Rhiannon

This ringfort seems to be in the right place for our fairies’ fort. It’s 25m across and has a massive bank and ditch on the north side nearest the road.

There is an old fairy fort in Ballybrack. There are no fairies there now. Long ago the fairies were seen every night and every morning. They had their fort in a rock. The rock is in a field beside the Lower Road. The people beside the rock saw the fairies every night and every morning. The people would never touch them when they would see them. They would go away from them. The fairies were all dressed in red. They never saw the fairies in the daytime. They only saw them in the morning and at night.

A story by Shemus Kelly, told in the Schools Collection in the 1930s for the National Folklore Collection.

In the townland of Cloonkee there is a fort. There are some stories about it. One time there was a man living near the fort and he used to grow crops around it. He had a piece of oats growing up to it. It was almost ripe and he was looking at it. The end nearest the fort was all trampled and that night he lay at the gap to see what horses were trampling it. At bed time a number of horses went out the gap and men riding on them and on the last horse there was a girl and he pulled her off and brought her into the house with him. She was not able to speak. He went to the same place to listen for the horsemen. They rode in the gap and he heard one of them say he has the girl now and he won’t have much pleasure but if he pulled the pin out of her hair she would speak. He came home and took out the pin. She was able to speak and told him that the fairies took her the night she got married and that her husband was dead. She lived there for three months and one November day a man was going to the fair of Newtown. He went into the house for a drink and he sat down. He saw the girl racking her hair and he said but for his daughter was dead that she was her. She came down to him and said that she was his daughter and that it was the fairies that took her. He told her that her husband was dead. He also told her to wait with the man and to get married and that he would give her a fortune.

A story by Seamus Ó Mullagáin, told in the Schools Collection in the 1930s for the National Folklore Collection.

I suppose this must be the right site for this sad story (so many nearby forts to choose between, but this has a souterrain). It was recounted by the boy’s father, Pat James.

The Fairy Fort.

At a place near Ballina called Curroy, there is a very fine fort. It has been and is still owned by a very old family called James.
One day the eldest of the James’ was picking nuts in the fort. Without knowing he suddenly found himself at the mouth of a large cave. He entered, and came to a kind of stone door. This he opened and entered into a beautiful furnished room. There were tables, chairs and other articles of furniture in it. The boy soon had all the furniture in his own house, which was quite close, to the fort. Next morning the furniture was gone. Soon after, the same boy was thrown from his bicycle and died.

From the Schools Collection of the 1930s, part of the National Folklore Collection and now being digitised at duchas.ie.

There is a fairy fort in Morley’s field in Cornanoff. It is now left to the rabbits to make their burrows there. The way it was made was, they carried clay with baskets out of our lake. The fort is now ploughed out except the bottom of it. There is a well beside it.

Recorded by Sara Hall as part of the1930s Schools Collection of the National Folklore Collection, which is now being digitised at duchas.ie.

Here in the Forest still lives Shakspeare’s Puck, a veritable being, who causes the Forest colts to stray, carrying out word for word Shakspeare’s description, –

“I am that merry wanderer of the night,
When I a fat and bean-fed horse beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a filly foal.”
(Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act ii., Sc. 1.)

This tricksy fairy, so the Forest peasant to this hour firmly believes, inhabits the bogs, and draws people into them, making merry, and laughing at their misfortunes, fulfilling his own roundelay -

“Up and down, up and down,
I will lead them up and down;
I am feared in field and town,
Goblin, lead them up and down.”
(Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act iv., Sc. 2.)

Only those who are eldest born are exempt from his spell. The proverb of “as ragged as a colt Pixey” is everywhere to be heard, and at which Drayton seems to hint in his Court of Faerie:-

“This Puck seems but a dreaming dolt,
Still walking like a ragged colt.”

From ‘The New Forest: its History and its Scenery‘ by John R. Wise (1863).

Midway between Kilkelly and the beautiful lakes of Orlar stands Tavran House, a pretty building surrounded by a planting of trees. Close to the building there is a little fort, commonly reported to be the resort of the fairies.
The story first got about that the fairies were there through one of the servants of the former owners of Tavran House who are long since dead.

The servant was one evening driving home the cows to be milked when he heard a child crying very close to him. He thought it might be one of the neighbours children who had strayed up the avenue, andhe went where the sound came from but not alone did he see an infant but also a pretty woman who appeared to be its mother. Both were strangers to him, and he was just turning away when he overheard a remark of the woman’s which gave him much surprise. She was trying to stop the child crying and to pacify it all the quicker she said “Stop crying now, and I’ll soon get you some milk as they are just driving home bracked cows and she will turn the can when it’s milked.

The servant then hurried home to see if all the woman said came true. Sure enough just when he finished milking the cow raised her foot and spilt the bucket of milk. When he finished milking the rest of the cows he brought in the milk and told his master what happened.

The master went next evening for the cows with the servant and he heard the same crying and he saw the woman and child. The cow did the same thing again when she was milked, and the master said to turn the cow on to the fort every evening instead of bringing her home. This was done and the cow was milked but not by any human hand.

Cows and fairies seem very linked. Bracked cows do seem to be a thing but I don’t know what it means.

A slightly muddled story from The Schools Collection of 1930s folklore, now being digitised at Duchas.ie

The man that owned the Streamstown fort ploughed it one year. After he ploughed it he got very sick and the people said that the cause of it was that he had no right to plough it. The Irish built the forts to protect themselves from the Danes.

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

In my district there are many forts. In the townland of Streamstown there is a fort. In the townland of Ardroe also is another fort. From one fort you can see the other. It is said that the fairies have a run from one fort to the other under the ground. The forts are round in shape.
In the Ardroe fort there is a big stone in the middle of it. On that stone there were certain words printed long ago. That writing is gone off that stone now. The forts are surrounded by trees.

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

There is a fairy fort in Tonleeaun, Moytura, where the Tuatha De Danaans and the Firbolgs had a fight. There are twenty tall stones standing in it, and it is said that each stone was a person before the fight, but the king of the Tuatha De Danaans changed them into stones, because they were lazy and would not fight.

There is also a large pot near the fort, which is so large that it takes twenty men to lift it. It is said that the Tuatha De Danaans used to boil four big bullocks in it at one time. The old people around this place say that the fairies come every night after twelve o’clock, light a fire under the big pot, and keep dancing and singing around it until the break of day.

It is a common belief that the fairies take away cattle from people who are not friendly towards them. Of course these people think their cattle have died, but instead they are taken off by the fairies and used by them as they are wanted.

From the Schools Collection of 1930s folklore, now being digitised at Duchas.ie. What can this giant pot refer to? One can’t help visualising something like the Gundestrup cauldron. But I wonder what it it means.

Ireland’s Historic Environment Viewer has this site as a rath. It can be seen as a raised circular area (about 22m diameter) surrounded by a bank of earth and stone, with a break at the SE where the entrance was.

I was reading the following story (part of the Dúchas.ie schools collection from the 1930s) and thought it might be connected with the site:

Once upon a time in years gone by a fairy played mysterious tricks on a farmer in the near by village. The farmer had three cows, and a pig with some little ones and near his house stood a fort. the farmer was on edge to cut the fort away so he started one day to do so and that night one of the cows took sick and died and so on until the pig and her five little ones died. But the farmer was a head strong man and would not give into the fairies, but his wife was in an awful state till an old beggar woman came around and she asked what was all the trouble so the farmer’s wife told the tale. And then the old woman told her to get her husband to put the trees or bushes back and their luck would change so he did one night and they prospered afterwards.

But I think it’s also mentioned by W B Yeats as he speaks about this area generally in his ‘Celtic Twilight‘ – there are souterrains here too, according to the map and his stories.

At the northern corner of Rosses is a little promontory of sand and rocks and grass: a mournful, haunted place. No wise peasant would fall asleep under its low cliff, for he who sleeps here may wake ‘silly,’ the ‘good people’ having carried off his soul. There is no more ready short-cut to the dim kingdom than this plovery headland, for, covered and smothered now from sight by mounds of sand, a long cave goes thither ‘full of gold and silver, and the most beautiful parlours and drawing rooms.‘

Once, before the sand covered it, a dog strayed in, and was heard yelping helplessly deep underground in a fort far inland. These forts or raths, made before modern history had begun, cover all Rosses and Columkille. The one where the dog yelped has, like most others, an underground beehive chamber in the midst. Once when I was poking about there, an unusually intelligent and ‘reading’ peasant who had come with me, and waited outside, knelt down by the opening, and whispered in a timid voice, ‘Are you all right, sir?’ I had been some little while underground, and he feared I had been carried off like the dog.

No wonder he was afraid, for the fort has long been circled by ill-boding rumours. It is on the ridge of a small hill, on whose northern slope lie a few stray cottages. One night a farmer’s young son came from one of them and saw the fort all flaming, and ran towards it, but the ‘glamour’ fell on him, and he sprang on to a fence, cross-legged, and commenced beating it with a stick, for he imagined the fence was a horse, and that all night long he went on the most wonderful ride through the country. In the morning he was still beating his fence, and they carried him home, where he remained a simpleton for three years before he came to himself again.

A little later a farmer tried to level the fort. His cows and horses died, and all manner of trouble overtook him, and finally he himself was led home, and left useless with ‘his head on his knees by the fire to the day of his death’.

A few hundred yards southwards of the northern angle of Rosses is another angle having also its cave, though this one is not covered with sand. About twenty years ago a brig was wrecked near by, and three or four fishermen were put to watch the deserted hulk through the darkness. At midnight they saw sitting on a stone at the cave’s mouth two red-capped fiddlers fiddling with all their might. The men fled. A great crowd of villagers rushed down to the cave to see the fiddlers, but the creatures had gone.

“In walking from Blandford to Damerham in September, 1852, I shaped my course by Horton, with a view to seeing Monmouth’s ash on Horton Heath. Having reached the roadside inn, I found that the ash was four miles distant, and not having time to proceed thither, I waited at the inn.

Whilst waiting I saw a small ruined tower at the distance of half-a-mile or so, and, on asking a man, found it was the ruin of Knowlton Church. He also told me that at a very distant period there was a very valuable bell in that tower, so much so that it excited the cupidity of some fellows, who planned to steal it, take it to the coast, and, having crossed the Channel, sell it in France. This, considering the loneliness of the church, could be no very difficult matter; but somehow, after they had got the bell out of the tower, they were discovered, pursued, and overtaken at the bridge of Sturminster Marshall, and, being unable to proceed further with it, they threw it into the Stour and made off.

The Knowlton people let down ropes and pulled it up nearly within reach of hand, when down it went, without there being any apparent reason for the ropes breaking. A second and a third attempt were attended with the same result till, weary and dispirited, they gave it up. The old man said that there was a verse to the effect that
‘All the devils in
Could never pull up Knowlton bell.’ ”

The writer says here that he considered this tale very pointless and incomplete but then found Hutchins’ version:

“There is a tradition current among some of the old people in the village that many years ago the bellringers (or a party) of this village went secretly and removed one of the bells from the old ruined church at Knowlton [...]. They were successful so far, but, as there came a fall of snow during the expedition, they were afraid of being discovered by their tracks, and to baffle pursuit in case of discovery they reversed the shoes of the horses on their return. Arriving at the old bridge of White Mill, which is distant from Sturminster Church about half-a-mile, they sent on two of their party in advance to the village to see that the course was clear. As they were so long gone the remaining party thought something was a miss and that they were discovered, and, suspecting that the people of Knowlton were on their track, they, to dispose of the bell and put it out of sight, threw it into the River Stour, in a deep hole (now called Bell Hole or White Mill Hole). Hence the following doggerel:-
‘Knowlton bell is a-stole
And thrown into White Mill Hole’.”

From the Proceedings of the Dorset Natural History Society vol. 27, 1906. The first story is told by Mr A Reeves, all being part of an article on Church Bells of Dorset by the Rev. Canon Raven.

My mother told me that about three miles from our house there is a place called Rathmore, and a crock of gold is supposed to be hidden in an old rath there. On several occasions some men from the district, including Mr Jones and two fo the Sweenys tried to get the gold but failed, because they were prevented by a bull. The last time they searched they had to leave again as the dead coach is supposed to have passed. Tradition says that a life is supposed to be lost before the gold can be taken.

From The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0829, Page 177.

There is a Rath in Gurtnalee, which is in this Parish, and years ago Mr. Shortt the owner of it wanted to cut down the trees in it. The people of the district advised him not to cut them down, but in spite of their advise he did it. A few days after he yoked his horse to draw the timber out of it, and it dropped dead. Then he yoked his donkey to draw it out, and it dropped dead also.
After that he never had a day’s luck, all his cattle died, and he met with a lot of sickness. After some time he made up his mind to leave the district, and he was not very long left it when he died.

From folklore collected from local people by schoolchildren in the 1930s, and now digitised at Duchas.ie.
The Schools’ Collection, Volume 0829, Page 169.

Judging by the Google Earth photo, this rath still exists and no-one’s been cutting any trees out of it lately.

The Chase of Slieve Cullinn. In which it is related how Finn’s hair was changed in one day from the colour of gold to silvery grey.

Culand, the smith of the Dedannans, who lived at Slieve Cullinn, had two beautiful daughters, Milucra and Aina. They both loved Finn, and each sought him for her husband.

As they walked together one evening near Allen, they fell to talking of many things; and their conversation turning at last on their future husbands, Aina said she would never marry a man with grey hair.

When Milucra heard this, she resolved with herself that if she could not get Finn she would plan so he should not marry her sister Aina. So she departed immediately, and, turning her steps northwards, she summoned the Dedannans to meet her at Slieve Cullinn. Having brought them all together, she caused them to make a lake near the top of the mountain, and she breathed a druidical virtue on its waters, that all who bathed in it should become grey...

The little lake for which this legendary origin is assigned lies near the top of Slieve Gullion. There were several wells in Ireland which, according to the belief of old times, had the property of turning the hair grey. Giraldus Cambrensis tells us of such a well in Munster; and he states that he once saw a man who had washed a part of his head in this well, and that the part washed was white, while the rest was black!
It is to be observed that the peasantry of the district retain to this day a lingering belief in the power of the lake of Slieve Gullion to turn the hair grey.

From Old Celtic Romances by P W Joyce (1920)... where you can read the rest of the story.

The Reverend Lett’s informants of 1898 seem to think the effects will be worse:

We found that the natives of Dorsey hold to a belief in certain magical effects produced by the water of Lough Calliagh Beri. They would not tell us what would happen to anyone rash enough to bathe in it, but vaguely hinted that it would be something dreadful.

The locality lies to the west of, and yet quite close to the wild and picturesque neighbourhood of Forkill, just on the west verge of the steep and rocky hills that stand out like sentinels before the great round mass of Slieve Gullion, which, 1893 feet in height, towers up grandly above them all, at a distance of only four miles.

[…] Traces of the “walls” are found from 10 to 11 [on the diagram]. At 11 there is a small bit of one of the ramparts still left. It is to be observed that from 9 to 11 the line of the “walls” curves gently to the south. From 11 the “walls are distinctly marked along the edge of a very deep bog where large quantities of turf are now each year, as they no doubt have for centuries been, prepared for fuel.

In this bog the old 6-inch Ordnance Survey Map once more sets out a short line of “piles”. And the natives tell of their having found oak “stakes” or “stabs” here with “collars” of oak fitted to them, and that “this was the way out to the country, and away through Ireland.” On the 6-inch Ordnance Survey Map, dated 1836; at this spot is a bit of “piles” set out into the bog at right angles to the line of the “walls.”
[…] On the descent of the “walls” towards 1, at the “Five roads,” the fosses are deep and well preserved, and the whole is studded with very old “fairy thorns.”

The inhabitants of the district hold that this part of the fortifications is the peculiar haunt of fairies; they assured us that “it would be unlucky to cut down one of the thorns or so much as even a branch, and when the bridge below was being fixed three years ago Brian K—would not let one branch be touched, and his son Owen would not lend his saw to cut a bit of one that was in the men’s way. Nobody would take a chip off them thorns, and look how gay they be, and mind you, every one of them is hundreds and hundreds of years old.

“One night I sat up to watch the turf in the bog that was a stealing, and I saw and heard – but I would not do it again for all the turf that ever were. I sat among the bushes beyont there, and I will not tell why I wouldn’t do it again. One evening we saw a funeral coming along the road from Dundalk, and it went up the rampart above there among the thorns, and they laid the corpse down and dug a grave, and put it in. The police got to hear of it, and they come and searched and searched the place everywhere but not a trace of anything did they see or find. And why should they, for sure it was not earthly.

“A girl who was herding the cows, and was at her sewing as she did so, saw a boy, her cousin, come along towards a gap in the fence near her. She bent her head a moment while hiding her sewing in her dress, and when she looked up, the boy was gone, and though she ran everywhere and called his name he was not there.”

We asked a boy who happened to be herding cattle near the bog, had he heard or ever seen a fairy. “I’ve heard of them, but I never saw one myself.” “Would you like to be out at dark on the old rampart?” we inquired. “I would not like to be there by myself,” was his reply.

Within the dun, on the highest point of this hill at 13, is a “Standing stone,” 5 feet high, having in it several deep and curious marks like the impressions of a huge finger, which were pointed out to us as “Caliagh Beri’s finger-marks.” The stone is locally known as “the White Stone of Caliagh Beri,” by whom the local tradition relates it to have been thrown into its present position from her lake on the top of Slieve Gullion.

From the Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland, 1898: The Dun at Dorsey, Co. Armagh by Rev. Henry William Lett.

According to this page the stone used to be whitewashed each year.

This is such a strange name, so I felt compelled to see where it comes from. The OED says ‘claper’ would be the Anglo-Norman version of the French ‘clapier’, which means rabbit hole. So a ‘clapper’ was a rabbit burrow, or maybe a place for deliberately keeping rabbits. The OED says for keeping ‘tame rabbits’ though I think they probably were often ‘tasty rabbits’. But not tasty for our prehistoric ancestors though, apparently rabbits only got established in the 13th century.

In the townland of Killameen between Miss Mary Ann O’Rourke’s house and Mr Charles O’Rourke’s house is situated a fairy fort. Many people saw those fairies there, but one particular person, Kate Smyth of Killameen, Carrigallen, was accompanied by them almost everywhere she went.
She said that after six o’clock every evening, she could hear the music of them everywhere around her. If she happened to be out late at night she was escorted home by a band of fairies who talked to her and questioned her.
She often claimed to have heard music and dance in her barn after six o’clock every evening but never before six.
People passing by this fort at night often heard the music, and often stood to listen to it.

From The School’s Collection of the National Folklore Collection of Ireland. This story was written down by a schoolgirl from Gortachoosh in the 1930s.

Well, Coflein cynically has it that this is a “probable cattle rubbing stone.” And who can deny that cows may have rubbed their bums on it over the years (photo here). But this article from Archaeologia Cambrensis in 1875 suggests it’s more than just a cow convenience:

The Maen Hir in Glyllivon Park.

Sir, -- The Hon. Frederick Wynn, who has lately joined our Association, asked me to go over to Glynllivon in order to examine some markings upon the Maen Hir within the Park walls, traditionally said to mark the grave of “Gwydion ab Don”. Accordingly I went there on Tuesday, Sept. 7th. The markings were soon disposed of, being attributable simply to the weathering of soft places in the stone.

Mr. Wynn then proposed digging at the foot of the stone with a view to ascertain if any interment had taken place there, and asked me where the excavation had better be made. The stone, which is 9 feet high above ground, has its sides facing east and west. The east side is nearly flat, and so I fixed upon that side.

A trench about 2 feet deep was opened, and at a distance of 3 feet from the stone and 2 feet 6 inches below the surface of the ground the workmen came upon a layer of calcined bones mixed with charred wood. On closer examination we found pieces of the urn that had once enclosed the remains. It had been apparently broken by the weight of the soil ages ago. We carefully sifted the earth around, as well as the contents of the urn, but found no article either for use or ornament. Portions of the rim and the bottom of the urn being preserved, we were enabled to judge that it must have stood about 8 inches high, with a diameter at the mouth of 7 inches, and across the bottom 4 1/2 inches. It has not been turned on the lathe, and is without ornamentation. Mr. Wynn subsequently dug on the west side of the stone, but found nothing. [...]

Gwydion ab Don stars in the Mabinogion – he’s a bit more magical a figure than someone you’d expect to find buried under a real stone (for example, a Welsh name for the Milky Way is ‘Caer Wydion’, the castle of Gwydion).

It is known as “Bedd Morris”, which Morris or Morus was a notorious robber who lived among the rocks on the summit of the hill commanding the pass; and which is the old, and was once the only, road to Newport.

This man had a little dog trained to fetch the arrows shot at unfortunate way-farers. The nuisance of this murderous individual was so great that at last the population rose in arms against him, attacked him in his mountain-cave, dragged him down to the place where the stone now stands, and there killed and buried him.

From Archaeologia Cambrensis v6, 1875, in an article called ‘On Pillar-Stones in Wales’ by E.L. Barnwell.

I’ve been puzzling over the old maps. The grid reference given is where the stone’s marked even now. I was excited to find this photo on Geograph – doesn’t it match the description well? But perhaps that’s what rocks look like round there – I think it’s not quite on the spot where the grid reference is. So that’s confusing. We need an on-the-spot reporter.

Though I’m not sure it’s worth the risk of finding out if the rumours are true. Or maybe it is. Might be untrue, and if it is true, you’ve got a 50:50 chance.

In a stony place, called Yr Arddu, Black Ham, pretty high in Cwm brwynog farm, on the ascent of Snowdon hill, there is a very large loose stone, called Maen du yr Arddu, i.e. The black Stone of Arddu; upon the top of which there is another lesser stone, seemingly as if it had been raised there by hands.

It is said, that if two persons were to sleep a night on the top of this stone, in the morning one would find himself endued with the gift of poetry, and the other would become insane.

And accordingly it is affirmed, that in a frolic two men, one called Huwcyn Sion y Canu, and the other Huw Belissa, agreed to sleep on the top of it one summer night: in the morning one found himself inspired with the celestial muse, and the other was quite bereaved of his senses.

It seems that both of these were of the lower order of minstrels, and very probably both of them drunk when they slept there: one, it should seem (having the appellation y Canu, Singer or Songster added to his name, and being addicted to singing) found his spirits in the morning in an exhilerated state, and the other not quite recovered from his intoxication. Imagination might have co-operated, so as to make him who was cheerful to fancy that he was really inspired, and to give the other an idea that he was really mad.

Or: how to kill a romantic idea stone cold dead with the application of reason.

From Observations in the Snowdon Mountains by William Williams (1802).

An early telling of the tale. No mention of the hole. But you can apparently use the stones to judge the size of the giant.

... there is a wide difference between [sepulchral] heaps, and those on the highest summits of these hills; the latter are formed of large building stones, the former chiefly of small stones, such as can be carried by hand;

which I think is sufficient proof that they were intended for different purposes; one in memory of the dead deposited under them, the other the ruins of temporary buildings, which sheltered persons on the watch, who were to give the country signals, by lighting fire at the approach of an enemy, in time of war.

And besides, those on the summits are commonly known by some name, such as Carnedd Llewelyn, Carnedd Ddafydd, Carnedd y Filiast, &c. the others seldom any names given them, unless they are named from fabulous events; such as that on Bwlch y Ddeufaen, which is called Barclodiad y Gawres, literally, The Giantess’s Apron full. The tale is thus:

A huge Giant, in company with his wife, travelling towards the island of Mona, with an intention of settling amongst the first inhabitants that had removed there; and having been informed that there was but a narrow channel which divided it from the continent, took up two large stones, one under each arm, to carry with him as a preparatory for making a bridge over this channel; and his lady had her apron filled with small stones for the same purpose: but meeting a man on this spot with a large parcel of old shoes on his shoulders, the Giant asked him, How far it was to Mona?

The man replied, that it was so far, that he had worn out those shoes in travelling from Mona to that place. The Giant on hearing this dropt down the stones, one on each side of him, where they now stand upright, about a hundred yards or more distant from each other; the space between them was occupied by this Goliah’s [sic] body. His mistress at the same time opened her apron, and dropt down the contents of it, which formed this heap.

This and such like tales, though modelled and modernized perhaps from age to age, according to the genius and the language of the times, were, I am of opinion, originally intended as hyperboles, to magnify the prowess and magnanimity of renowned persons; from which we may conclude, that these heaps, especially those that have pillars near them, are very ancient, even prior to the Christian era.

From Observations in the Snowdon Mountains by William Williams (1802).

Is this too confusing or what? Not only are there two Carn Breas, they are both near wells connected with St Uny / St Eunius.

At the foot of Carn Brea Hill, and not far from the Church of Redruth, is a well dedicated to St. Eunius. A stone cross formerly stood near to it.

Now it is a rugged little well, with no regular building. A moor-stone covers it, and round it is a sort of curb of rough granite, with an iron bar running along. At the back is a newer stone, bearing the date 1842.

There used to be ascribed to the water the virtue that whoever was baptised in it would never be ignominiously hanged; but now no recollection of this exists, nor reverence for its sanctity. The water is much used, because it is considered better than “pumpen” water.

Ancient and Holy Wells of Cornwall by M and L Quiller-Couch (1894). The church of St Euny is easy to pick out from an old map, but not the well. But there are the interesting sounding watery features of “Giant’s Well” and “House of Water” on the hill.

This is an Iron Age Round above the River Neet near Stratton. Centuries after it was built, the eponymous Civil War battle was fought here. The Earl of Stamford (Parliamentarian) got there first with his troops and set up on the hill, allegedly using the round as an emplacement for their guns. But despite having twice as many soldiers as the Royalists, they lost dismally.

Apparently Rough Tor and Brown Willy are “conspicuous though distant objects” from this point.

A rather fanciful etymology of Fettercairn is given by the late Rev. Robert Foote, in the Old Statistical Account of Scotland, as follows: “Fetter signifies a pass, and there are two large cairns at the top of the mountain and many small ones lower down, near to which, according to tradition, a great battle was fought, from which it is probable that the district got its name.” The tradition referred to by Mr Foote has not reached our day, and we have no record remaining of any particular battle. It may have been one of Wallace’s encounters with the English before his overthrow of them at Dunnottar, or that of Bruce’s victory of the Comyn at the foot of Glenesk, to be afterwards noted in connection with Newdosk.

On the whole, Mr Foote’s derivation is unscientific, because there can be no manner of doubt that the present name Fettercairn is a corruption of the older name Fether, or Fotherkerne; and here, as in many other instances throughout Scotland that can be cited, the local pronunciation follows the older name.

From ‘The History of Fettercairn: a parish in the county of Kincardine‘ by A C Cameron (1899). He also says “The oldest form of the name as written by Wyntoun, Prior of Lochleven, the rhyming chronicler who gives us the story of Fenella and the murder of Kenneth III., is “Fethyrkern.” This term is descriptive of the hillocks and prominent heights lying between the village and Fenella’s castle of Greencairn.” I.e the usual confusion and carping, but it doesn’t really matter.

In my district there are strange stories told. There is a very high hill situated south-west of the school. There are three moats or mounds on one side of the hill.

It is supposed that when the Milesians came to Ireland they made battle with the Tuata De Danawn there. When they were defeated they turned themselves by magical power into fairies. They then went and lived under those ‘mounds’.

Some of the inhabitants tell that they have seen some of the fairies on different parts of the hill. Some of the old people tell that they themselves have seen strange happenings on this hill. It is said there was seen a number of armed men on horseback and behind them there was playing some kind of musical instrument. It is said that this is seen when it is just between light and dark every evening when the sun is setting over the hill.

The field in which the highest moat is situated is called the “Round Table” and the moat itself is called the “One Moat”. The moat itself got this name perhaps being in a field to itself, the others a piece away.

There can be obtained a great view of the places around from this “moat”. On one side is Dublin City and the Dublin Mountains, Dalkey Islands [S??], Ireland’s Eye and Howth Head. Then down the other side lie the Mawne Mountains, and Tara can be seen also. It is a lovely thing to see the view on a calm Summer’s day. The little pleasure boats shining under the sun and sailing on the [b??] of the blue water.

It is said that anyone that meddles or makes with these moats will always have ill luck and misfortune. This teaches us a lesson and in many cases the stories of olden times tell us also.
“Do you wonder where the fairies are,
The folks declared have vanished?
They’re very near yet very far,
But neither dead or vanished.”

Some folklore recorded by 13 year old Bridie Harford from Walshestown, in the 1930s.
It’s part of the Schools’ Collection of the National Folklore Collection of Ireland – which is now being digitised and put on the internet!*

The ‘moats’ are actually barrows, and part of a barrow cemetery, according to the information on the Irish National Monuments Service website.

*this being an exciting thing to a folklore nerd

Tarberry corner, where four roads meet, and where for many generations those who laid violent hands upon themselves were buried, is a famous haunt for ghosts. Some years ago a man returning from Petersfield in the dusk, saw an apparition here which made him quake. He groaned, fell on his knees, “said his prayers sharp,” and when he came to the end of the Lord’s Prayer, to his horror the spectre advanced to meet him. It was a jackass!

On the summit of Tarberry are ”Pharisees‘” (fairies’) rings, the simple folk say; and the “Pharisees” dance there on Midsummer’s night. These blundering superstitions are veritable specimens of old Sussex folk-lore.

From The History of Harting by the Rev. H.D. Gordon (1877). The crossroads seems to be just at the north foot of the hill.

There is (or was), in Lady Kirk, at Burwick, South Ronaldsay, Orkney, a large stone which, according to the Rev. G. Low, tradition says St Magnus used as a boat to ferry him over the Pentland Firth, and for its service laid it up in the church, where it is still preserved.

[...] John Bellenden, archdeacon of Moray [in 1529], states the legend to this effect:-- South Ronaldsay is an island inhabited by robust men; it has a church near the sea-shore, where there is a very hard stone called ‘a grey whin,’ six feet long and four broad, in which the print of two naked feet is fixed, which no workman could have made. Old men narrate that a certain Gallus, being expelled the country, went on board of some ship to find an asylum elsewhere, when suddenly a storm arose by which they were exposed to great danger, and at last were shipwrecked; he at length jumped on to the back of a whale, and vowed, humbly praying to God, that if he was carried safely to shore, he would in memory, &c., build a church to the Virgin Mary. The prayer being heard, he was carried safely to the shore by the assistance of the whale. The whale having become changed into a stone of its own colour, he placed it in that church where it still remains. (Barry’s Orkney Islands, p. 443.)

From F.W.L.Thomas’s article on Dunadd in PSAS, Dec 1878.

Near the summit of Carmylie hill is a large burrow or tumulus, which was believed at one time by the natives to be a favourite haunt of the fairies, where, with much splendour, they held their nightly revels. It still bears the name of “Fairy-folk hillock”.

From Highland Superstitions by Alexander MacGregor (1901).
Canmore think the barrow was at NO 5445 4348, but that it’s sadly gone now. It was named as “The Fairy or Fair-folk Hillock” in the New Statistical Account of 1845. Several rings of bronze wire were found there in 1835.

... it may be as well to remark that at this place there are most distinct traditions of a battle. The author, recently, spent several days in examining the ground, and collecting these traditions.

An old man informed him that the soldiers who died in the great fight, (which lasted several days), were buried in a long trench (not included in the plan) on the slope of a hill to the eastward of the village, but that when this trench was dug over a few years since, no bones were found.

Another story related that a vault immediately beneath the farm yard at Boleit contained the bodies of the slain, but “when this shall be discovered,” added the old man,“’tis said that day will be the Judgment.” The inhabitants were in consequence rather timid, when the author proposed to dig in search of the place.

The “Pipers”, by the same tradition, represent the positions of the chieftains in front of their respective armies; and a “wise man,” reported to be living in “Buryan church-town,” has it on record, that their names were Howel and Athelstane.

In confirmation of the story of the battle, the word Boleit, pronounced Bollay, has been said to signify the “House of the slaughter,” from Bo or Bod, “a house” or “a grave,” and Ladh, “a killing.” Bo-lait, “a milk house” looks perhaps a more likely derivation; but the name Goon Rith which designates the land to the west of the circle, and where a third great stone is placed, is, undoubtedly, the “Red Downs,” a name which, as there is no appearance of that colour in the soil, looks strangely as if they had once been “bathed in blood.” [...]

From William Copeland Borlase’s ‘Naenia Cornubiae‘ (1879).

Southwest from the town is WEARYALL-HILL, an eminence so called (if we will believe the monkish writers) from St. Joseph and his companions sitting down here all weary with their journey. Here St. Joseph stuck his stick into the earth, which, although a dry hawthorn staff, thenceforth grew, and constantly budded on Christmas-day. It had two trunks or bodies, till the time of Queen Elizabeth, when a puritan exterminated one, and left the other, which was of the size of a common man, to be viewed in wonder by strangers; and the blossoms thereof were esteemed such curiosities by people of all nations, that the Bristol merchants made a traffick of them, and exported them into foreign parts. In the great rebellion, during the time of King Charles I. the remaining trunk of this tree was also cut down; but other trees from its branches are still growing in many gardens of Glastonbury, and in the different nurseries of this kingdom. It is probable that the monks of Glastonbury procured this tree from Palestine, where abundance of the same sort grow, and flower about the same time. Where this thorn grew is said to have been a nunnery dedicated to St. Peter, without the pale of Weriel-Park, belonging to the abbey.
Besides this holy thorn, there grew in the abbey-church-yard, on the north side of St. Joseph’s chapel, a miraculous walnut-tree, which never budded forth before the feast of St. Barnabas, viz. the eleventh of June; and on that very day shot forth leaves and flourished like its usual species. This tree is also gone, and in the place thereof stands a very fine walnut-tree of the common sort.
It is strange to say how much both these trees were sought after by the credulous, and though the former was a common thorn, and the latter not an uncommon walnut, Queen Anne, King James, and many of the nobility of the realm, even when the times of monkish superstition had ceased, gave large sums of money for small cuttings from the original.

From John Collinson’s 1791 History and Antiquities of Somerset.

Another version of the tales about Bomere is in Salopian Shreds and Patches, v1 (1874-5):

I am not aware of the existence of any legend about Bomere; but one or traditions are or were some years ago current respecting it. One is that it has no bottom. No end of waggon ropes have, it is said, been tied end to end with the view of ascertaining its depth, but in vain. Ergo, it has no bottom.

Another is that some two centuries ago, or less, a party of gentleman, including the squire, were fishing the pool, when an enormous pike was captured and hauled into the boat. Some discussion arose as to the girth of the fish, and a bet was made that he was bigger round than the squire, and that the sword-belt of the latter would not reach round the fish. To decide the bet, the squire unbuckled his belt, which was there and then, with some difficulty, fastened round the body of the fish. The scaly knight, for he no doubt felt himself to be one, being girt with the sword, began to feel impatience at being kept so long out of his native element, and, after divers struggles, he succeeded in eluding his captors, and regaining, at the same time, his freedom and his watery home. In later years he (so it is said) has been frequently seen basking in the shallow parts of the pool, with the sword still buckled round him, but he is too old a fish to be again caught. -- W.H.

Presenting an addition to my dubious theory of 2006. I found mention in Gloucestershire Notes and Queries v5 (1894), which is about ‘Place Rimes’, rhymes expressing local prejudice about neighbouring villages :)

Charles Hillier the ancient Corunna [Napoleonic battle of 1809] veteran who died at Uley some years ago, aged upwards of 90, added to the above [rhymes]:-- “Nimpsfield heg pegs,” which the old man explained were “things” which grew in the hedges.

And Nympsfield is literally yards from the tump. Etymology eh, you can argue it until the cows come home and it doesn’t really matter, but it is interesting I think.

The loch contains six islands, one of which – known as the Ash Island – is evidently artificial. It has been formed, as a writer in the Statistical Account says, “by driving strong piles of wood into the moss or marl, on which were placed large frames of black oak.” These were discovered in 1765, when the loch was drained for the purpose of procuring marl.

Tradition says that in early days it contained two large islands – one at the north end, which is now a peninsula, but still retaining the name of “The Isle,” while the other, near to the south end, is called “The Fir Island,” and appears to have been rendered famous in history as the spot where Edward I., on penetrating into Galloway in the year 1300, encamped, using the island as a place for shoeing his cavalry. To strengthen this supposition, we may state that near to this place many horse-shoes, of a form different to those now in use, have been found sunk deep in the mud [...]

The loch was formerly much larger than it is at present; and tradition narrates that there was a town which sunk, or was drowned, in its waters, and that there were two churches or chapels, one upon each of the large islands. The submersion of the town is in all likelihood a myth, although the truth of the story is believed by many of the old inhabitants; and we have heard that occasionally, during very dry seasons – that of 1826 being specially referred to – the roofs of houses have been discerned submerged in the loch. [...]

You can also read about the ancient Three Thorns of Carlingwark which grew near the loch. “From time immemorial they were used as a trysting-place by the lairds and yeomen throughout Galloway; and in history we find repeated mention of them made in connection with stirring events.”

From ‘Rambles in Galloway‘ by Malcolm McLachlan Harper (1876)

The mound called ‘Grimshoe’ is at TL8190289813. It gave its name to the Hundred of Grimshoe – the name coming from ‘Grim’s Howe’, or the burial mound of Grim (Woden / Odin). It’s probably a spoil mound from the quarrying, or maybe created especially from the spoil for the purposes of a special place for impressive Hundred Meetings. But don’t let its mundane origin detract from its mythological splendour.

Up here is a little cairn cemetery with two round cairns, two tor cairns and two ring cairns. They surround a large rock outcrop called Branscombe’s Loaf. Tor cairns are only found on the higher moors of Devon and Cornwall and only about 50 are known. They date from the early-mid Bronze Age.

On the slope between Sourton Tor and Bronescombe’s Loaf lies a large slab of granite through which a dyke of elvan has been thrust. In this elvan have been cut the moulds for two bronze axe-heads.*

Walter Bronescombe was Bishop of Exeter between 1258 and 1280, and he lies buried in the Cathedral under a fine canopied tomb. The effigy is of his own date, and gives apparently a true portrait of a worthy prelate.

One day he was visiting this portion of his diocese, and had ventured to ride over the moor from Widdecombe. He and his retinue had laboured through bogs, and almost despared of reaching the confines of the wilderness. Moreover, on taking Amicombe Hill [Kitty Tor] they knew not which way to take, for the bogs there are nasty; and his attendants dispersed to seek a way. The Bishop was overcome with fatigue, and was starving. He turned to his chaplain and said, “Our Master in the wilderness was offered by Satan bread made of stones. If he were now to make the same offer to me, I doubt if I should have the Christian fortitude to refuse.”

“Ah!” sighed the chaplain, “and a hunch of cheese as well!”
“Bread and cheese I could not hold out against,” said the bishop.
Hardly had he spoken before a moorman rose up from a peat dyke and drew night; he had a wallet on his back.
“Master!” called the chaplain, “dost thou chance to have a snack of meat with thee?”
“Ay, verily,” replied the moorman, and approached, hobbling, for he was apparently lame. “I have with me bread and cheese, naught else.”
“Give it us, my son,” said the Bishop; “I will well repay thee.”
“Nay,” replied the stranger, “I be no son of thine. And I ask no reward save that thou descend from thy steed, doff thy cap, and salute me with the title of master.”
“I will do that,” said the Bishop, and alighted.
Then the strange man produced a loaf and a large piece of cheese.

Now, the Bishop was about to take off his cap and address the moorman in a tone of entreaty and by the title of master, when the chaplain perceived that the man had one foot like that of a goat. He instantly cried out to God, and signified what he saw to the prelate, who, in holy horror, made the sign of the cross, and lo! the moorman vanished, and the bread and cheese remained transformed to stone.

Do you doubt it? Go and see. Look on the Ordnance Survey map and you will find Bread and Cheese marked there. Only Bronescombe’s name has been transformed to Brandescombe.
But the Bishop, to make atonement, and to ease his conscience for having so nearly yielded to temptation, spent great sums on the rebuilding of his cathedral.

I don’t know if this is traditional or made up by the good old Reverend Baring-Gould, but I don’t mind either way. From his ‘A Book of Dartmoor‘ (1900).

*This sounds most intriguing, but I’ve not found out anything more. Only a slog across the moors will tell.

The ‘fortifications’ surely refer to this site? Who knows. The author for all his long-windedness seems to know the lay of the land.

The Ghost of the Black-Dog.

A man having to walk from Princetown to Plymouth took the road which crosses Roborough Down. He started at four o’clock from the Duchy Hotel, and as he walked at a good swinging pace, hoped to cover the sixteen miles in about three hours and a half. It was a lovely evening in December, cold and frosty, and the stars and a bright moon giving enough light to enable him to see the roadway distinctly zigzagged across the moor. Not a friendly pony or a quiet Neddy crossed his path as he strode merrily onward whistling as he went.

After a while the desolation of the scene seemed to strike him, and he felt terribly alone among the boulders and huge masses of gorse which hemmed him in. On, on he pressed, till he came to a village where a wayside inn tempted him to rest awhile and have just one nip of something “short” to keep his spirits up.

Passing the reservoir beds, he came out on an open piece of road, with a pine copse on his right. Just then he fancied he heard the pit-pat of feet gaining upon him. Thinking it was a pedestrian bound for Plymouth, he turned to accost his fellow traveller, but there was no one visible, nor were any footfalls then audible. Immediately on resuming his walk, pit-pat, pit-pat, fell the echoes of feet again. And suddenly there appeared close to his right side an enormous dog, neither mastiff or bloodhound, but what seemed to him to be a Newfoundland of immense size. Dogs were always fond of him, and he of them, so he took no heed of this (to him) lovely canine specimen.

Presently he spoke to him. “Well, doggie, what a beauty you are: how far are you going?” at the same time lifting his hand to pat him. Great was the man’s astonishment to find no resisting substance, though the form was certainly there, for his hand passed right through the seeming body of the animal. “Hulloh! what’s this?” said the bewildered traveller. As he spoke the great glassy eyes gazed at him; then the beast yawned, and from his throat issued a stream of sulphurous breath. Well, thought the man, I am in for it now! I’ll trudge on as fast as legs can carry me, without letting this queer customer think I am actually afraid of him.

With heart beating madly and feet actually flying over the stony way, he hurried down the hill, the dog never for a moment leaving him, or slackening his speed. They soon reached a crossway, not far from the fortifications. When, suddenly the man was startled by a loud report, followed by a blinding flash, as of lightning, which struck him senseless to the ground. At daybreak, he was found by the driver of the mail-cart, lying in the ditch at the roadside in an unconscious state.

Tradition says, that a foul murder was many years ago committed at this spot, and the victim’s dog is doomed to traverse this road and kill every man he encounters, until the perpetrator of the deed has perished by his instrumentality.

There are similar legends of the doings of the Black Dog throughout the county, and many wayside public houses have “The Black Dog” for a sign.

From Nummits and Crummits by Sarah Hewett (1900). It’s rather dramatised up, I’m sure most Black Dogs aren’t so mean. It also reminds me of something I’m rather interested in at the moment, the 21st century tale of the Big Cat (which is also often black).

Between Dinas Emrys and Llyn Dinas you can still see a building called ‘Beudy Bedd-Owen’, referring to the grave of Owen. From a document of Edward Llwyd’s, Celtic Folklore, Welsh and Manx (1901) says..

that is to say, ‘Owen son of Maxen.’ Owen had been fighting with a giant – whose name local tradition takes for granted – with balls of steel; and there are depressions (panylau) still to be seen in the ground where each of the combatants took his stand. Some, however, will have it that it was with bows and arrows they fought, and that the hollows are the places they dug to defend themselves. The result was that both died at the close of the conflict; and Owen, being asked where he wished to be buried, ordered an arrow to be shot into the air and his grave to be made where it fell.

It may be a bit cheeky to add the folklore for your well? But it’s not far away and you’d imagine the inhabitants of the fort probably popped here for water? Once they’d used the amount up in that bullaun-style dip. I seem to remember the well featured in the BBC series ‘Pagans and Pilgrims.‘

In the south-east corner of the churchyard is St. Celynin’s well, at one time of more than local fame. [...] The well was resorted to by mothers with weak and sickly children, as a last resource, to strengthen their limbs, and restore them to health. The children were immersed either early in the morning, or in the evening, and were afterwards wrapped in a blanket and allowed to sleep. There was always a spare bed for the sufferers, and a hearty welcome to the anxious mothers, at a farm a little to the south, called Cae Ial. The cures effected by the virtue of the waters are said to have been many. The efficacy of the well is not altogether disbelieved by the neighbouring inhabitants at the present time. With the water of this well, children were always baptized.

On the left hand side of the road that passes the churchyard, and about two hundred yards from it, is a small spring called Ffynnon Gwynwy. Any one troubled with warts, upon making an offering of a crooked pin to the well, lost them. Fifty years ago the bottom of this little well was covered with pins; everybody was careful not to touch them, fearing that the warts deposited with the pins would grow upon their own hands if they did so. But the belief in the efficacy of the water has departed, and the well presents the appearance of a hole filled with clear water, overgrown with weeds.

‘Llangelynin Old Church, Caernarvonshire’ by E Owen, in Archaeologia Cambrensis v13, January 1867.

Understandably, Canmore won’t pin the first of these stories to this particular cist. But it might well be the culprit? The second, ‘Cairnywanie’, with its similarly noble skeleton, was at NX512584, but has all but disappeared.

About the year 1809, Mr McLean of Mark, while improving a field in the moor of Glenquicken, in Kirkmabreck parish, found it necessary to remove a very large cairn, which is said by tradition to have been the tomb of a king of Scotland, which is not in the genuine series, Aldus McGaldus, McGillus or McGill. When the cairn had been removed, the workmen came to a stone coffin of very rude workmanship; and on removing the lid, they found the skeleton of a man, of uncommon size; the bones were in such a state of decomposition that the ribs and vertebrae crumbled into dust, on attempting to lift them. The remaining bones being more compact, were taken out; when it was discovered that one of the arms had been almost separated from the shoulder by the stroke of a stone axe, and that a fragment of the axe still remained in the bone. The axe had been of green stone, a species of stone never found in this part of Scotland. There was also found with this skeleton a ball of flint, about three inches diameter, which was perfectly round, and highly polished, and the head of an arrow, that was also of flint; but not a particle of any metallic substance was found.
Mr Denniston of Creetown’s Letter to Mr. Train, of Newton Stewart, dated the 22d of October, 1819.

About the year 1778, in removing a quantity of stones for building dikes from a large tumulus in Glenquicken Moor, there was found a stone coffin, containing a human skeleton, which was greatly above the ordinary size. There was also found in this sepulchral monument an urn containing ashes, and an earthen pitcher. The urn seems to evince the antiquity of this tumulus, when the British practised funeral cremation. This tumulus is called Cairnywanie. Thus we have an account of two skeletons of very large size, found in Glenquicken Moor at different times. These facts seem to confirm the tradition that a battle had taken place here at some very remote period.

From the Statistical Account iv, p332 (browse under ‘Kirkmabreck’).

Well TSC, there is some I have found for you :)

Mr John Griffith wrote as follows:
“It is well known at Moylgrove that for ages the cauldron has been the show-place of the parish. Visitors are even now attracted to the place; but, in times past, I have learnt from the natives that, besides the cauldron itself, there were at least two still more powerful attractions on the spot – a well and a witch. Then, be it remembered, that right opposite the creek is a ‘castle,’ which Fenton compares with Tintagel. The only cottage on the headland where the ‘castle’ is situate is called Pen y Castell. Athwart the slope of Pen y Castell is a finely-constructed bridle-path, which leads to the castle. It is from near this bridle-path that the best view of the cauldron can be obtained.

“... The Rev. Llewelyn Griffiths, Dinas [...] knew the cauldron well. When I mentioned Ffynnon Halen, he corrected me and said its name is Fynnon Alem. When he was a lad at Moylgrove, he learned of it, as a thing which had happened just then – that somebody saw a mermaid at Pwll y Wrach, with long hair, waving an arm out of the water.

“... The Rev. J.T. Evans and I made another ‘find’. We found a regularly-constructed path leading into one side of the cauldron. It is narrow, yet wide enough for a person to walk with both feet down together, if you can fancy a man walking so. Nervous people had better avoid it though. The path leads into a cave of considerable size and length. Somebody once must have made much use of the cave. The making of a path on the sheer side of the cauldron was ticklish work.

“Now, Mr Davies [the village blacksmith] told me that the people there still talk of a witch inhabiting the cave, and of people who used to visit Pwll y Wrach to consult the Wrach. I judged, from what i heard, that such a witch might have been haunting the place, say, within the last century. At any rate, Mr Davies and his neighbours do not draw on our [ie Welsh] mythology for an explanation of Pwll y Wrach. They regard the name as associated with a common witch.”

This is from an article in Archaeologia Cambrensis from 1860, in which A.W. Wade-Evans is determined to connect mythological places with real places in Wales. He’s a man after my own heart of course. Although one has to know when to give up, and maybe in this case he stretches a bit far. Mythological places don’t have to exactly coincide with real places, isn’t that their charm? He wants to suggest that a stolen cauldron (a proper iron article) mentioned in the Llyfr Coch o Hergest “is”, in a mythological sort of way, represented by the Pwll y Wrach, as the book says “there is the measure of the cauldron”. Or something. It’s a bit tenuous.

I think his only connection to the word cauldron is his rather anecdotal I very distinctly remember a lady living close by, and who had lived there from childhood, telling me she had always known [Pwll y Wrach] in English as “The Witch’s Cauldron.” The inhabitants say it is a marvel to see in stormy weather, for in such a time it seethes like a boiling pot.

But regardless of the likelihood of his arguments, this sounds like a pretty marvellous natural place, connected with witches and holy wells and mermaids and castles from the mists of time, and what more do you want really.

This is really such a superb part of the country and reading about it makes me want to go back. The cairn might not be the one in the story – I can’t find one now known by the name ‘Carn Glas’ (although it’s common enough). But it could be, it’s right by the road and big enough at 50ft diameter and 6ft high to be noticeable. It’s got a c5ft long slab, a hefty 8” thick, covering a cist.

The Labourer’s Dream.

A labourer (navvy) was working on the road between Rhi-conich and Durness, in Sutherlandshire, about fifty years ago, and dreamed on a Saturday night that if he rose early on Monday morning, so as to be at Carn Glas at sunrise, he would see a crow sitting on a stone. Under that stone he would find the gold which was hid after the murder of a Norwegian prince.

The labourer was in so great a hurry to get the gold that he could not wait till Monday, but set off on Sunday evening, as he had a long way to go. When he reached Carn Glas, there was a crow sitting on a stone, but he did not know which was the right one, for there was a crow on every stone!

People who could interpret dreams said that this happened because he broke the Sabbath; he ought to have waited till the Lord’s Day had gone past, and he would have been certain to get the gold.

From p373 in volume 9 of ‘Folk-lore’ (1898).

Here’s a romantic thing. It’s not got anything directly to do with the barrow. But it does relate to what is immediately beneath the hill with the barrow, one of the famous Cheshire meres. They’re quite strange things, the meres and mosses. They make for quite a peculiar landscape with their bogginess and dark pools ringed by vegetation. You’ll remember Lindow Man, the Iron Age ‘bog body’, also from Cheshire. So these places had significance for our ancestors.

And this particular mere has a legend of a floating island, which strikes me as rather Arthurian. It seems that it features in Alan Garner’s ‘Moon of Gomrath’ (though I’d forgotten this, call yourself a fan eh Rhiannon).

There must be a better source than the touristy Murray’s Handbook for Shropshire, Cheshire and Lancashire (1870) but for now it’ll do.

A country legend accounts for the floating island by a story, that a certain knight was jealous of his lady-love, and vowed not to look upon her face until the island moved on the face of the mere. But he fell sick and was nigh to death, when he was nursed back to health by the lady, to reward whose constancy a tremendous hurricane tore the island up by the roots.

Despite the modern scepticism of some, there really was a floating island. As the Journal of the Architectural, Archaeological and Historic Society of Chester (vol 2, 1862) says:

We have in one of our Meres – Redesmere – a floating island. It is a mass of peat moss, about two statute acres in extent; its outer edge carries a belt of alder and birch trees (some twenty yards wide), some of the trees being twenty feet high and a foot in diameter. The interior is formed of a mass of long grass, cranberry, bog myrtle, and heather, all matted together. It requires a flood and wind from a particular point to move it from its usual position; but occasionally, when retained in deep water till the flood subsides, a very slight wind is sufficient to make it shift its position, and it has done so, the Rev. R. Heptinstall informs me, three times in one day. It has now been stationary about two years, and it requires some depth of water in the Mere to allow it to move say a distance of one-third by a quarter of a mile.

How superb. If I had a lake I would definitely want a floating island in it.

A description of the supposed scene of the ballad, which was communicated to the Editor in 1767, is here given in the words of the relater:

“In Yorkshire, six miles from Rotherham, is a village called Wortley, the seat of the late Wortley Montague, Esq. About a mile from this village is a lodge, named Warncliff-lodge, but vulgarly called Wantley: here lies the scene of the song. I was there above forty years ago; and it being a woody rocky place, my friend made me clamber over rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I came to a sort of a cave; then asked my opinion of the place, and pointing to one end says, Here lay the dragon killed by Moor of Moor-hall; here lay his hea; here lay his tail; and the stones we came over on the hill, are those he could not crack; and yon white house you see half a mile off, is Moor-hall. I had dined at the lodge, and knew the man’s name was Matthew, who was a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he endeavoured to persuade me, was the same Matthew mentioned in the song: in the house is the picture of the dragon and Moor of Moor-hall; and near it a well, which, says he, is the well described in the ballad.”

The ballad is here in Percy’s Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. It’s a humorous take on old ballads of chivalry, and the dragon tries to put off Moor of Moor-hall (in his Sheffield steel armour) by firing dung* at him. But Moor is not deterred and kills him with a kick up the behind, or Arse, as it actually says in the poem (*and worse). The first edition of ‘Reliques’ was published in 1765.

For the most part, this venerable way is deserted save for an occasional shepherd or a solitary farm labourer returning home from work. Silent and lonely, it pursues its course over height and into hollow: now stretching away in a generous curve sharply defined by a bank on either side, now scarcely to be distinguished from the surounding turf.

At intervals are earthworks that guard it and barrows that keep watch. Round one of the latter, familiarly called the “Knob,” not a few curious legends have gathered. Some distance below the old road there runs, also from east to west, a military ditch and vallum, and the story goes that the devil, having a fancy to turn ploughman, cleft this mighty furrow along the hillside. When he arrived opposite the spot where the barrow now stands, his ploughshare became clogged; he halted to clean it, and the soil which he scraped off he tossed over the Ridgeway in a heap to be known henceforth as the Knob. There is a lavishness about this proceeding which can only be properly appreciated by those who have seen the mound and the Devil’s Dyke. The tale was told to me by a native of the district who had heard it when a boy, from the older labourers working on his father’s farm.

Local opinion however, differed on the subject. While some people believed the Knob was due to His Satanic Majesty’s industry, others posessing more education, maintained it was a genuine tumulus raised above the body of Cwichelm, king of the West Saxons; and yet a third party claimed that it was composed of the bodies of this king’s soldiers, slain hereabouts in some great battle. So prevalent was this last belief that the owner of the land, who was a thrifty soul, cut into the mound and drew off several hundred loads of soil under the impression that it contained valuable fertilising qualities.

The informant to whom I am indebted for the above traditions, well remembers seeing the farm carts coming and going on their foolish errand, and the sensation created in the neighbourhood by this wanton destruction of the barrow. Its poor remains can still be viewed – a monument no longer of a dead chieftain or his forgotten host, but of man’s credulity and ignorance.

When I first knew the Knob, it was surmounted by an enormous scaffold of fir-poles – now fallen into decay – which I fondly believed had been erected in honour of the Wessex leader. It was really the work of the Ordnance Department, having been built for triangulation purposes, and the knowledge of this fact, that I learnt later, destroyed much of the mystery with which I had invested the spot.

From Travels Round Our Village by Eleanor G Hayden (1902).

On the north-west I was much struck with the singular appearance of a vast rock, called Craig Eglwyseg, or the Eagle’s rock, from the tradition of some eagles having formerly had their aerie here. Leland seems to have mistaken this for the rock, on which the castle stands, where he says, “there bredith every yere an egle. And the egle doth sorely assault hym that destroyeth the nest; goying down in one basket, and having another over his hedde, to defend the sore stripe of the egle.”

For more than half a mile this rock lies stratum upon stratum in such manner, as to form a kind of steps, parallel with the horizon, which the naturalists call Saxa sedilia. The inhabitants of Llangollen say, that somewhere about this rock is an opening, from whence there is a long arched passage under ground, supposed to lead to the castle. I scarcely gave any credit to this report, for I could not, upon enquiry, hear of any person who had seen it, or who could tell whereabouts it was.

The castle is Castell Dinas Bran. From A Tour Round North Wales performed during the summer of 1798, by the Rev. W. Bingley.

I noticed that elsewhere on the internet people say the stone was in a different church, St Nidan’s in Llanidan. So I started wondering why I’d thought the church at Llanedwen. But there’s definitely books that mention it. This is from ‘The history of Wales‘ by John Jones (1824). Mr Rowland died in 1723 – he was the vicar at both Llanidan and Llanedwen, which makes for more confusion.

Llanedwen.
Near this place, on the banks of the Menai, is the greatest Cromlech in Anglesey, and supposed to be an altar on which the Druids offered to the Sun the sacrifice of human victims. The church of Llanedwen is said to have been erected in A.D. 640 – about A.D. 1440 would be nearer the truth. The Rev. Mr. Rowland, author of the Mona Antiqua, lies buried here, under a tomb-stone of Anglesey black slab, bearing a Latin inscription, written by himself.

The wandering stone, Maen Morddwyd, is secured in the wall of this church, and deprived of its locomotive impositions.

A History of the Island of Mona, or Anglesey, by Angharad Llwyd (1833), suggests the Llanedwen church, since it mentions nearby Porthamel. And why would you say that if you meant Llanidan – I’d just say Llanidan?

Thus “Maen Morddwyd” (concerning which there has been so many marvellous stories related) “is now well secured in the wall of the church,” at Porthamel, not far from Llanidan, famed for being the place where Suetonius landed, in 61.

The Latin of this note has been translated as follows:

Here also, in the church-yard wall, the thigh stone, commonly called Maen Morddwydd, which has been so curiously and largely described by Giraldus Cambrensis, obtained a place for itself a long time ago; but of late years it was pulled off and carried away, either by some papist or other, or by some ignorant person, (its miraculous virtue not displaying itself as formerly, having entirely languished or exhausted itself by age,) with no loss indeed to the place, nor any gain to him who took it away.

The thing is, just before this excerpt, the church of St Aidan is specifically mentioned – that’s the other church! But I can’t work out what this document is or who wrote it? Everything is so contradictory. Pennant’s Tour In Wales is from 1770 and also says the stone is at Llanidan. But did he really go there, or is he just reporting the legend? I sense the parish name vs the specific church confusion arising again.

But at least here’s some straightforward folklore. Here (on page 136) in the National Library of Wales journal, there is an extra bit of the Itinerary translated. It’s not included in the other translations I’ve seen, possibly for reasons of rudeness this time. The original latin can be seen here. It says:

If a lustful act be committed near the stone it immediately breaks into sweat. So, too, if a man and woman commit adultery there. If intercourse be had nearby no conception follows, and so the cottage that once stood there has fallen into ruin and the fateful stone alone remains.

Geraldus’s 13th century Itinerary reads somewhat like the Fortean Times, it’s full of bizarre stuff and you wonder if any of it was true. But the idea that an actual stone existed seems to stick. I can’t see any reports of people who’ve actually looked for it on the church or churchyard walls. But judging by the pages on the 21st century internet, people still want it to be there.

There seem to be a lot of water in the vicinity, what with the water under the stone being ‘seldom dry’, and the same book mentions springs dedicated to St. George and the Blessed Virgin in nearby Reynoldston. This is something about the holy well just to the south of Maen Ceti.

There is also on Cefn y Brynn a remarkable Well, called Holy Well, a very copious Spring, which has the remains of Antiquity about its square Inclosure: Tradition hands down its celebrity for great cures, and it has been customary for the adjacent Neighbourhood to resort to it on Sunday Evenings to drink its water, and pay the tribute of throwing in a pin.

A topographical dictionary of the dominion of Wales (1811).

More from the Gentleman’s Magazine of 1813 (pt1., pp. 318-19).

There are, or rather were, about fifty years ago, traditionary tales in the village that a nunnery once stood on Hoston; and that steps had been found communicating subterraneously with the monks of Leicester Abbey, about two miles distant. But no religious house of this kind is to be traced here. [...]

Some years ago it was believed that fairies inhabited, or at least frequented, this stone; and various stories were told concerning these pigmy beings. Such, according to the testimony of Borlase, in his “History of Cornwall,” is the common opinion respecting the many druidical stones in that county. This belief was so strongly attached to the Hostone-stone, that some years ago a person visiting it alone, fancied he heard it utter a deep groan; and he immediately ran away to some labourers, about two hundred yards distant, terrified with the apprehension of seeing one of the wonderful fairy inhabitants.

In the adjoining vale, at the distance of about one hundred yards from the stone, on the north-east, is a plot of ground known, before the inclosure of the lordship, by the name of “Hell-hole Furlong.” No circumstance belonging at present to the spot seems likely to have given rise to this strange name: it leaves room therefore for the conjecture that in this quarter the sacrifices, too often human, were wont to be performed [...]

If you insist.

Devil’s Jumps at Thursley.
[1799, Part II, p. 921.]

Thursley, or Thirsley, is an extensive parish in the county of Surrey and hundred of Godalming. The village is mean and straggling, standing in a dry, healthy situation, pleasant in summer, but, from its high, unsheltered situation, exposed to the north-east winds, very cold in winter. On the heaths between Thursley and Frinsham are three remarkable conic-shaped hills, called the “Devil’s Three Jumps,” the eastern hill (or jump) being the largest in circumference and height, the centre hill the least and lowest. They are composed of a hard rock, barely covered with a light black mould, which gives a scanty nourishment to moss and stunted heath. Their bases are nearly surrounded by a foss, which in some places appears to be artificial. In the fosses are constant springs of water, which assist in forming near them a large piece of water called Abbot’s Pond, formerly part of the possessions of the neighbouring abbey of Waverly.

The country people, particularly the aged, relate many tales of these eminences, and hold them in a kind of awful reverence (the revels of the fairies yet linger in the tales of the aged rustick). It was formerly customary for the country-people on Whit-Tuesday to assemble on the top of the eastern hill to dance and make merry.

From a collection of articles from the Gentleman’s Magazine, published 1883.

This remarkable monument deserves more than a passing notice. The large mass of rock pointed north and south, and it used to be remarked by the quarrymen that about Midsummer the rays of the rising and setting sun poured straight through the passage under the rock; in reality the mass rested on a single point on the southern side. The apparently northern supports were not in contact with the large mass, as was often shewn by passing a thin cord between it and them. The northern rock on which it apparently partly rested was a long slab resting on other large rock masses piled on each other, but quite detached from the hill.

When a crow-bar was inserted under the Tolmen south of its main support, a few persistent efforts would cause the whole mass to vibrate. The northern end being much narrower, the rock projected in that direction, and the equilibrium would be in danger of being destroyed but for the peculiar arrangement above described; for the viabrating mass as it dipped north tilted up the long slab, which was in a line with the longer axis and thus acted as an equipoise. It is impossible to conceive that this arrangement was altogether natural. In all probability a natural confirmation of the rocks was taken advantage of to produce a desired result.

The Men Rock itself and those about it were covered in a remarkable way with deep rock basins. Other large monuments in the vicinity show evident marks of being artificially shaped.

Midsummer sun alignment... an arrangement impossible to conceive of as natural... I put it down to the druids myself. This is from A compendium of the history of Cornwall by J H Collins (1890).