Rhiannon

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.

Having gratified my curiosity at [Coeten Arthur], I made for a farm, a mile off, called Ystym Cegid, where I had the pleasure of beholding another, the most beautiful of any I had seen in my journey; the farmer, however, through a natural propensity to render any thing useful that may lie on the ground, has converted it into a sheepfold, by filling up the interstices with stones, very dissimilar to those originally erected to support the coping-stone, of the Cromlech: I have left them out, and the annexed print will shew its prior appearance. The coping-stone takes a triangular form, its thickness is about eighteen inches every where, and it measures thirty-six feet round; it is raised so high as to allow a person on horseback to go underneath. This also is called Arthur’s Quoit: which (to carry on the story [at Coeten Arthur]) we may suppose to have been thrown by the same hand; but, owing to a slip of the foot, in the moment of exertion, it went wide of the mark at least one mile.

From Edward Pugh’s ‘Cambria Depicta’ (1816).

In the village of Lavally about three miles from Clarenbridge there lies a Cromlech. The field where this Cromlech lies belongs to Thomas Heaney now but it was sold to him a few years ago by William Feeney. The Cromlech lies within 20 yds of the road wall. This field belonged to William Feeney when the Cromlech fell about eight years ago.

It is thought that this Cromlech would not have fallen only for a constant grazing of the sheep wore the clay from around the three standing stones so that they could not afford to hold up the top stone. The top stone is about 26 1/2 feet in circumference and about a foot and a half in height. The perimeter of the underneath is about 14’2”.

It is not known for certainty why this Cromlech was erected. Most people think that this was a druid altar in olden times but it is also thought that Diarmuid and Grainne took shelter under this Cromlech. There is also another stone in the wall not far from the Cromlech and is exactly like the stones of the Cromlech. It is thought that this stone was brought to be put in the Cromlech but it was brought no further.

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

It’s not looking so good at Lavally, as you can see by this 2002 photo on FourWinds‘ Megalithomania site.

The illustration from Borlase’s ‘The Dolmens of Ireland’ book (made towards the end of the 19th century) shows rocks on top of the dolmen. This isn’t mentioned in the text. But it rings a bell with me... I’m sure I’ve read about people somewhere throwing stones up onto cromlechs for luck, or maybe for a more specific outcome. I’ll have to look into it. Maybe people still do it elsewhere...

I’d not thought of this, but the trouble with putting your cathedral in a fort is that all the soldiers get in the way. Apparently.

One its short sheep-bitten turf may yet be traced, in dry weather, the outlines of the foudation walls of its ancient and once splendid cathedral, built by Bishop Osmond – the Conqueror’s nephew – but transferred by Bishop Poore in 1220, from that bleak and barren position, into the sheltered vale and fertile meadows of the fishy Avon beneath. Old Aubrey gives the following version of the cause of its removal, which he says he had from Bishop Seth Ward, who extracted it from the musty records of the cathedral.

The old church in the castle of Old Sarum being seated so high was so obnoxious to the weather that when the wind did blow they could not heare the priest say masse. But this was not the only inconvenience. The soldiers of the castle and the priests could never agree; and one day when they were gone without the castle in procession, the soldiers kept them out all night, or longer. Whereupon the bishop, although much troubled, cheered them up as well as he could, telling them he would study to accommodate them better. In order thereunto he rode several tymes to the Lady Abbesse at Wylton to have bought or exchanged a piece of ground with her ladyship to build a church and homes for the priests. A poor woman at Quidhampton that was spinning in the street, sayd to one of her neighbours, “I marvell what the matter is that the bishop makes so many visits to my lady; I trow he intends to marry her.” Well the bishop and her ladyship could not conclude about the land, and the bishop dreamt that the Virgin Mary came to him and told him she would have him build his church at Merrifield, and dedicate it to her. Merrifield was a great meadow where the city of New Sarum now stands and did belong to the bishop, as now the whole city belongs to him.

From an article about books on Wiltshire in ‘The Quarterly Review’ for January 1858.

Quarrying operations at one time threatened to destroy this far-famed natural curiosity, but the Duchy of Cornwall has wisely limited the scope of their destructive efforts. [...] Immediately outside the rampart of the stone fort above the Cheesewring is a large natural block of granite, hollowed out by the weather into a rude seat called the Druid’s Chair. It is said that whoever sits in it is destined shortly either to become a poet or go mad – in fact, the Laureateship or Colney Hatch!

From a report about an excursion to the Cheesewring in Archaeologia Cambrensis, July 1896.

The notion of [another writer], that the stones once formed some of the supports of a covering stone of a large sepulchral chamber, appears probable. The prevalent local tradition which he and the author of the History of Radnorshire record, that the font in Old Radnor Church was hewn out of one of the missing stones, shows that the supposed removal took place at a remote period, and is so far valuable; but an examination of the four stones does not support the tradition of the use which was made of one of their missing fellows, for they are clearly erratic boulders from the adjacent volcanic rocks of Hanter or Stanner, of which a very truthful and picturesque sketch is given in Murchison’s Silurian System. Any local stone mason would, on examination, at once say the four stones could not be dressed or hewn into a regular form, as they would shatter into irregular fragments when broken or dressed.

From ‘The Four Stones, Old Radnor’ by Richard W Banks, in Transactions of the Woolhope Naturalists’ Field Club 1886-1889.

I have shown (in the Antiquary for April, 1912) why the Tolven Stone was set up on edge, and although this was done as recently as the middle of the nineteenth century, it had long ago acquired a reputation as a “crick-stone.”

Four years ago I had a chat with the daughter-in-law of the man who built the house at the back of which the stone stands, and who raised it to its present position. She told me that, quite recently, children had been passed through the hole in order to strengthen their backs, and added, “our old dog (a collie) ought to be strong enough in the back, for he’s backwards and forwards through it forty times a day.”

From Correspondence in ‘The Antiquary’ v10 (April 1914), our correspondent being George J Beesley. The reputation had to have been developed after it was put up, because otherwise, how would you shove infants through it? Or is he conceding that it already had the reputation (suggesting it had already been standing at some point)?

There is an old lios in the townland of Castlefarm, the next village to Clooneen. It was generally known that the owner of the land on which the lios was, would never remain too late at work and that he would not go out to work early in the morning. His neighbours asked him what was the reason of this and he told them that one morning he went out at day-break and began to plough near the lios, and a friend of his who had been dead for years told him to cease working at such early hours. He did as he had been advised, went back to bed for a few hours and when he returned he found that half the field had been ploughed in his absence. He then yoked in his horses, began to plough and did an ordinary day’s work. A few weeks later his cow strayed from him one evening and he could not find her.
It was near midnight when he went to the lios in search of her and he had a lantern in his hand because the night was very dark. As he came near the lios he heard the nicest music he ever heard played. After a while it changed into a kind of “caoining”.
He became very much afraid of this strange sound and he left the field and returned home and told his wife and family. Very soon after he became ill and he lived only six weeks.
Ever since people take care that they do not enter this field at a late hour.

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

In Gartan Co Donegal there is a huge stone which is kept in remembrance of St Colmcille. Long ago some Protestants were removing this stone and trying to hide it on the Catholics. When they had it some distance away a plague of black rats surrounded them so they thought they would leave the stone back again and when they did so the rats disappeared. The Protestants never interfered with the stone again.

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

Another story which I’m hoping applies to this stone. You get a lot packed in – fairies, Finn McCool, special tree species and petrification.

In a field at Balcunnin two miles from Skerries, there is a tall stone shaped somewhat like a man. It is said that a fairy queen was going to Fionn Mac Cumhail when a man leapt out of a hedge and tried to seize her. Like magic a hazel rod appeared in her hand and she turned her man into a rock.

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

There is a great stone in Clogher till the present day and there was a giant buried under it. One day a man from Eglish was over there and he lifted one of the stones. He looked down and saw a bottle. When he was about to lift the second stone a voice called to him to get away from that grave. He left that moment and for a long time he never was seen about Clogher. About seven years after that he was after sheep about the same place. When he came near the grave he saw a man sitting on the stone which lay over it. He heard him singing a song about if any man would lift that stone that he would be put to death before the end of that week. From that day to this no one went near these few stones. It is to be found on the farm of Kathleen Kelly of Clogher.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, now being transcribed at duchas.ie. Perhaps this is the stone at Clogher (or perhaps there’s another).

Hmm imagine being glowered over by those rocks on the hill above. And they can look after themselves (to a point):

On the edge of Ravenstone precipice, in Greenfield, there formerly stood a large rocking stone (by the rocking of which the Druids tried their criminals for minor offences), but this stone was ruthlessly destroyed by the miners engaged in excavating the Standedge canal tunnel. These worse than Celtic barbarians assembled on this spot, and blew this time-honoured memorial into countless fragments, one of which, however, struck one of the men and killed him on the spot.

From Saddleworth Sketches by Joseph Bradbury, 1871.

There are more curious stones a mere 500 metres away at Alderman’s rocks, and the old maps have the “Fairy Hole” at SE01520469 – surely what this must refer to?

On the hill of Alderman, but nearer to Greenfield than is Pots and Pans, is a long fissure in the earth, about 14 yards in length, each end of which terminates in a cavernous hole in the rock. Tradition says that into one of these holes
A fox and dog, once on a Whitsun morn,
Entered in chase, but never to return.

From Saddleworth Sketches by Joseph Bradbury, 1871.

Besides the basins already mentioned, there is a long uneven hole on Pots and Pans rock, which Borlase supposes was made to receive the bodies of diseased persons, in order that the god of the rock might heal them.

In confirmation of this opinion, I have often heard it said that the water of the basins on Pots and Pans rock “will cure sore eyes,” which superstition has in all probability been transmitted to us from the Druidical period.

Butterworth mentions a stone called Pancake, and on which, he says, was the “long uneven hole” just mentioned, but he has evidently confounded the two stones. At the time the canal locks were being made, Pots and Pans narrowly escaped destruction, and Pancake was destroyed, together with the Giant’s Stone – so called from having the impress of a gigantic hand upon it,

- and a “rock idol” (?), thus described by Butterworth and others who had seen it:- “A little west(?) of Pancake (Pots and Pans he means) is a stone about twenty feet in height, but much narrower at the top (than bottom (?), from whence proceed irregular flutings down one side of about two feet in length, by some supposed to be the effect of time, and by others the workmanship of art.

In all probability if you wash your eyes in the water you may then require the use of the long uneven hole. From Saddleworth Sketches by Joseph Bradbury, 1871.

From [a mansion called The Friars] we bent our way towards the hills, over the spot where the Saxons, under their first landing, were routed by the British king Vortimier, after a long and bloody battle, in which Horsa, and Catigern, Vortimer’s brother, fighting hand to hand, slew each other.

Tradition says, that Horsa was buried at a place near Chatham, now called Horsted from that circumstance, and that Catigern was interred where he fell. The spot, according to the general opinion, is marked by a monument named Kit’s Coty House, composed of four immense stones, which many, however, suppose to have been a druidical altar.

[...] As my reader may possibly object to the word Coity, I beg to remind him that this cromlech is variously designated by different writers: Camden calls it Keith Coty House; Lambarde and Philipott, Citscotehouse; and Kilburne, Kits Cothouse.

The height of the pile is between nine and ten feet, and the upper or largest stone weighs about ten tons and a haf; but, as it is most accurately represented in the print [...] and from its vicinity to the road is too well known to require a minute description, I shall only notice the art shown in the placing of the stones, which, I believe, is not generally observed.

The two blocks which form the sides, stand about six feet apart, and lean a little towards each other, so that they could only fall inwards; but they are secured from doing so by the third set transversely between them; and the three are bound firmly together by the fourth and largest, which is placed on their tops as a roof.

At a short distance below Kit’s Coty House, towards the south-west, there are several large stones, which lie in such a confused heap that their number cannot be correctly ascertained; we judged it to be about twenty: and on the hill side, to the north-east by east of Kit’s Coty House, there are several more lying near to each other; both these collections seem to have formed circles resembling, on a small scale, that of Stonehenge, and like Kit’s Coty House, were reared by the Britons either for a sacrificial altar, or a monumental trophy. Besides those already mentioned there are several large stones scattered about the fields in this neighbourhood, some of which have names given to them.

From A brief historical and descriptive account of Maidstone and its environs by Lampreys, 1834. I like his easy style of writing. Though I’m not quite sure why he thinks I might take offence at Coity.. maybe because it sounds like saying if a house is made of coits it must be coity? which is a bit too silly and slangy.

This was told to me by Mick Carbry, Socker. In Rathdonell house there was a man who lived there, his name was Staffard. There was a big fort around the house. Staffard had a horse which he liked very much. Staffard died, and the minute he did, the horse came to the door step and died.
The people put the ‘trace’ of the horse on Staffard’s tombstone. He is buried in Douglas. There was a fort round this house, and the Danes planted a lot of trees around the fort. There was a fight and the trees hid and saved the Danes from being shot. There was supposed to be a ghost seen in Rathdonell house ever since.

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

There is a large stone in a field on the road to Galway from Oranmore, and beside Gurrane Lodge. Its position and size would lead one to believe that it was once used as a ceremonial stone of some kind.
The following story is told concerning this stone:-
There was once a great giant living in Oran Castle (see the story of the History of Oran Castle in this book). At one time another giant came to visit him. They decided that they would try to find out who was the stronger of the two. The local giant tore a huge rock up out of the ground. This rock is said to have been about fourteen feet long and ten feet broad. He threw the stone and in its flight it broke into two pieces. One piece (the rock in question) fell into a field near Gurrane Lodge on the Galway road. The second piece travelled so far that it was never traced.

From the 1930s Schools Collection, now being transcribed at duchas.ie.

Long ago there was a stone wall round Dunwiley fort. One time a man named Thomas Gallagher took the field in which the fort was situated for grazing. He sent his men to toss the wall. When the men put the stones on the carts the horses fell dead. It is said that this happened because the ground was “gentle.”
Shortly after this Thomas himself died.

From the 1930s Schools Collection, now being transcribed at duchas.ie.

Similar retellings here, here and here, and a different story about the fort is here..

There is a fort outside Stranorlar called Dunwiley Fort. Two men went to this fort to hunt one night about 12 o clock. They had two hounds with them. As they approached the top of the fort they noticed the hounds were afraid and looking round they saw a little woman who wore a red cloak. The men were afraid and ran away. After this one of the men took ill.

There is a stone in Ohermong called the Glánn Bawn or white stone. It is about five feet overground and buried in the earth to some depth. It is about six feet in circumference. An old lady who died about 30 years ago aged 95 at that time and a native of Ballinkelligs told my father that there lived in Ballinskelligs a woman who had as a custom to dig as many potatoes on Sundays in the harvest time as she would require for the week. She was digging one Sunday about dusk when suddenly she was taken away and found herself underground at the Glánn Bawn in Ohermong. She was very downhearted at being swept away and she was told by one of the underground people who took pity on her not to eat any of their food and that they would have to let her go again. She refused the food and after three days she was taken home again. She took some bread with her which she put on the fence near her home and any thing living would not eat it and it melted on the fence. She used to say afterwards “do bí caint briágh ann”[?] She did not dig any more potatoes on Sundays. This has happened about one hundred and fifty years ago and the old lady who told the story always believed that there is an under-ground house at the “Glánn Bawn” in Ohermong.

From the 1930s Schools Collection now being transcribed at duchas.ie. I regret I can’t transcribe the Irish properly so feel free to correct me (and tell me what it means :)

There was an old man named Johnny McKeown, who lived in a little house by the roadside close to Rice’s Fort. He used to say that one night he was sitting by the fire and he heard a noise on the road, so he went and opened the door and looked out. It was a bright moonlight night, and he saw a regiment of soldiers coming down the road towards him. They were very tired-looking and foot-sore, and “drabbed,” and they came right into his yard, marching two and two, several hundreds of them. They went into the field behind and into Rice’s Fort. Of course it was the “gentry” coming back from some fight between themselves – [T. Curtis].

Note – Rice’s Fort is said to contain a cave, or subterranean chamber, with a passage ending in the little marsh between it and Fort Hill. There is said to be a similar passage from the fort at Fort Hill to the marsh. The two forts are connected by a “fairy pass;” and one night, when Curtis and another man were standing beside this path, they heard a sound like many horses galloping past quite close to them.

From ‘Traditions and Superstitions collected at Kilcurry, County Louth, Ireland’ by Bryan J Jones and commented on by W B Yeats, in Folklore v10, no.1 (March 1899), pp. 119-123. It has a little sketch map, so I know I’ve got the right fort this time...

About three miles from Charlestown on the road to Carracastle there is a fort from which an underground passage leads to the neighbouring village. It is believed that the Danes, when invading the nearby districts, built the cave in order that they might have some place to live in and keep their booty in safety. The entrance to the cave is very narrow admitting only one person to enter at a time. This plan was followed to save the occupants from attacks made by the Irish.

One day, however, some people thought of a plan to rid themselves of their enemies. Lighting several sheaves of straw and putting them at one end, they rushed to the other side of the cave and waited. The smoke from the straw went through the rooms and almost suffocated the Danes who thought it better to go out by the other side and stay outside for some time.

Being able to move very quickly, the Irish arrived at the other end before the Danes who could come out only one at a time. One by one they fell under the swords of the Irishmen. But the gold which they had taken was never found as it was hidden in some place where it could not be seen.

From the Schools Collection, currently being transcribed at duchas.ie.

I’d imagine the very old cave in the story is the drystone-built souterrain that’s in a rocky outcrop on the west side of the hill (it’s marked as a cave on some old maps).

On the Hill of Clogherhead there stands a very old cave and it is said that priests lived in it in the Penal Days. The priests in this cave had a terrier dog. One day the solders were around the cave and the priests were saying Mass at the time. The dog started to bark. The soldiers heard it and came in and killed the priests. There are two stones inside this cave and every seven years the stones move a little bit closer together.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, currently being transcribed at duchas.ie. Are the stones the soldiers, or the priests? or maybe either? And why are they moving closer together? Too many questions.

After all the stuff about fairies this seems rather mundane, it’s more like historical stories (albeit pretty muddled in its mix of pagan Irish tribes, Danish invaders and Christian institutions). The piece is still entitled ‘fairy forts’ though, so I guess the fairies turned up as tenants in the end.

In a field owned by Mr James Lonergan lie two large forts. They are situated by the side of the river Aherlow and are in the townland of Ballymorris.
It is said that they were built by the old Irish and in one of them a great chief lived. All that now remains of them is a mound of clay with a few whitethorn bushes growing round in a ring around it but once it was a huge fort.
Inside was the great house in which the chief lived: outside this was a great wall of clay and outside was a deep trench with the water from the river flowing into it.
When the Danes came to Ireland they plundered the fort, killed the chief and put the Irish tribe out and went in themselves.
It is said that they plundered St Pecaun’s church andtook some of the Sacred Vessels away and hid them in the fort. By now they were very strongly entrenched and they plundered every church school and monastery in the surrounding district.
The Irish at this time were fighting amongst themselves but after a while they united and drove the invader out of the fort and out of the district also. They restored the stolen treasures to the churches, schools and monasteries.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, now being transcribed at duchas.ie.