Bristol Mercury, September 2nd, 1854.

WELSH SUPERSTITION

At the late Flint Assizes a man was indicted for extorting 14s. 6d. from another person under the pretence of rescuing him from “the well,” Llaneilion.

It appears that a profitable species of incantation has long been practised by the wizards and witches in the neighbourhood of this celebrated well. It is customary, even at the present day for people at enmity with each other to write the names of those they wish to denounce on a piece of slate or paper, which they throw into the mysterious well; and it is implicitly believed, that so long as the name remains therein, the person is at the mercy of the evil genii, and consigned to ultimate perdition.

To escape from this worse than papal malediction, sums of money are given to have the name removed, and thus restore the party to peace. This indictment, it is hoped, will have the effect of finally destroying this ridiculous and superstitious custom. About twelve years ago, a poor tailor in Flintshire was charged with stealing a goose from an old woman; she was asked how she came to suspect the offender; when she observed that having threatened to “throw his name into the well,” he confessed the crime!

From the Royal Cornwall Gazette, Falmouth Packet and Plymouth Journal, September 9th, 1818. Kind of reminds me of the lead curses thrown into the pool at Aquae Sulis nearly 2000 years before.

“L’Autel des Vardes” at L’Ancresse.

This consists of five enormous blocks of granite, laid horizontally on perpendicular piles, as large as their enormous covering. Around it, the remains of a circle of stones, of which the radius is thirty-three feet, and the centre of which coincides with the tomb. Mr Metivier says in his “Souvenirs Historiques de Guernesey” that this “Cercle de la Plain,” in Norse Land Kretz, on this exposed elevation, could not fail to attract the attention of the Franks, Saxons, and Normans, and thus gave its name to the surrounding district.

In it were found bones, stone hatchets, hammers, skulls, limpet shells, etc., etc.

It is perhaps to this latter fact that we must attribute the idea which is entertained by the peasantry that hidden treasures, when discovered by a mortal, are transformed in appearance by the demon who guards them into worthless shells.

From Guernsey Folk Lore by Edgar MacCulloch, edited by Edith Carey (1903).

In the townland of Kilcarrol in Thomas Keating’s land there is a fort by the name of “The Fort of The Black Dog”. There was a tree growing in the middle of it, one night a man was going to another house and as he was passing the fort a light appeared before him. The next thing he saw was a black dog. The man turned to run but the dog caught him by the coat and turned him back. The man took up a stick which was beside him and started to beat the dog, but the dog stretched him on the ground. They were fighting for a long time until a man came to them. They both killed the dog and they buried him near the tree and covered him with a pile of stones round, and the stones are to be seen yet and the tree also.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, currently being transcribed at Duchas.ie. The black dog isn’t overtly described as supernatural (and it seems to be mortal) but its attendant light and habit of lurking about in a fort suggest otherwise to listeners of the story that know these symbols. The Historic Environment Viewer shows quite a collection of interesting things here – the rath, which contains a ‘Foot Stone’ according to the old 25” map (maybe a foot print of someone in stone?), and also Tobercarroll (a holy well), and a penitential station.

The White Loch of Myrton has a rather other-worldly reputation. It was said that:

In Galloway, the Loch, called Loch-myrton, although it be common to all fresh water to freeze in Winter, yet the one halfe of this Loch doth never freeze at any time.

From ‘A Memoriall of the most rare and wonderfull things in Scotland’ – published in ‘Certeine Matters Concerning the Realme of Scotland, composed together’, 1603.

Andrew Symson disagrees in his ‘Large Description of Galloway’ (1684), and being a minster is rather disaproving of people’s rituals involving the water:

This loch is very famous in many writers, who report that it never freezeth in the greatest frosts. Whether it had that vertue of old, I know not; but sure I am it hath it not now; for this same year it was so hard frozen that the heaviest carriages might have been carried over it. However, I deny not but the water thereof may be medicinal, having receaved severall credible informations, that severall persons, both old and young, have been cured of continued diseases by washing therein; yet still I cannot approve of their washing three times therein, which, they say, they must do; neither the frequenting thereof the first Sunday of the quarter, viz. the first Sunday of February, May, August and November; although many foolish people affirm, that not only the water of this loch, but also many other springs and wells have more vertue on those days than any other.

It also had fairy connections:

Sir Godfrey McCulloch having squandered his patrimony and sold his estates in Mochrum to the Maxwells of Monreith, took up house at Cardoness. Here a neighbour, William Gordon, having poinded some cattle straying on his lands, Sir Godfrey joined a party illegally convened to release them. A fray was the result, in which McCulloch, in the words of his indictment, “did shoot at the said Gordon with aa gun charged, and by the shot broke his thigh bone and leg, so that he immediately fell to the ground and within a few hours thereafter died of the same shot wound.” Sir Godfrey fled the country, and some years after ventured on a Sunday to attend a church in Edinburgh. A Galloway man was among the congregation, who, recognising him, jumped up and cried: “Pit to the door, there’s a murderer in the kirk!” This was done, McCullough arrested, tried, condemned, and his head “stricken fra his body” the 5th of March 1697. So say the Criminal Records: there is a very different local version of the story.

Long long before the fatal encounter, and before he had entered on the evil courses which led to his ruin, Sir Godfrey, young and curly, sat at a window in the Tower of Myrtoun watching the operations of a gang of workmen forming a new sewer from his house to the White Loch below it. Suddenly he was startled by the apparition close beside him of a very little old man whose hair and beard were snowy white, whose strangely-cut costume was green, and who seemed in a state of furious wrath.

Sir Godfrey received him, notwithstanding, with the greatest urbanity, and begged to be told in what way he could serve him. the answer was a startling one; “McCulloch,” said the visitor, “I am the king of the brownies! My palace has been for ages in the mound on which your tower stands, and you are driving your common sewer right through my chalmer of dais [i.e. his best room].”

Sir Godfrey, confounded, threw up the window and ordered the workmen to stop at once, professing his perfect readisness to make the drain in any such direction as might least incommode his majesty, if he would graciously indicate the same. His courtesy was accepted, and Sir Godfrey received a promise in return from the now mollified potentate, that he, the said king, would stand by and help him in the time of his greatest need.

It was long after this that the knight of Myrtoun disposed of his enemy in the summary way we have already mentioned, and for which he was condemned to die. The procession had started for the place of eecution; a crowd was collected to see the awful sight; when the spectators were surprised by seeing a very little man with white hair and beard, dressed too in an antique suit of green, and mounted on a white horse. He issued from the castle-rock, crossed the loch without a moment’s hesitation, and rode straight up to the cart on which Sir Godfrey, accompanied by the executioner and a minister, was standing. They plainly saw Sir Godfrey get on the horse behind the little man, who was no other than the king of the brownies (and thus fulfilled his promise by arriving in his hour of need): the two recrossed the loch, and mounting the castle-rock they disappeared.

When the astonished crowd again turned their eyes to the cart a figure was still there, and wondrous like Sir Godfrey; it was, therefore, generally believed that he had met a felon’s doom, and most people thought no more about it. A few only knew better, but these cared little to speak about the matter. At rare intervals, however, one of the initiated would impart the story to a friend, and tell how a head had rolled upon the ground, leaving a bleeding trunk upon the scaffold: then adding in a confidential whisper, “It was no’ him ava, it was just a kin’ o’ glamour.”

From Andrew Agnew’s ‘Hereditary Sheriffs of Galloway‘, volume 2, 1893.

The parish of St Antony in Kirrier occupies a mere neck of land, bounded on one side by the Helford River, and on the other by the Durra. The church, embosomed in trees, and almost close to the water’s edge, stands on the southern side of the narrowest part of the promontory, the extreme eastern point of which is cut off by an ancient earthwork, Castle Dinas, which was occupied during the Great Rebellion, and surrendered to Sir Thomas Fairfax in 1646. It was the last place in Cornwall held for the King, except St. Michael’s Mount and Pendennis Castle, and was defended by Sir Richard Vyvyan.

The situation of the church is very peculiar, and has a legend attached similar to that of Gunwalloe. It is said that soon after the Conquest, as some Normans of rank were crossing from Normandy into England, a tempest drove them on the Cornish coast where they were in momentary danger of destruction; but in their distress they called on St Antony, and vowed if he would save them from shipwreck they would build a church in his honour on the spot where they should first land. The ship was wafted into the Durra creek, and there the pious Normans as soon as possible fulfilled their vow.

From J T Blight’s Churches of West Cornwall (1885).

The high road regained, the party was met by Mr. Pochin, who piloted the visitors to a Cromlech on the side of the hill overhanging the Conway river. Here, again, it was found that the relic of the past was in danger of destruction, and at the evening meeting it was resolved to appeal (through Mr. Pochin) to the owner to get it properly fenced.

This Cromlech is known by the name of Allor Moloch, and a local guide-book refers to a tradition which connects it with Edred, duke of Mercia, and Anarawd, prince of Wales, who fought in a bloody battle in the district in 880.

“As soon as Edred, the Saxon chieftain, was taken, a fire was kindled under the altar, and between the two upright stones, or arms of the God Moloch as some call them, until all the stones became intensely hot, when Edred was placed there by means of tongs or pincers specially prepared for the purpose; the heat being so great that his body was turned into ashes and scattered to the winds.”

Pennant further informs us that “Anarawd styled the battle Dial Rodri, or the Revenge of Roderic, for his father, Roderic the Great, had the year before been slain by the Saxons.”

From the visit of the Cambrian Archaeological Society, August 1882, recorded in The Antiquary volume 6.
Allor Moloch means the Altar of Moloch. Moloch is Canaanite god mentioned in the bible. He was supposedly cast as a bronze statue which was fired up before sacrificial victims were chucked inside. Nice. Still you know what the Romans used to say about the Druids, probably fibs. Anyway, a good pagan name for a non-Christian monument.

SLAGACHORRIE -- The Hollow of the Glenlet.
The term was anciently applied to a semicircular recess occurring among the hills, though such a depression only varied in shape with the local geological formation, but in all cases it was originally due to the disintegrating influence of some mountain torrent. Occasionally it means a whirlpool in the sea.

Some maintain that the name is Slochd a Corrie, the Ravine of the Kettle, and the following tradition is told in support of this view: --

On that tragic night in 1442, when the Comyn Family were unsuspectingly put to the dagger at their own table, in Raite Castle, by the Mackintoshes, whom their hosts had intended as the real victims, one of the domestics – a covetous young fellow – is said to have done a crafty deed. Coolly taking advantage of the terrible death struggle which raged in the great hall, he very stealthily entered the strong room and emptied the contents of the various coffers into an old kettle for his own personal use.

Soon after midnight he slipped away from the Castle, under the cover of darkness, and sped with his heavy burden across the Hill of the Ord. On reaching this lonely hollow, he hastily dug a suitable pit, in a secret cranny, and therein carefully deposited his ill-gotten gear – hoping to remove it at the earliest possible opportunity. But the Fates had decreed it otherwise; the lad never returned, and the kettle with all its precious treasure still remains undiscovered, even to the present day.

From The natural history of a highland parish, Ardlach, Nairnshire‘ by Robert Thomson, 1900.

Mr Aubrey’s account of it is this. “About a mile [or less] from the Hill [White-Horse Hill] there are a great many large stones, which though very confused, must yet be laid there on purpose. Some of them are placed edgwise, but the rest are so disorderly, that one would imagine, they were tumbled out of a cart.”

The disorder which Mr Aubrey speaks of, is occasioned, by the people having thrown down some of the stones (for they all seem originally to have been set on edge) and broken them to pieces to mend their highways. Those that are left, enclose a piece of ground of an irregular figure at present, but which formerly might have been an oblong square, extending duly North and South.

On the eastside of the Southern extremity, stand Three Squarish flat stones of about four or five feet over each way, set on edge, and supporting a Fourth of much larger dimensions, lying flat upon them. These altogether form a Cavern or sheltering place.

[...] All the account, which the country people are able to give of it, is “At this place lived formerly an invisible Smith; and if a traveller’s Horse had lost a Shoe upon the road, he had no more to do, than to bring the Horse to this place, with a piece of money, and leaving both there for some little time, he might come again and find the money gone, but the Horse now shod.” The stones standing upon the Rudge way as it is called; (which was the situation, that they chose for burial monuments) I suppose, gave occasion to the whole being called WAYLAND-SMITH; which is the name it was always known by to the country people.

From ‘A letter to Dr Mead’ by Francis Wise (1738).

Between the Ickleton-way and White-horse-hill, under the Horse, stands a large Barrow, which the common people living hereabouts, call DRAGON-HILL, and they have a tradition, that “Here St George killed the Dragon.” The Horse too is brought into the Legend, as belonging to that Saint, who is usually pictured on Horse-back. They shew besides a bare place on the top of it, which is a plain of about forty or fifty yards over, where the turf, I don’t know by what means, can gain no footing; which they imagine proceeds “from the venemous blood that issued from the Dragon’s wound.”

Francis Wise: ‘A letter to Dr Mead concerning some antiquities in Berkshire’ (1738).

Historic England’s record says that the round barrow here is a respectable 3m high. It’s on a prominent hill and there’s a photo on the ‘Earthworks’ blog that makes it look mysterious with its cap of trees. The area sounds like it’s full of weirdness (as you can read). But regarding the barrow itself, to quote the blog...

Local children often call this ‘the witches hill’.

Various signs of veneration can often still be found on Hagworm hill. A clay figure of a Mother Goddess, obviously made fairly recently, and coloured rags tied in the thorn tree on the summit of the hill. Painted egg shells, and a small stick carved with runes. All these and others have been noticed left on the hill by people who still regard this as a sacred place.

I was also told by a local man that as a child he and his friends believed it was a flying saucer that had crashed many years before and become grown over with trees, and that the aliens still lived inside, though his parents told him this was not true, as it was fairies that lived inside the hill. Each generation has its own little green men.

The Earthworks blog is full of interesting landscapey fortean things.

The OED says a hagworm is “A northern name for the adder or viper; but in some districts applied to the common snake, and in others to the blindworm” (the latter being the slowworm).

In a field belonging to Patrick McKenna, Corlealackagh, Castleblayney, there is a mound, or raised ground, containing huge boulders of stone, and here and there is an odd hawthorn bush, evidently of a very good age. The place is known as the “Giant’s Grave” and is marked on the Sapper’s map as such. The oldest man in the district never heard it called by any other name but he says that the position of the stones and boulders have been changed.

A number of men from the Archaeological Society Co Louth came to visit the place about fifteen years ago and locals helped them to dig down into the earth to see what they might find buried there. They misplaced the stones from their original position and left them scattered about. A few years later a gentleman called Rev. Fr. Rapmund[?] who was interested in such places secured a number of volunteer workers and undertook the task of digging down deep in the earth at this spot.

They laboured for days and only succeeded in unearthing flat stone slabs one after another till they had 13 unearthed. They again continued their work in the hope of reaching the body of the Giant which was perhaps cremated but no such treasure was ever found. The Rev. gentleman asked his volunteer band to replace the stone slabs just as they had found them, which they did. When the portion of the large stone boulders that was under the earth was uncovered it was discovered that there were strokes of different lengths on one of these boulders, and experts said that it was something in the Ogham language. The strokes or marks were copied to be translated into English but we cannot find any person to translate the message written in Ogham.

From year to year I pay a visit to the Giant’s Grave, and I tell the children what I know about it and we have taken “snaps” of it. It is never ploughed or tilled by the man who owns the farm containing it, as there are several lone blackthorn bushes around it, and there is a belief in this district that any one who interferes or cuts down a lone bush will be afflicted for life, by having a “hump” grown on his back overnight.
Were it not for this belief, the farmer says he’d have used the stones for building purposes ere this.

From the Schools’ Collection of the 1930s, now being digitised at Duchas.ie.

Just beyond the church [in Hill Deverill], and approached by a rough lane and a bridge over the stream, stands the remains of the Ludlow manor house – a very picturesque old stone house, with mullioned and transomed windows, standing neglected and dilapidated in the reedy marsh meadows. It is a Tudor building, with alterations of the eighteenth century. The Cokers, to whom it passed from the Ludlows, lived here until 1736.

A strange memory of the last of this family survives in the valley, “Old” Coker, as he is called – the adjective has the country significance of something at once fearful and familiar, as when we say Old Nick, or Old Harry. Villagers tell how he “walks” about the countryside; lovers in the moonlight would come upon him sitting on stiles; he is heard at midnight whipping his hounds round “Guns’ Church,” a barrow on the hill above, and galloping down to his house, with chains rattling and horn screaming on the wind. In the house itself his malevolent influence would pluck the bed-clothes off the sleeper, and play many pranks. He is said to haunt even the church itself.

From Ella Noyes’s “Salisbury Plain” (1913).

Another story about the Bulford stone in the river:

In the bed of the river, just above Bulford, a great Sarsen stone lies, like those of which Stonehenge is built; how it came there is not known. The traditional explanation is that the Devil, having, by Merlin’s command, bought the stones from an old wife in Ireland, bound them in a withy and flew hither with them, and as he was crossing the river at this point the withy slackened and one of the stones dropped out. There is another stone of the same kind in an upland field to the west.

From ‘Salisbury Plain‘ by Ella Noyes, 1913.

These legends [told of Killeen Cormac ] look like an interpretation from one more ancient concerning the hounds of Cuglos (son of Donndesa, King of Leinster), who was master of the hounds to Ederscoel, the great king of Erin. [...]

His dogs hunted a wild boar from Tara to the Hill of Urske, where they left the marks of their paws on the stones of a druidical circle crowning its summit. The same traces are to be found on some rocks at Manger, near Rathbran.

While pursuing their game up the hill over Beallach Dubhthaire, the ancient name of Baltinglass, Cuglos with his dogs, blinded by the mist and fog, chased their game into a cave on the summit of the mountain, and being there lost, his memory was perpetuated by giving his name to the scene of his untimely fate.

From ‘The Inscribed Stones of Killeen Cormac’ by J.F.S., in The Irish Ecclesiastical Record v4, no9, 1868.

It has been suggested that Killeen Cormac was in the pre-Christian period used as a place of pagan sepulchre. Its very peculiar construction and the indications of a sepulchral chamber within the moat, with passages to the terraces such are to be found in similar structures at New Grange on the Boyne, and in other localities, give an air of certainty to the suggestion, which is well sustained by the appearance of a stone on the south side of the mound about three feet high, fixed in the wall of the middle terrace.

It seems to be one of the jambs of a door to the entrance leading from the central cave. The side of this stone is grooved, the opposite jamb was likely hollowed in the same manner to receive a thinner flag to close the exterior entrance.

Killeen Cormac has the reputation of being full of rats, as well as of being the oldest cemetery in the whole country. These animals are up to this time the only explorers of the subterranean galleries under the mound, since they were closed up to preserve the remains of some pagan hero of the earliest dawn of history.

The most recent fact connected with this cemetery is, that about the year 1830 a stone wall was built around its area, some trees were then planted which add a phase of beauty peculiarly their own, while their shadows give a dim religious light in harmony with the venerable relics of antiquity of which they are the guardians.

Within the enclosure, and on the sides of the ruined terraces, are some inscribed pillar stones, with Latin and Ogham inscriptions, and some very curious incised figures, the description of which is reserved for notice at the close of this paper.

At the side of the mound, some paces from the entrance, is one pillar stone, now about three feet above the surface, on the top of which is an indentation resembling the trace of a hound’s paw, as if impressed on a soft surface. Excavations made around it did not reveal any features worth describing.

A very curious legend, founded indeed on historical facts, is told concerning this stone, with a view, perhaps, to account for the name Cormac being affixed to the locality. The tradition of the neighbourhood says that the pillar stone marks the grave of a Cormac, king of Munster. It states that he was carried to this cemetery for sepulture by a team of bullocks, which were allowed to follow their own instincts, a mode of settling disputes regarding sepulture not uncommon among the ancient Irish. [This tradition...] avers that he was carried from a long distance through Ballynure from Timolin, in the county of Kildare, and when the team reached that part of Ballymore now known as “the Doon” the exhausted bullocks, in the eagerness of their thirst, pawed the earth, and that a stream of water issued forth. Another version states that the teamster stuck his goad into the ground, whereupon gushed up a bubbling fountain, which is still to be found near the roadside, and is used as a watering-place for the kine pasturing on the fertile heights at the Doon of Ballynure.

The bullocks having satisfied their thirst, journeyed on till they came to the elevation now called Bullock Hill, beside the Griese, opposite to Killeen Cormac. Here they halted, and refused to proceed farther, from which it appeared that Killeen was to be the last resting place of the king. The bullocks having done their part, returned homewards across the marsh, and were engulphed in the waters of the Griese.

[...] Another version of this legend, but more confused, places a  hound on the team, which, when it stopped at Bullock Hill, jumped over to the cemetery, and left the impression of its paw on the pillar stone, thus marking the grave of Cormac; while another story represents this hound as jumping from the summit of Knockadhow, still more remote from the cemetery.

From ‘The Inscribed Stones of Killeen Cormac’ by J.F.S., in The Irish Ecclesiastical Record v4, no9, 1868. Comes with illustrations of the stones.

There is a fort in Dromin in the land of Michael Seannel and it is a very eerie place. Many strange stories are told about it. One night a man by the name of Cronin was coming home from town and as he drew near the fort field he heard an awful noise. As he was passing the gate a big man asked him to play a football match with them and he said he could. The side that the man played with won the game and when it was over the man went home. When he reached home he went to bed.

When the people of the house got up next morning, Cronin was very bad and he was all black from head to foot. The people of the house sent for the doctor and the doctor said that there was nothing to be done for him but to send for the priest, and the priest came and he was anointed. About an hour or two later the man died because people say that he got a fairy stroke.

There is another story told about that place. One night a man was standing beside the wall and as he was just in the act of coming home he heard all the talk going down the field. The man says the people did not come up the road or down the road or go in the gate, but the talk was going down the field at the same time and Seannel’s dog was barking.

More fairy weirdness from the Schools Collection of the 1930s, online at duchas.ie.

I mind seeing the finest crop of potatoes in the parish growing in that field beside Bough Fort. One day, six of us started to dig the potatoes. We had a good lot dug at dinner-time, more than they’d dig now.

We went over to the ditch to eat our dinners when, all of a sudden, what did we see but six women, wearing cloaks and hoods, coming out of the fort. They came, and started picking the potatoes into their aprons.

I can tell you we were well frightened, because something told us they were the daoine maithe you know. We let them alone, and they stayed picking for about ten minutes or so. They never looked towards us, but when they were finished, back with them again, and out of our sight.

We were too frightened to move for a bit, but when we went back to our work what did we find, that there was not a single potato missing. It is said, that it is not right to touch a stick or a stone in these old forts.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, being digitised at Duchas.ie.

According to the information via the Historic Environment Viewer, the rath “is enclosed by a substantial earthen bank and a wide, shallow, partly waterlogged fosse” – I guess the ditch of the story. The “daoine maithe” are the Good People, the fairies.

Not far from the Rock of Thorm there is a hill called Slieve Muc. There is a great crack in the hill. My grandmother told me that there was a great pig roaming around Slieve Muc so Finn and the Fianna went to kill it. When they found the pig they surrounded it. Finn, the leader, approached it with his sword in his hand. The pig, upon seeing Finn, attacked him. Finn fought for some time and wounded the pig. Then when the pig was tired, Finn, raising his sword above his head, put all his strength to one mighty stroke. The sword descended with such force that it severed the pig’s head from its body and also made a great hole in the hill. It was from this episode that the hill got the Irish name of Slieve na Muc.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, now being digitised at Duchas.ie

Archaeologist Tom talking to Mick Aston on the Time Team episode about Mine Howe:

- So what do the local people think of this area then, Tom?

- Well I think it’s always been considered as somewhere a bit special, a bit unusual.You’ve got [Mine Howe] here, this thing with this ditch around it which might pre-date it, you’ve got a medieval chapel over there, and you’ve got the burial ground as well and it’s still in use. But people used to say that there were always things here, you know there were always stories related to this mound.

- What do you mean, things here?

- Well, they, um... back in the old days people believed in trows, which is the Orkney word for fairies...

- Fairies! (snort)

- Yeah they used to have a few ale houses on the way over to Durness and people used to have to stop and get tanked up before they could go past this place at night...

- Yeah? (incredulously)

- ... because they thought there was trows around.

- Because there were spirits about.

- mm and then when they got to Dingieshowe in Durness they would have to have a few more to go past that as well, because it was also believed to be an abode of trows. And there was actually a story about a fiddler that went into the mound of Dingieshowe and played for a night for a trow, and when he came out he discovered he’d been away for fourteen years! Everything had changed – apart from him, he was exactly the same.

- Is it not more to do with the local whiskey than anything else?

- Erm a bit of that probably as well the home brew, it certainly heightened the attention/tension.

In this district there is a large stone on the top of Ward’s hill. It is said that when the Giants were in Ireland one of them was standing at Tara and threw the stone from there so it landed on the top of Ward’s hill. This stone is on the hill ever since and the track of the Giant’s five fingers is on the stone. Some people say that the Giant was at the races in Mullacurry and threw the stone from there. The fairies were supposed to dwell under the big stone.

A story from the Schools Collection at Duchas. ie. Perhaps that’s the stone in Ryaner’s photo.

Gubbin’s Moat.

This is situated in the townland of Ballingarry, Barony Coshlea. A “light” was always associated with it. It is near a graveyard and the light was supposed to be seen going from there to the moat and back again. In my young days when passing by that moat (there is a double ditch beside it, a short cut to village of Ballylanders) we would walk very quietly and silently and never go nearer than the double ditch and we would not dream of crossing at night. Now all that fear is gone.

A story was told by my father (RIP) how one night about midnight he was returning from a hayrick and a light left this moat and went along the road before him and when he came to the crossroads near Ballingarry he heard trampling as if horses were travelling fast but saw nothing and the light was still there. The noise turned at the cross and went along the road whence he had come, towards the churchyard, and the light left him and also went back, and he could see the light facing for the moat again. He used to say that it was a funeral of someone who had been buried in a place he or she did not like and was coming back to their own burial ground.

I think this must be the right place from its proximity to the churchyard and the footpath. It’s recounted in the Schools Collection of the 1930s, now being transcribed at Duchas.ie.

Glenbrohane (Knocklary, Barony of Coshlea, and Co. Limerick) has a collection of moats. Hardly a farm that does not hold a moat and the old people and some of the younger generation hold these moats in great awe and veneration. No one would be allowed to cut a bush off one of them or interfere in any way with them, and stories are told of punishments meted out to some who did dare to interfere with them.
In this place are 13 or 14 moats and from the top of any one of them, three more are visible.

The largest moat of all is in a farm called Quane’s, and is known as Quane’s moat, and it is said to be the second largest in Munster, and it is said that it is from a chief who once lived there that the name Glenbrohane is got. The Glen of the Brohans (Brohan’s being the name of the Chieftain). From this large moat, the others circle so that a complete half circle is formed by all. An underground channel connects all but so far, no one seems to have gone down and explored any of these passages.

One of these is said to have removed from one farm (Madden’s) and goes across the river to another farm (Howard’s) in one night. The hollow is in Madden’s farm where they say the moat once stood. The late owner of the farm – Howard’s – would not allow a bush to be cut from the moat, so that it is overgrown with furze bushes, and I remember myself as a child passing by that silently and very [sickened?] lest the fairies would hear us within. That idea prevailed in this place up to the last generation, who had a great dread of insulting the fairies or rousing their anger in any way, but at present bushes are being cut and these moats are regarded as part of the farms and no more. But when the antiquarians were excavating in Cush-Kilfinaine, Co Limerick, which is only one mile from here – a man who had a moat on his farm would not allow them interfere with it, lest there may be reprisals by the fairies.

Laune’s Moat, in the townsland of Glenbrohane, is a very large moat and though it was overgrown a few years ago, a man came along and cut away all the furze from it, but he lost the farm, and the old people said that it was not right to interfere with the moat.

Story:- The owner of this – Morgan Laune (RIP) had made up his mind to cut the bushes from this one day, years and years ago. He had a very quiet old horse and he harnessed him meaning to take down a car to bring home the bushes. No sooner was he harnessed than away with him from under the car, towards the moat and fell dead at the entrance to the moat.
Ever after, no one ever interfered with that moat during his life time, but the bushes are being cut now and the grass mown off it.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, currently being transcribed here and here at Duchas.ie. I’m not sure which of the many moats are the ones referred to. The grid reference I’ve give is the largest and is named ‘Doonglara’ on an old map.

Underneath a natural bower, on the bank of the lowest rampart but one, is a small arch of stone, covering a well of clearest water, fed by a spring that never in the fiercest drought runs dry. The overflowing stream makes a small pond below, but the well itself is almost out of sight under overhanging bushes, in the shadow of the north side of the hill.

This is King Arthur’s Well. A miraculous fountain, into the depths of which you may still peer and see things strange and wonderful. In a basin, some two feet deep, the sheltered water, never moved by wind, lies still and pure as a transparent magic crystal.

[...] The well is also a wishing well. It was a picnic day when I was there – and to see the country maids trip down the foot-worn path between the trees, big and little, plump and lean, all in white frocks, and treading upon each other’s heels, was better than a day-dream, ever so much. And they did drink. If they only wished as hard as they drank, there was a determination about it which, with a little patience and good-temper, and no fortune but a pretty face, was bound to bring success.

There is a ceremony with this sort of thing. Each spread her “hankercher” upon the broad, flat stone beside the well, turned up her white skirt, knelt, both nees, upon a petticoat as white, leant over the water and dropped an offering in, dipped with her hand and drank out of her hollow palm. She rose and gazed into the future with what, in the best fiction, is called a wistful, far-off look, until the next girl promptly elbowed her aside and said,
“Let I.”

It was a Sunday School and Bible Class that I saw intoxicate itself with the secret desire of its own heart. The “titcher” stood on one side. A spinster, tall, thin, sharp-featured, and born, upon a moderate computation, not later than the early sixties. Through a pair of glasses, she watched this pagan rite, smiling with an air of superior toleration upon such follies, because it was a holiday. The bigger girls implored her to drink, too. “Now do ee, Miss ---,” they all said. (In view of what came after, the name shall never be revealed by me.) “Do ee, then.” But persuasion could not move her. She was a total abstainer, and would not touch a drop; and, presently, the girls all went off up the glade, she marching in the rear.

Soon an unaccountable thing happened. That woman came back, quickly, glancing behind and upon each side, to make sure no one saw. She dared not lift her skirt. She had not time to kneel. But she took a tumbler out of her pocket; plunged it in the spring; leaned forward as she held it dripping to her lips, and swallowed half-a-pint. Ah! She did not merely wish to quench her thirst. That is incredible, since there was tea upon the hill.

By Walter Raymond, in ‘The Idler Out of Doors: Camelot’ – The Idler, November 1898.

In the townland of Ballyvocogue there is situated a fort. This fort belongs to Pat Kennedy. Some years ago a dog was seen coming out of the fort, and run along the bank of the fort. It is said that the dog used be throwing fire from his mouth, and all along the bank of the fort people used see burnt patches. The colour of this dog was white.
All the people in the district, and the people in the surrounding districts knew about this dog, and even some of the people in the district shunned that after sunset. No one knows how the dog went out of the fort but, he was not seen after the owner cutting down some of the trees on the bank of the fort.

This is rather odd – a white not a black dog. But it’s still rather otherworldly what with barking fire everywhere. And also rather backwards is its disappearance after trees were cut, rather than the usual fairy disapproval of such things. Perhaps he actually wanted them cut so he could have more room to run around in, dogs being dogs and all. From the 1930s Schools Collection being digitised at duchas.ie.

Quite close to this school on the top of a hill there is a fort which is situated in the townland of Lisbanagher.

Formerly the fort was surrounded by a wall which is now crumbled to heaps of stones, and on this there are trees growing.

It is said that chiefs lived there long ago. In the middle of the fort the chiefs used have castles, but there is no trace of these castles now.
Some chiefs had a good deal of money and used have three walls around their castles and smaller chiefs used have two walls and smaller still used have one wall for protection from their enemies.

The people are in awe of these forts because they say they are inhabited by fairies.

I heard the following story told about the fort.

One morning Mrs Morrison who lives near the fort, got up early. She went to the door and looked out and was surprised to see a great many tiny little men with little creels on their backs coming down to the bog for turf. She went into the house again and said that she got up too early.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, being digitised at Duchas.ie.

There is a hill in this locality called Keash Hill. Caves at the back of this hill are still pointed out as places where giants lived. Nearby there is a hollow with a flag flooring which is called the “Giants’ Table” and likely it is here they cooked and eat their food.

Running parallel to this hill and at the back of it is a place called “Dun Ui Bhéara” where the Cailleach Bhéara is supposed to have lived.

Old people tell stories of a fight between the Cailleach Bhéara and one of the giants. He stood on the summit of the hill and fired stones down at her. She lifted stones and earth and fired them up at him. The stones that reached the top of the hill form a “cairn” which is still to be seen. The place from which they were taken formed a small lake which remains to the present day.

Some time ago if children were bold their mothers threatened to tell Cailleach Bhéara and immediately they got quiet. She was able to walk across Lough Arrow and the waters at their deepest part just reached her arm pit.

From the Schools Project of the 1930s, now being digitised at Duchas.ie.