Rhiannon

Having already carried off the top of the neighbouring hill of Trencrom, to make the Mount [St Michael’s Mount] itself, Cormoran was in want of further stones wherewith to build his castle, and sent his wife to fetch them from the same place. She, thinking (womanlike) that any other stone would do as well, fetched this one from the nearer hill of Ludgvan-lees. Angry at her conduct, the monster slew her with his mighty foot, and the great rock rolled from her apron and fell where we see it now [Chapel Rock]; a silent witness to the lady’s strength and to the truth of the narrative.

From which I suppose we can conclude that the giant Cormoran thought Trencrom Hill had extremely good stone. And confusion about this merited murder. Or something. Anyway, I’d not heard this before, and it’s from Thurston C Peter’s ‘Notes on St Michael’s Mount’ in the Journal of the Royal Institution of Cornwall, v14 (1899-90).

The three cairns here are close to Llyn Llech Owen. ‘Llech’ is a slab of rock. So indulge me with this stone-related folklore of the lake.

In 1884 I took [the tradition] down from my grandfather, Mr. Rees Thomas (b. 1809, d 1892), of Cil Coll, Llandebie – a very intelligent man, with a good fund of old-world Welsh lore – who had lived all his life in the neighbouring parishes of Llandeilo Fawr and Llandebie.

The following is the version of the story (translated) as I had it from him: – There was once a man of the name of Owen living on Mynydd Mawr, and he had a well (’fynnon’). Over this well he kept a large flag (’fflagen neu lech fawr’: ‘fflagen’ is the word in common use now in these parts for a large flat stone), which he was always careful to replace over its mouth after he had satisfied himself or his beast with water. It happened, however, that one day he went on horseback to the well to water his horse, and forgot to put the flag back in its place. He rode off leisurely in the direction of his home; but, after he had gone some distance, he casually looked back, and, to his great astonishment, saw that the well had burst out and was overflowing the whole place.

He suddenly bethought him that he should ride back and encompass the overflow of the wate as fast as he could; and it was the horse’s track in galloping round the water that put a stop to its further overflowing. It is fully believed that, had he not galloped round the flood in the way he did, the well would have been sure to inundate the whole district and drown all. Hence the lake was called the Lake of Owen’s Flag (’Llyn Llech Owen’).

As Mr Rhys explains, this is a similar story to one explaining the formation of Lough Neagh in Ireland – it also has an overflowing well and a magic horse.

From his article on Sacred Wells in Wales, in The Transactions of the Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion, 1892-3.

I spotted this in ‘The Age of the Saints‘ by William Copeland Borlase (1893).

Between Armagh and the Navan Fort (the ancient Emain of the romances), beside an ancient paved track, is a famous rag-well sacred to St. Patrick. When we visited it a few years since the thorns which spread over it were literally covered with strips of cloth of all colours and of all ages, from a rotten tatter to one affixed that very day. In Ireland the idea present to the mind in offering rags seems to be that the particular disease should be left behind with the shred. Mr Windle* has preserved the following ritual words: ‘Air impide an Tiarna mo cuid teinis do fhagaint air an ait so,’ meaning ‘By the intercession of the Lord I leave my portion of illness on this place.’ The original idea of votive offerings became inseparable from the sequel that with the presentation of the sacrifice the object for which it was made was gained [sic].

*MSS. R.I. Acad. 15. Cork East and West, p. 852. Again, he says, ‘Rags are not offerings or votive. They are riddances. Thus, you have a headache: you take a shred and place it on the tree, and with it you place the headache there.’ Ibid. 16. Topography of Desmond, p. 802.

The well is indeed about half-way between Armagh and the fort, on a direct and old road. Today it’s amidst a housing estate called St Patrick’s Park and the view on Google Maps makes it look very neglected. But when the houses were built it was excavated. There’s a photo on the NISMR that shows a digger going round it- the archaeological report from the time says ‘the builders showed the utmost respect for the well and particularly its ‘fairy thorn’. It also says that it was traditionally visited on the feast of St Peter and St Paul, the 29th June. So that’s interesting, that it’s not about St Patrick himself. And so the report tentatively suggests a pre-christian connection, what with the day being close to the solstice. But who knows.

Anyway I post this in the hope that someone might like to visit it if they were at Navan Fort – they have an interpretation centre there with a roundhouse, and who can resist a real life roundhouse.

The failure of the wrong person to secure [treasure] is illustrated by a story given by Mr. Derfel Hughes in his Antiquities of Llangedai and Llanllechid, pp. 35-6, to the effect that a servant man, somewhere up among the mountains near Ogwen Lake, chanced to come across the mouth of a cave with abundance of vessels of brass (pres) of every shape and description within it.

He went at once and seized one of them, but, alas! it was too heavy for him to stir it. So he resolved to go away and return early on the morrow with a friend to help him; but before going he closed the mouth of the cave with stones and sods so as to leave it safe. While thus engaged he remembered having heard how others had like him found caves and failed to refind them. He could procure nothing readily that would satisfy him as a mark, so it occurred to him to dot his path with the chippings of his stick, which he whittled all the way as he went back until he came to a familiar track: the chips were to guide him back to the cave.

So when the morning came he and his friend set out, but when they reached the point where the chips should begin, not one was to be seen: the Tylwyth Teg had picked up every one of them. So that discovery of articles of brass – more probably bronze – was in vain.

But, says the writer, it is not fated to be always in vain, for there is a tradition in the valley that it is a Gwydel, ‘Goidel, Irishman,’ who is to have these treasures, and that it will happen in this wise:--

A Gwydel will come to the neighbourhood to be a shepherd, and one day when he goes up the mountain to see to the sheep, just when it pleases the fates a black sheep with a speckled head will run before him and make straight for the cave: the sheep will go in, with the Gwydel in pursuit trying to catch him. When the Gwydel enters he sees the treasures, looks at them with surprise, and takes possession of them; and thus, in some generation to come, the Gwydyl will have their own restored to them.

Ancient bronze objects in Celtic Folklore, Welsh and Manx by John Rhys (1901).

Towards the weste there stands a highe hill called Roseberry Toppinge, which is a marke to the seamen, and an almanacke to the vale, for they have this ould ryme common,
“When Roseberrye Toppinge weares a cappe
Let Cleveland then beware a clappe.”
For indeede yt seldome hath a cloude on yt that some yll weather shortly followes yt not, when not farre from thence on a mountayne’s syde there are cloudes almoste contynually smoakinge, and therfore called the Divell’s Kettles, which notwithstandinge prognostycate neither good nor badde.

That is for shappe, scyte, and many raryties, more excellent then any that I have seene; yt hath somtymes had a hermitage on yt, and a small smith’s forge cut out of the rocke, together with a clefte or cut in the rocke called St. Winifryd’s Needle, whither blynde devotyon led many a syllie soule, not without hazard of a breaknecke tumblinge caste, while they attempted to put themselves to a needlesse payne creepyng through that neede’s eye.

Out of the toppe of a huge stone neere the toppe of the hille drops a fountaine which cureth sore eyes, receavinge that vertue from the minerall.

From a letter by ‘H. Tr.’ to Sir Thomas Chaloner (so possibly from around 1600?), printed in v2 of the Topographer and Genealogist, 1853.

Who knows if this stone is still here. Or indeed whether it might be legitimate TMA fare. But let’s be optimistic. It’s a big stone with magical connotations. It’s named at this grid reference on some old maps. And now it might be too tucked away for anyone at the manor (now a  hotel) to be worrying about.

A field adjoining the site of the mansion is still known by the name of Chapel-garth. A short distance from Chapel-garth in a hollow place, is a large stone called the “conjuring stone.” In the days of superstition and witches, a troubled ghost supposed to be

‘Doom’d for a certain time to walk the night,
And for the day confin’d to fast in fires;
Till the foul crimes done in his days of nature
Were burnt and purged away,“*

frequented this lonely spot and the neighbouring road and so terrified the natives, that it was deemed necessary for the peace of the town and the comfort of the “poor ghost” to ease it of its troubles by the aid of the priest, who after various ceremonies, exorcised the spirit and fastened it down with what is now designated, the “conjuring stone” which remains to the present day.

From Vallis Eboracensis by Thomas Gill (1852).

(*this is a quote from Hamlet)

Another group of barrows on Lake Down used to be called the Prophets’ Barrows, not from supposed prophets buried in them, but on account of a company of Hugenots, exiles from their native land, who in 1710 set up a standard on the largest of the group – a huge flat-topped mound – and preached from it to the country people, who named them the French Prophets.

It is interesting to think of the grave voice of the coming Methodism lifted up here in this large down country, where there is little to distract the mind from the great issues of life; with Stonehenge on the one hand and the spire on the other. The preachers are said to have roused the listening crowds to enthusiasm, but what abiding impression they made is not told.

According to Aubrey, on the downs, where the shepherds labour hard, the people have not “leisure to contemplate of religion, but goe to bed to their rest, to rise betime the next morning to their labour.” Whereas in North Wiltshire “(a dirty, clayey country) where the people feed chiefly on milk meates, which cooles their braines too much,” they “are more apt to be fanatiques.”

Aubrey should have known, he was born in North Wiltshire. From ‘Salisbury Plain‘ by Ella Noyes (1913).

Orgarth Hill Farm is on the opposite side of the road to these barrows.

The Ghost of Orgarth Hill. – This hill, a few miles south of Louth, some 40 years ago was haunted by a man riding on a shag or shaggy horse, which suddenly appeared without any warning, and kept up with persons until they were terrified, but usually it appeared to people riding or driving, who did not notice the horse and its rider, until they looked to see what had terrified their horses, which stood trembling with fear, until they bolted down the hill.

From Lincolnshire Notes and Queries volume 2, page 272. The implication seems to be that this apparition might be connected with the shagfoal or tatterfoal, a kind of furry horsey supernatural cousin of the more widely known big black dogs like Shuck.

The Stone used to lie in the field where the civil war Battle of Winceby took place. It’s marked on a map of 1880 but then seems to disappear.

There was the large stone in Winceby field, where soldiers had sharpened their swords before the battle. This was a stone of fearful interest, for much treasure was supposed to have been buried under it. Numerous attempts have abeen made to get at this treasure, but they were always defeated by some accident or piece of bad luck. On the last occasion, by ‘yokkin’ several horses to chains fastened round the stone, they nearly succeeded in pulling it over, when, in his excitement, one of the men uttered an oath, and the devil instantly appeared, and stamped on it with his foot. ‘Tha cheans all brok, tha osses fell, an’ tha stoan went back t’ its owd place solidder nur ivver; an’ if ya doan’t believe ya ma goa an’ look fur yer sen, an’ ya’ll see tha divvill’s fut mark like three kraws’ claws, a-top o’ tha stoan.’ It was firmly believed that the lane was haunted, and that loud groans were often heard there. -- Notes and Queries, vol. ix., p. 466.

[The Big Stone at Slash Lane, near Winceby]This stone cannot be moved, at least all attempts have so far failed, especially on one occasion, when it was with much difficulty reared up by ropes pulled by men and dragged by horses, for on a man saying, ‘Let God or devil come now, we have it,’ the stone fell back, dragging over the men and horses who were hauling at the ropes, and something appeared standing on the stone, doubtless Samwell the Old Lad, that is the Devil, who had been so rashly defied. -- Lincolnshire Notes and Queries, vol. ii., p. 235.

Copied from ‘County Folk-lore v.VII: Lincolnshire’ collected by Mrs Gutch and Mabel Peacock (1908).

This article in ‘Horncastle News’ (10th April 2002) describes that the stone got buried for many years in the field, but that in 1970 Frank Scott and his colleagues on the farm finally moved it out of the way – it took heavy lifting gear though. “Me and my mate were in that hole as quick as we could and dug down as far and fast as possible but we never found any treasure, nor devils either. By the number of broken ploughshares all around, we thought it was quite likely the stone was cursed, by every farmer and farm hand involved no doubt.”

The folklore is similar to many prehistoric stones in that it’s connected to the battle, has treasure lurking under it, and is said to be immovable. It’s even got supernatural marks on it from the devil. Pretty much a stoney folklore full house.

In a field on Sawcliff Farm, in the parish of Roxby-cum-Kisby, North Lincolnshire, there is a deposit of uncommon character and singular beauty. It is particularly interesting to the lover of natural objects. Locally it is known as the “Sunken Church.” An ancient tradition informs us that it was a church attached to one of the monasteries, and was buried by a landslip; or according to Abraham de la Pryme, the Yorkshire antiquary, who visited it in 1696 (Surtees Society, vol. liv.), the tradition is that the church sunk in the ground, with all the people in it, in the times of Popery.

[...] The stone curtain [..] consists of a mass of calcareous tufa deposited by a petrifying spring trickling out of the limestone rocks, as seen in the second illustration. It is a wall-like mass, some ninety feet or more in length, having a varying thickness from fifteen inches to two feet at the top, and a height above ground of nine feet at its highest point. From the higher end where it first leaves the ordinary slope of the hill, there is a gentle fall along the ridge until, about half-way down, a big step of about four feet occurs. Then the ridge continues to descend, until at the lower end it almost comes to the level of the ground again.

Undoubtedly the most striking feature about it is a groove two inches wide and one and a quarter inches deep, which runs along the ridge from end to end, and also continues down the step above mentioned. This groove is well shown in the first illustration.

The groove looks quite strange. I’m glad this curious bit of the landscape has survived in an area that’s so full of quarries and mines. It’s slightly remiss that dragons aren’t mentioned at all in the article. But the idea of the ‘sunken church’ is one found elsewhere in stoney folklore (e.g. Sunkenkirk). The photos and exerpt are from an article in Science Gossip, v7 (1901) by Henry Preston.

Not far from the Wambarrows are the ramparts of an old British fort, Mouncey Castle, which has also its legend – namely, that on a certain night of the year a chariot passes round the hill, and disappears into the cairn in the field below.

From A Book of Exmoor by F J Snell (1903).

A few years ago it was whispered at Dulverton that a local gentleman – none other than Mr. Arthur Locke, the then secretary of the Devon and Somerset Staghounds – had “seed something” near the Wambarrows. We have never inquired of the genial squire whether there was any truth in the story, having, perhaps hastily, assumed that it was apocryphal, but it is a fact that the spot is supposed to be haunted by a black dog – first cousin of the Irish manthe dog.

From A Book of Exmoor by F J Snell (1903).

Norton Fitzwarren Church.
The Rev. T. Hugo pointed out the screen, which he said was as fine a one as would be found anywhere. It contained a carved representation of two dragons and a plough in the centre. According to the legend the dragon who lived on the hill seemed to have infested the fields where the ploughmen were, and here he was in pursuit of the men. The plough was of a medieval character. One circumstance might lead to the discovery of the date of its construction – the name of the churchwarden for the time being was carved upon it. Its age was not very far before the year 1500. It ought to be coloured, as was no doubt the intention of the builder. Mr. Jones and Mr. Parker thought the representation was merely as usual allegorical of the results of sloth and industry, or virtue and vice. [...] The Rev. J. P. Hewett (rector) mentioned that in the year 1825 the screen, which until then had been in its original state, was covered with a coat of oak paint over the colouring.

[...] Ascending a hill in the rear of the church the party found themselves in Norton Camp.

From the Proceedings of the Somerset Archaeology and Natural History Society 1872. The Proceedings for 1898 mention the somewhat grisly detail that “Even in our own day the inhabitants will tell you of the pestiferous reptile that once upon a time lived on the hill, bred from the corruption of human bodies, breathing disease and death around.”.

‘The graves of the women’: three cairns high up on the hills near the boundary of the parish of Llanymawddwy, not marked on the Ordnance sheet.

“When Garthbeibio was a chapel of ease to Llanymawddwy, three women started to walk to the mother church one Sunday morning in winter to be churched. But when they reached the height of the mountain a snow storm came on and enveloped them in darkness; and when a search was made for them, the three were found dead on the spot where these barrows were raised to commemorate the melancholy event, and to denote the spot where their mortal remains found a last resting place” (Mont. Coll., 1873, vi, 12).

Tradition adds that the barrows were raised by the women of this and the adjoining parishes, who collected the stones in their aprons, and carried them to the spot.

This grid reference is given on the Coflein map. I doubt it’s the easiest spot to get to to check if there are three cairns. It also strikes me that if crossing boundaries is dangerous in a Welsh folklorish sense, then that must be particularly unwise on a windswept mountainside in the snow.

Distance 3 miles from Dolbenmaen, in the way to it, several pillars of different appearance, &c.; none of them equal to those of the grand monument, whose situation is upon the gradual slope of a very high hill, commanding a most extensive prospect, viz. the whole Isle of Anglesey, part of Ireland, &c.

The first object in approaching it is a lonely pillar, distant 160 paces from the grand Ellipsis.

This colonade is in diameter, one way, 44 cubits, the other, 36; consisting of 38 upright stones of various forms, heights & sizes, as well as distances from each other; some turgescent, some flat, some incline one way & some another; some are pyramids & some are cones. The vulgar believe that no one can count them. The area of the monument violated by the plough & harrow &c.

Tradition says that upon one of them being carried away to the adjoining farm house, for a lintel over the door, such a dreadful storm of thunder & lightning ensued, that the sacrilegious hands were forced to return it to its former place. However, the author says that the vacancies shew that several have been carried away, &c.

From Archaeologia Cambrensis, January 1849 (v13), p3. The information is taken from a manuscript from 1772, which ‘purports to consist of notes and extracts taken from another work, the title of which is unfortunately destroyed in great part’. Sadly, rather like the circle.

This is the third of the stones mentioned by Lewis, in his 1833 Topographical Dictionary of Wales – about one mile north-east of the church.

In the parish of Darowen is the township of Noddfa, the name of which implies a place of refuge or a sanctuary, its limits probably being described by three stones – one called Carreg y Noddfa, standing about a mile to the east of the church, another large stone standing about one mile to the south of the church, and a smaller one about the same distance north-east of the church.

The Inventory for Montgomeryshire says it is ‘reputed to be the smallest of the three stones.’ But I can’t see any sign of the named ‘Carreg y Noddfa’ to the east of the church on old maps. Which is a shame.

“In the parish of Darowen is the township of Noddfa, the name of which implies a place of refuge or a sanctuary, its limits probably being described by three stones – one called Carreg y Noddfa, standing about a mile to the east of the church, another large stone standing about one mile to the south of the church, and a smaller one about the same distance north-east of the church.” (Lewis, Top. Dict. of Wales, 1833, s.n. Darowen’).

These stones, which may have served in medieval times to have marked off an area devoted to the right of sanctuary or some other ecclesiastical purpose, appear to be at present reduced to two in number.

One is placed at the spot indicated above, at the cross roads 1/4 mile of Talyweren, and in the centre of the field called ‘Cae yr hen eglwys,’ ‘old church field’. The stone is of mountain grit, 6 feet above ground and 12 feet 6 inches in circumference.

The farmstead is called Rhos Dyrnog, and Arch. Camb. 1856, III, ii, 193, notes the presence of “two erect stones at Rhos Dyrnog,” but the tenant of the neighbouring farm of Caerseddfan has always known of only one. It would, however, appear that there must have been two stones in the field, as the Tithe Schedule [...] gives its name as ‘Cae Meini Llwydion.‘

-- Visited, 27th May, 1910.

From An Inventory of the Ancient Monuments of Wales and Monmouthshire: 1 – County of Montgomery, p31.

This is the stone ‘about one mile to the south of the church’. But then if there was more than one here, how does that fit into Lewis’s description with three in total in different places? It’s all a bit tangled. (The stone ‘to the north east’ must be Maen Llwyd (Commins Coch).)

The Inventory goes on:

Cae yr hen Eglwys, ‘Old Church Field’ [...] the field within which the larger of the two meini hirion called ‘Cerrig Noddfa,’ ‘sanctuary stones,’ still stands.

Mr Edwards Hughes, Rhos Dyrnog, who has 40 years’ personal experience of the field, stated that when ploughing it about ten years ago, he struck on some masonry to the east of and very near the maen hir, and about 6 inches below the surface. He uncovered all he could trace, which then showed foundations of a solidly constructed building, 25 feet by 18 to 20 feet, with the foot-stone of a door, “very deeply foot-worn,” in situ at the north corner. To the east of the foundation stones, and close to them, his plough struck a roughly circular boulder, beneath which was an empty cavity, 2 feet wide by 3 feet deep. All the stones were removed and taken up, “so as to plough easier.” Local tradition affirms an old church to have stood close to the sanctuary stone. -- Visited, 27th May, 1910.

The Plot Thickens. What can it all mean. (Not that we’ll ever know now. but at least it’s easier to plough, tch).

As regards the King’s Stone, which members had viewed that morning, it had really nothing to do with the battle [of Flodden]. It was, in fact, a very ancient Tribal Gathering or Trysting Stone, which had evidently been transported from the cherty magnesian limestone quarry at Carham, either mechanically or by glacial action.

The prevailing misapprehension about the King’s Stone has probably been perpetuated by, if it did not originate in, Scott’s Notes to Marmion – “An unhewn column marks the spot where James fell, still called the King’s Stone.” As a matter of fact it is situated about three-quarters of a mile Northward from the locality of the final scene of the battle, on the farm of Crookham Westfield, formerly a Moor.

There is interesting incidental evidence that just thirty-two years after Flodden, this rugged column was known as the Standing Stone. The Earl of Hertford, on one of his expeditions into Scotland, left Newcastle in September 1545, “and all his army had a day appointed to mytte at the Stannyngston on Crocke-a-More (Crookham Moor).”

From volume 10 of the History of the Berwickshire Naturalists’ Club (1908).

... Roughting-Linn, from its noise in its fall after great rains; the word roughting being also used by the borderers, on hearing the lowing and bellowing of cattle. It is nearly perpendicular, forty-seven feet and a half, from a rock of brown whin, spotted with green; the bason seven feet over, and in depth fifteen feet, measured by a line and plummer, in September, 1761; the weather fine, and the water low. It is a trout-stream, pretty sizeable trouts being taken in it above the fall. It was the custom of the late Colonel Moor, of Halystone, to put them into such places, obscure alpine rivulets and lakes.

From The Natural History and Antiquities of Northumberland by John Wallis (1769), v1, p25.

This stone is marked on up-to-date maps so I’m hoping it’s still there.

I may here mention, that another boulder, still more interesting, is situated a few hundred yards below Coldstream Bridge, on the north side of the bank of the Tweed. Judging from its dimensions and quality, it must weigh above 12 tons. It consists of chert limestone, of a cream or grey colour. The field in which it lies is called from it, the Grey stone field. Limestone of exactly the same description occurs in situ, near Carham, about six miles to the westward.

This large Boulder in former days was an object of popular mystery and reverence. It was resorted to on the occasion of the celebration of Border marriages. The couple, having proceeded with their respective friends to the stone, the bride and bridegroom, stretched across it, and joined hands. The friends then declared the compact formed.

It’s not mentioned on Canmore and it would be interesting to see what this folklorey stone looks like. It’s mentioned in the History of the Berwickshire Naturalists’ Club for 1857 (page 237).

Also a little about the caves on the crags here:

The Crags are sandstone and in some parts rise as cliffs to the height of one and two hundred feet. There are great rents in these rocks and tumbled down masses, which here and there form caverns. One of these, Wedderburn’s Cave, was examined; another bears the name of the Priest’s Cave.

In times of disturbance and insecurity, when the borders, especially, were subject to plundering and slaughter, such caverns may have been used as hiding places, and have taken their name from the persons who found refuge in them. Some persecuted minister of religion may have found temporary safety in the Priest’s Cave, and possibly a freebooting Wedderburn may have escaped death by concealment in the dark recess which bears his name.

From the History of the Berwickshire Naturalists’ Club; the anniversary address delivered on 27th September 1861 (and written up by George Tate).
Wedderburn Hole is at NU077099. Macartney’s Cave is at NU060093. Alison’s photo on Flickr makes the former look a bit of a squeeze. But the latter looks a bit more homely.

This promontory fort was visited by the Berwickshire Naturalists’ Club in July 1857.

The day was most favourable, bright and with a cool air. The majority of the members, under the guidance of the Rev. Mr. Walker, the Minister of the Parish, proceeded up the valley of the Blackadder, which divides the Parish into two parts, the moor part, from the more cultivated land.

They admired the dark grove of fir trees on the opposite bank of the stream, and the perpendicular cliffs above the river, called “Thomas’s Grave,” the common name of the place, but the origin lost in obscurity. Advancing forward they came to a large mound called the “King’s Grave,” about which there is a legendary tale, which Mr. Walker has kindly undertaken to make us acquainted with hereafter. [...]

An encampment, called the “Black Castle Ring,” very perfect, situated on the high grounds, was the next object of interest. On three sides there is an outer ditch, then a high dyke of earth, then a wide fosse, and then again an inner dyke – a large flat piece of rich-grass ground forming the centre. On the other side is a broken bank, very precipitous, 100 feet and more above the river, from which the camp was quite inaccessible.

I imagine the King’s Grave is the cairn here. But you will have to make up your own story for now.

I tracked down ‘The Cambrian Register’. The mention of the cromlech so-called is in ‘A statistical account of the parish of Llanymyneich’ by Walter Davies. He mentions the Ogo:

One vestige of [the Romans’] mining, is an immense level branching out in different directions, as they were led by the veins of copper ore. Its windings are so numerous and intricate, that some years back, two men of this parish, endeavouring to explore its mazes, were so bewildered in its labyrinths, that when they were found by some miners who were sent in search of them, they had lain themselves down, in despair of ever seeing any more the light of day. It is now called the Ogo, about which the neighbouring peasantry abound with fairy legends, too ridiculous to enumerate.

He mentions various skeletons found in the caves, including one wearing ‘a golden bracelet, clasping about the wrist’, but “the selfishness and ignorance of the master-miners have deprived us at present, of a view of those curious relicks.” He goes on:

This hill, lest it should all be made subservient to Roman avarice, had one spot of it consecrated to religion. On its eastern brow once stood a Cromlech, measuring seven feet by six, and about eighteen inches thick. It is called by the vulgar bedd y cawr; and it was the voice of immemorial tradition, that a giant had buried his wife under this stone, with a golden torque about her neck. This report caused three brothers, who lived in the neighbourhood, some years back, to overturn the stone from its pedestals in search for the treasure; in which position it now lies. Thus we see how avarice stimulates men to deeds of villainy, not even to spare, but sacrilegiously to overturn the altars of the Gods. The neighbours will tell you, how this vile act did not escape the vengeance of heaven, but ended in the destruction of its perpetrators.

From the Cambrian Register for the year 1795, p298.

There’s some stoney folklore for this area (and shape changing animals of various colours). But you’ll have to ask GM if he sat on any big blue stones.

[Saint Tydecho,] upon a quarrel between him and Emyr Llydaw (i.e., Emyr, King of Armorica) he came over to Mowddwy and built a temple (teml) there, and kept a good house; that his bed was the blue rock on the side of the valley, and that he wore a hair coat (pais rawn), and was a confessor.

Maelgwn Gwynedd, in the heat of his youth, sent his horses and dogs to be fed by his prayers. Tydecho turned them loose into the mountain; and when they were fetched, though it had been cold winds and hoar frost, they were found fat and strong, and their white colour changed into a gold colour. Maelgwn Gwynedd, provoked at this, took away Tydecho’s oxen; but the next day deer instead of oxen were found in his team aploughing, and a grey wolf drawing the harrow after them.

Maelgwn came with a pack of white dogs to hunt to these rocks, and sat upon Tydecho’s blue stone; but when he endeavoured to get up, he found his backside was quite fastened to the stone that he could not stir, and was so obliged to make matters up with the saint. He sent back his oxen, and gave him for atonement the privilege of sanctuary for a hundred ages so that neither man nor beast could be taken from his land; no battles, or burning, or killing to be admitted there.

From Dafydd Llwyd ap Llewelyn ap Gruffydd‘s account, collected in Lewis Morris’s Celtic Remains (1878).

There were four barrows here, as you can read on Pastscape, but maybe only one or two are visible now. Maybe you can see the stones and grave if you’re looking in the right direction.

Near Norden-hill, in Dorsetshire, is a lengthy mound which is popularly called the Giant’s Grave; and very near to it are two large stones which have probably rolled down from the beds of rock on the side, or from the chalk hill above. A story, popular in the neighbourhood, says that two giants were once standing on Norden-hill and contending for the mastery as to which of them should hurl the longer distance, the direction being across the valley towards Hanging-hill. He whose stone fell short was so mortified at the failure that he died of vexation, and was buried beneath the mound which has since been known as the Giant’s Grave.

From Giants and dwarfs by Edward J Wood (1868).

Michaelmas Day was formerly regarded with suspicion in Wales. It was credited with uncanny power. There was an old superstition that on this night the Cistfaens, or warriors’ graves, in all parts of the Principality were illuminated by spectral lights, and it was very unlucky to walk near those places on Michaelmas Eve or Night; for on those two occasions the ghosts of ancient warmen were engaged in deadly fray around their lonely resting-places. (C. D. and Family Collection.)

From Marie Trevelyan’s Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales (1909).

At a place called Rhiwsaeson, near Llantrisant, Glamorgan, a woman in white used occasionally to appear. A farm labourer returning home one evening met her. She approached him, saying: “Your wife has given birth to a babe. Go and bring the boy to me at once, that I may be saved.” The man was surprised to find the event had come about. He feared to do this, and the parson advised him to have the infant christened before taking him out, fearing he might die before his return. When he, carrying the babe, reached the spot where the white woman waited his coming, he found her crying bitterly and wringing her hands, for one of the conditions of her soul’s redemption was the kiss of a new-born and unbaptized child.

A shepherd, minding his master’s sheep on the Llantrisant Mountain, sat to rest in a sheltered nook where a huge rock covered with heather shielded him from the fierce sunshine at noontide. He looked a few paces away, and saw a white-robed girl scattering a few roses. The shepherd waited until she was gone out of sight, and then went from his nook to gather the flowers. He looked at them, and said: “Oh, what beautiful flowers!” He replaced them where they had been scattered. Suddenly the maiden reappeared, looked at him kindly, and smiled sadly, but never uttered a word. That night he took the flowers home, and placed them in water. In the morning he found three gold coins where the flowers had been.

It’s not inconceivable these two stories about a woman in white are about the same place? And that that place could be here? Just to be on the safe side I wouldn’t hang about after dark. From Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales by Marie Trevelyan (1909).

It must be notable that the only thermal spring in Wales is at the foot of this hill: Ffynnon Taff (Taff’s Well). Wikipedia seems to have a pretty good write-up. They have open days sometimes, which I’m sure would be very interesting. A lovely warm spring (like at Bath) cannot have escaped the attentions of local people in prehistory. And there’s some attendant folklore, for example:

A few miles above Cardiff, on the eastern side of the river, there is a thermal spring called Taff’s Well. Taff is a corruption of Daf, or David, the patron saint of Wales. This well was much frequented by people suffering from rheumatism. A lady robed in grey frequently visited this well, and many people testified to having seen her in the twilight wandering along the banks of the river near the spring, or going on to the ferry under the Garth Mountain.

Stories about this mysterious lady were handed down from father to son. The last was to the effect that about seventy or eighty years ago the woman in grey beckoned to a man who had just been getting some of the water. He put his pitcher down and asked what he could do for her. She asked him to hold her tight by both hands until she requested him to release her. The man did as he was bidden. He began to think it a long time before she bade him cease his grip, when a ‘stabbing pain’ caught him in his side, and with a sharp cry he loosened his hold. The woman exclaimed: “Alas! I shall remain in bondage for another hundred years, and then I must get a woman with steady hands and better than yours to hold me.” She vanished, and was never seen again.

In connection with this well there was a custom prevalent so late as about seventy years ago. Young people of the parish used to assemble near Taff’s Well on the eighth Sunday after Easter to dip their hands in the water, and scatter the drops over each other. Immediately afterwards they repaired to the nearest green space, and spent the remainder of the day in dancing and merry-making.

From Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales by Marie Trevelyan (1909).

Suggestive these – Wolfscote and Bearsford – smacking of ancient times, when the fauna of the district were not so harmless as they are today. Beneath the quaint little manor house of Wolfscote Grange stands one of the boldest bluffs of rock, and in the foot of it is a cavern, named “Frank’s i’ th’ Rock,” and so called on account of a man bearing that name who lived in it many years with his wife, and had eleven children there! Cave dwellers do not all belong to dim and far-away antiquity, for the man Frank lived less than a century ago.

Through Staffordshire Stiles and Derbyshire Dales, by John Sheldon (1894).

Caesar’s Well, the chief source of the Ravensbourne, is situated near the entrance gates to Holwood Park. Mr Hone’s interesting “Table Book,” written in the year 1828, contains an account of a visit paid, in company with his friend W--, to the source of the Ravensbourne. At the time of that visit it would appear that the spring was known locally as the “Bath.” In the time of Mr Pitt’s residence at Holwood it was much used as a bath, and its waters were supposed to be possessed of valuable medicinal properties. Hasted’s plan of the camp at Holwood (pub. in 1778) shows the well or bath, and twelve trees are represented as growing close round its margin, and there are appearances of steps leading down to the water.

[..] The name Ravensbourne is commonly supposed to take its origin from the following tradition. When the Roman soldiers were encamped at Holwood there was great need of water. A raven was seen to frequent a certain spot near the camp, and upon close examination a small spring was discovered among the bushes. Upon digging out the place a copious spring was found, and from the accident which led to that discovery it is supposed the stream took its name.

Definitely some confusion – a raven would definitely help the native Britons, not the Romans! And of course the camp is not Roman at all, though that’s surely what I believed when I went paddling about in this spring as a kid. Only parts of the camp’s ramparts remain. There is a gap on the western side near the spring: the record on Pastscape seems to imply this was the main entrance.

From Antiquarian Jottings relating to Bromley, Hayes, Keston and West Wickham, in Kent, by George Clinch (1889).

A tale of strange fairy cows, that usually live (obviously) under the sea. Traigh Niosaboist is the beach immediately near the chambered cairn.

Several generations ago a herd of cows came ashore at Nisabost, which then formed part of the farm of Luskentyre, in South Harris. In order to prevent their return to the sea, if possible, the natives got between them and the shore, and drove them inland with the assistance of such weapons as lay ready to hand. It was discovered that even handfuls of sand thrown between these sea-cows and the shore checked their return to the sea. In many respects these particular animals resembled ordinary Highland cattle, although they were known to dwell under the sea, and to feed on the sea-weed called meillich in the Gaelic. Some of them broke back to the sea: others settled down at Luskentyre.

From The peat-fire flame by Alasdair Alpin MacGregor (1937).

There doesn’t seem to be much if anything left of the stones of the dun wall here at Balephuil, according to Canmore. But it was built in a very well protected spot, on a corner of a rocky stack sticking out into the sea.

I like this story a lot.

One night toward the close of the eighteenth century, when a certain Dugald Campbell was tending the cows belonging to the farm of Baile-phuil, on the coast of Tiree, a small, red cow came among the herd. The Baile-phuil cows immediately proceeded to set about it with their horns. When it fled, they followed it. Dugald joined in the pursuit, during which, as he himself testified, the little, red cow at one moment seemed to be quite near him, and at another moment very far off. The chase was brought to an abrupt end when the little, red cow entered the face of a rock, and thus disappeared from view, never to be seen again by human eye.

In relating this incident, Dugald Campbell insisted that he had the greatest difficulty in preventing the Baile-phuil cows from following the intruder into the face of the rock.

From The peat-fire flame by Alasdair Alpin MacGregor (1937). The cow of course is a red fairy cow, one of the cro sith which you might find on Tiree.

There is a folk-tale still told in Tiree of how an islander, when crossing the machar near Kennavarra, came within sight of [a cu sith, or fairy dog] crouching by a sand-dune, and immediately altered the direction in which he was making for home. Reflecting on this sinister spectacle the following morning, he resolved to put his courage to the test, and re-visit the sand-dune. Upon the sand at this point he discovered the imprints of a dog’s paws, “as large as the spread of his palm.” The imprints he traced for some distance, until they came to an end. He saw no dog anywhere, nor any beast likely to have left marks of this kind; and so he concluded that the object he had seen the previous evening was not of earthly origin, and must have been a faery dog.

From The peat-fire flame by Alasdair Alpin MacGregor (1937). As he explains, they are a creature of ill omen and move swiftly and noiselessly. They bark three times, ‘and there is usually a fair interval between each bark, which gives to the terror-stricken hearer a chance of making for safety before he hears the third bark. Otherwise he is liable to be overtaken and destroyed by the faery dog’. Just to warn you.

Canmore’s record for the fort (in the area of Ceann a’ Mhara) is here.

Everywhere, in the Highlands, the red-deer are associated with the Fairies, and in some districts, as Lochaber and Mull, are said to be their only cattle. [...] In other parts of the Highlands, as in Skye, though the Fairies are said to keep company with the deer, they have cows like those of men. In Skye, Fairy cattle are said to be speckled and red (crodh breac ruadh), and to be able to cross the sea.

It is not on every place that they graze. There were not above ten such spots in all Skye. The field of Annat (achadh na h-annaid), in the Braes of Portree, is one. When the cattle came home at night from pasture, the following were the words used by the Fairy woman, standing on Dun Gerra-sheddar (Dun Ghearra-seadar), near Portree, as she counted her charge:

“Crooked one, dun one,
Little wing grizzled,
Black cow, white cow,
Little bull black-head,
My milch kine have come home,
O dear! that the herdsman would come!”

Superstitions of the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, by J G Campbell (1900).

To complicate matters, MacGregor (The Peat-Fire Flame, 1937) mentions this story, but also another which is clearly based in exactly same area, and has the same rhyme, but this time the fairy cows are being called back to the sea, rather than to the Dun:

[...] the faery cows that once came ashore at the Great Rock of MacNicol, on the farm of Scorribreac, in Skye. On this occasion, the entire herd was intercepted in its attempt to return to the sea, by the scattering of earth on the strip of land separating it from the water. In the Highlands and Western Isles it was held that a sprinkling of earth taken from a burying-ground was most efficacious in such circumstances.

Toward the evening of the day on which the faery cattle came ashore at Scorribreac, a voice from the sea was heard calling them back by name. And the names by which they were called were taken down at the time. These names, of course, were in the Gaelic; and the Gaelic rhyme by which they are remembered is still known among those interested in these matters. The rhyme illustrates, moreover, that these faery cows varied considerably in colour. One was brown; and another was black. There was a red one, and a brindled one, and so on. In response to the voice from the sea, the whole herd ultimately returned to its watery element.

Alleged offspring of the thorn, a long way from Wearyall Hill, but still in Somerset, just west of Crewkerne.

”Pulman’s Weekly News says that a piece of the original Glastonbury Thorn is growing in the garden of a cottage between Hewish and Woolmingston. For several years past, the tree – or, rather, a small bush – has been visited at midnight on Old Christmas Eve by people who vow that the bush actually blossomed while they were watching it, and became bare again shortly afterwards.

On Friday night, the number of ‘pilgrims’ to this shrine was at least 200 – from Crewkerne, Misterton, and other places – and those who came to scoff remained – if not ‘to pray’ at least to be convinced of the wonderful phenomenon. They say that at half-past eleven not a sign of a flower could be seen, but that at midnight every twig of one side of the bush was covered with delicately-tinted May light blossoms.”

This paragraph appeared in a Crewkerne paper, and was copied, among others, by a Yeovil paper having a circulation of some 25,000 copies in Somerset and the neighbouring counties. Strange to say, however, it has not been contradicted nor even queried so far as I have been able to ascertain. The natives seem quite capable of “swallowing” the above and a great deal more about “the holy thorn.” This notice in a scientific journal may be the means of causing some of your curious readers to endeavour to throw a little light on this superstition or phenomenon – whichever they may decide it to be. -- W. Macmillan, Castle Cary.

From Hardwicke’s Science Gossip, 1877, v8, p95.

Ah, you will say, but isn’t this a castle motte? Well it is, but as the scheduled monument record allows, the mound was dug into in the 1840s, and it’s thought that it was built onto a handy mound that already existed, a barrow.

Mr. W. Beamont, in a paper read before the Lancashire and Cheshire Historic Society, on the “Fee of Makerfield,” etc., in March, 1873, says, – “On the west side of this rivulet” (the Golbourne brook), “where the red rock rises above it, there is scooped out a rude alcove or cave, which the country people assign to Robin Hood [...]“. The stream near Newton has been blocked by an earthen embankment, and the “Castle Hill” now overlooks a beautiful artificial lake, with three branches. Robin Hood’s cave, alas! had to be sacrificed; four or five feet of water now placidly flows over the site of its former entrance.

[...] The writer further informs us that the “Castle Hill is said to be haunted by a white lady, who flits and glides, but never walks. She is sometimes seen at midnight, but is never heard to speak.

The Rev. Mr. Sibson adds -- “There is a tradition that Alfred the Great was buried here, with a crown of gold, in a silver coffin.”

From On some ancient battlefields in Lancashire by Charles Hardwick (1882).

I thought this massive split boulder on the beach at Fionnphort much more striking than the standing stone down the road. It deserves a story and it looks like it’s got a few. It’s quite different stone from the famous pink granite of the area.

I asked a local fisherman about the split rock so obvious on the beach at Fionnphort, which is known to tourists as ‘Fingal’s Rock’. The locals call it rather more curiously ‘The Swordstone’, and it does appear cleaved clean in two by a sword – the story goes that around 1870, the quarry had a lifesaving contract cancelled on a dubious quality control claim. This led to protests, the novel result of which was packing a crack in the rock with gunpowder and splitting the block in two, a symbol of the historical division between local loyalties and higher, vested powers in Scotland.

That unlikely tale is from the Stone Country blog. Or there’s the story that it’s to do with giants throwing stones at each other, as you can read at the website of the nearby Seaview B+B. Fingal’s Cave is only a reasonably-priced boat trip out to Staffa, you know, maybe that’s the inspiration for the connection. Mmm Staffa.

There are local traditions of a battle fought here by the Scots supported by cairns in Scotsburn Wood and by the name Lochan a’ Chlaidheimh, sword loch.

From Easter Ross by Alexander Polson, 1914.

An 18th century visitor tries to communicate the atmosphere:

Roche-Rocks (so called from the neighbouring village of St. Roche) are situated in the midst of an open heath, half a mile south from the road leading through Bodmin to Truro, and about six miles from the former place. The country around is naked, barren, and dreary almost beyond conception.

[...] A pile of rocks starting abruptly out of a wide green surface, and covering some space with enormous fragments on which there are only a few vestiges of incipient vegetation, form a singular scene, exhibiting a kind of wild sublimity peculiar to itself. Some of them are full sixty feet in height, and on a projection in one part stands a small Gothic building to all appearance very ancient, and tradition reports that it was once the cell of a hermit.

volume 1 of William Maton’s “Observations relative chiefly to the natural history, picturesque scenery, and antiquities of the western counties of England, made in the years 1794 and 1796.”

Moist semi-oxygenated particles of iron, it is well known, have an agglutinating power; – the AGGLESTONE, therefore, which is composed of ferrugineous sand-stone, appears to me to have been formed on the spot, and there can be no necessity for supposing that the Druids (if it be true that it is a Druidical monument) would bring so enormous a mass from a distance. --

This extraordinary insulated rock, is situated on the heath, not far from Studland, and is about eighty feet in circumference, at a medium, the height being about twenty. It is somewhat in the shape of an inverted cone. The spot whereon it stands is raised like a barrow. This circumstance occasioned the conjecture that it was erected as a monument to some British chief, interred below. Whether it was intended for a sepulchral memorial, or whether the heap of earth was thrown up only to render the top of the rock accessible, the name Agglestone (from the Saxon halig-stand, i.e. holy stone) certainly seems to shew that it was erected for some superstitious purpose.

The country people call it the Devil’s night-cap, and there is a tradition that his Satanic Majesty threw it from the Isle of Wight, with an intent to demolish Corfe Castle, but that it dropped short here!

From volume 1 of “Observations relative chiefly to the natural history, picturesque scenery, and antiquities of the western counties of England, made in the years 1794 and 1796” by William Maton.

Strange Newes From Hereford.

Sir,
My kind love and service remembred unto you and your good wife, these are to let you understand of a strange thing which happened in the Wergins upon Wednesday was sennight in the day time about 12. of the clock, a mighty wind did drive a Stone as much as 6. Oxen could well draw six-score, and ploughed a furrow a foote and a halfe deepe all the way it went, and another Stone which 12. Oxen did draw to the Wirgins many yeares since, that Stone being farre bigger then the other Stone, was carried the same time a quarter of a myle, & made no impression at all in the ground, but the Water was in the Medow a foote deepe. The bigger Stone was round and a yard and a quarter over, and about a yard deepe, the lesser Stone was a yard and halfe in length, and was made fast upon the other Stone untill the wind, and I know not what did part them, there was a man of Mr. Iames Seabornes, which was riding to Hereford, did see one of the Stones going, and as he relates, a blacke Dog going before the Stone, the man was a great distance of and put in a greate feare, other Market people doe relate it, because I would write the truth unto you, I ridde this morning to see the Stones, and as I could guesse the Stones to be carried the same distance which I have written unto you, I presume you knew the Wirgins, it is the way as we ride to Sutton, and the stones were brought to the Wirgins long since, for a Marke to know the way. All your friends here are in good health, and we wish the like to you and yours. Thus praying to God to mend these miserable times, I cease.
Your loving friend,
William Westfaling.
Hereford, Febr. the 23. 1641.

From an appendix in Memorials of the Civil War by the Rev T W Webb (v2), 1879. Apparently this strange incident was seen as one of a number of strange portents ‘attended to with intense interest and dread’ that occurred in the period leading up to the war, as the Rev explains here.

... we reach the little village of Treen, the inhabitants of which seem to be nearly all either guides to, or entertainers of, visitors to the Logan Rock, or, as its name was always formerly, the Logan Stone. This block of granite weighs about ninety tons, “yet any one, by applying his shoulder to the edge, and favouring the vibrations, can easily cause the stone to log through a very sensible angle.”

The Logan Stone, in fact, requires management, and a knowledge of its disposition, in the person attempting to rock it. On the day we visited it, one of the guides made it vibrate for several minutes by merely pressing his back against one end, whereas four gentlemen, strangers, exerted all their united strength without succeeding in making the stone move in the least degree.

This stone was thrown down, in 1824, by some seamen, but was afterwards raised again into its original position by order of the admiralty. It is said that it does not rock so well now as it did previously to its overthrow, and its appearance is certainly injured by the stone underneath it having been broken off at the edges in the process of re-erection. This stone is finely situated on the top of one of the cliffs in the narrow promontory of rocks which juts out into the sea beyond Treryn Castle. This promontory consists of three separate groups of rocks, extending nearly in a line from the castle to the sea.

The Logan Stone is situated on the island side of the middle group, and on the rocks opposite to it, nearer the castle, are two large rock-basons, about fifty yards asunder. That to the east is formed like a sofa, is about fourty inches wide, and is called the Giant’s Chair. The other is known as the Giant’s Lady’s Chair, and the tradition is that they would repose for hours in these easy seats, lovingly conversing with each other.

Treryn castle and these rocks were formerly inhabited by three giants, one lady and two gentlemen; but the latter quarrelled, I presume for the possession of the fair one, and one of them “stabbed the other in the belly with a knife,” to use the words of my informant, an octogenarian who evidently believed the tale. After this occurence, the two remaining members of the party lived happily there for many years.

This is the only Cornish tradition I have met with in which a female giant is introduced. The introduction of the incident of stabbing with a knife, the Anglo-Saxon and old English term for dagger, seems to indicate that this tradition is of great antiquity. There is a cavity underneath one of the rocks here which is called the Giant’s Cave.

Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

The village herbalists and rural advisers have not entirely fallen into disrepute. Many are the remedies, some no doubt beneficial, recommended by them. The use of some, however, are equivocal. Thus rheumatism is attempted to be cured by a “boiled thunderbolt;” in other words, a boiled celt, supposed to be a thunderbolt. This is boiled for hours, and the water then dispensed to rheumatic patients. I know not whether it be a libel that one old woman, who employed this remedy, used to express her astonishment that, keep the saucepan on the fire as long as she would, none of the celt would ever boil away.

J O Halliwell-Phillipps reporting in Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants (1861).

Hither, on the first Wednesday in May, are still annually brought crippled or maimed children. At that period a bath is formed in front of the well by stopping up the course of the little stream with pieces of turf. Each child is stripped, and then made to drop a pin into the well itself, previously to being immersed three times in the bath. My informant, a native of the parish, told me that he had hardly, if ever, known the process to fail in giving relief. He also told me that the well was sometimes called the Giant’s Well, – a title that seems inconsistent with the attribution of such great virtues.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants by J O HAlliwell-Phillipps (1861).

On the next hill, the dreary one of Bartinney, is a monument of somewhat similar description [with a vallum and ditch], but it is in a sad state of ruin and nearly overgrown with turf and furze. The wide vallum that surrounded it can, however, be distinctly traced, as may be also the three circular enclosures near the centre, all mentioned and figured by Borlase.

There is a tradition that there were rows of seats on the inner side of the vallum, and that games or plays were performed in the centre.

According to another, hence came the giants of Bosworlas Lehau, when they were inclined for a little recreation.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

From Tresvenack we crossed the fields and moor in the direction of Mousehole, to visit another stone [..] preserved in a field adjoining the farm-house of Chyanhall. This is a block of unhewn granite, irregularly shaped, nine feet in eight, eight feet in circumference near the base, but tapering towards the top in a wedge-like form.

It now answers the ignoble purpose of a rubbing-post for the cattle; but that it was not one originally is clear, not only from its large size, but from the tradition of the neighbourhood that it is a memorial belonging to very ancient times. The labour of moving and erecting such large blocks preclude, as a general rule, any such supposition. A very old man at the farm informed me that it had been there all his days, and had always been spoken of as a stone erected by “the ancient people.”

Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

.. the celebrated stone circle called the Dawns Men, the Dance Stones, or, popularly, the Merry Maidens. This is a very perfect circle of nineteen stones which average about three feet and a-half in height above the ground, the circle itself being nearly seventy feet in diameter.

There are various country traditions which account for the existence of these stones. Some say that they were maidens who were transformed into stones for dancing on the Lord’s Day. Others assert that a man is buried under each stone. All, however, agree that the stones are placed there by supernatural agency, and that it is impossible to remove them.

An old man at Boleigh, who informed us that a farmer, having removed two or three of the stones on one occasion, was astonished to see them in their old places the next morning, was evidently displeased at the account being inconsiderately received with a smile of incredulity.

Another story respecting them is, that an attempt to drag them out of their places, although a vast horse or oxen power was engaged, utterly failed, and that the cattle employed in the task fell down, and shortly after died.

[...]

The Dawns Men were no doubt so called by the country people because the stones are placed in the order in which persons arranged themselves for an ancient dance, termed Trematheeves, which continued in vogue in Cornwall as late as the last century. Hence also probably originated the legend above mentioned; although it is to be observed that similar tales are current elsewhere to account for such-like circles of stones in Wales and other countries.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

A few minutes’ walk from the Fogou, immediately after passing the wretched little hamlet of Boleigh, brings the tourist to the two remarkable stones called the Pipers; giant musicians turned into stone for playing on the sabbath to the dance at which the Merry Maidens were similarly transformed.

The pipers are two huge pillars of granite, about three hundred yards asunder, and are conspicuous objects in the surrounding locality. Another tradition reports that they mark the site of a final victory obtained by Athelstan over the Cornishmen; but, unfortunately for the probability of this, there is no good evidence to show that he was ever in this county.

They are figured in Borlase, p. 164. Sometimes they are called the Giant’s Rocks, and are stated to be the sepulchral memorials of two giants; and occasionally the Giant’s Grave, as if they were the head and foot stones of the sepulchre of one giant.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

The grid reference may be fractionally out, but these rocks are definitely somewhere in the wood – hopefully next to the public footpath!

Trevella Carn, between two and three miles from Newlyn, is an object worthy of a walk. After passing through Newlyn on the Paul road, take the way to Buryan through the small hamlet of Sheffield, after passing which the first turning to the right leads direct to Trevella. The carn is situated a little to the right of the road.

Its summit is over nearly perpendicular rocks, at the bottom of which is a large cavity, formed by a large rock leaning against the main part of the pile, known by the country people as the Giant’s House. On the top of this carn are several rock-basons.

Mmm rock basins. From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

Another little folklore snippet is that in William Bottrell’s long story in ‘Traditions and Hearthside Stories’ called ‘The Dwelling of Chenance’, he mentions that “people say, you know, that the devil’s huntsman and his hounds have often been seen (after hunting Trevella and Mimmis carns) to come down over the moor and vanish in the Clodgey pool. So maybe that might have been a local tale too. Mimmis Carn is eluding me, though H-P says it’s ‘a little distance from this carn, nearer St. Paul’. He says ‘upon it is a disposition of a rock in the form of a seat, called the Giant’s Chair. Near this was an ancient circle of upright stones, which was removed about twenty years ago.‘

About half-a-mile to the south of Carn Kenidjack is an ancient stone circle, about sixty feet in diameter, consisting of twelve upright stones, which are on the average three feet in height above the surface of the ground. The country people generally call this circle of stones the Merry Maidens.

The map calls the area ‘Nine Maidens Common’.

From Rambles in Western Cornwall by the Footsteps of the Giants by J O Halliwell Phillipps (1861).