Rhiannon

The virtue of the Kilmalkedar stone was some fifty years ago equal in repute to that conceded to the Stennis example, and even, in some respects, superior; for, it was further firmly believed by many of the old inhabitants of Kerry, that persons afflicted with chronic rheumatism, ‘falling sickness’, or some other ills, might, by passing three times round it (with faith, and by the offering of certain prayers), be restored to health.

From ‘Wakeman’s Handbook of Irish Antiquities’, by John Cooke (1903).

In several parts of the country the gallaun is still considered by many of the people to be something weird, and, ‘to be let alone’. The late E A Conwell, in his work on the supposed tomb of Ollamh Fodhla, points out that, about two miles north-west of Oldcastle, there is a townland called Fearan-na-gcloch (from fearan, land, and cloch, a stone), so called from two remarkable stone flags, still to be seen standing in it, popularly called Clocha labartha, the ‘Speaking stones’: and the green pasture-field in which they are situated is called Pairc-na-gclochalabartha, the ‘Field of the speaking stones’.

‘There can be little doubt, ’ he proceeds, ‘the pagan rites of incantation and divination had been practised at these stones, as their name, so curiously handed down to us, imports; for, in the traditions of the neighbourhood, it is even yet current that they have been consulted in cases where either man or beast was supposed to have been “overlooked”; that they were infallibly effective in curing the consequences of the “evil eye”; and that they were deemed to be unerring in naming the individual through whom these evil consequences came.

‘Even up to a period not very remote, when anything happened to be lost or stolen, these stones were invariably consulted; and in cases where cattle, &c., had strayed away, the directions they gave for finding them were considered as certain to lead to the desired result. There was one peremptory inhibition, however, to be scrupulously observed in consulting these stones, viz. that they were never to be asked to give the same information a second time, as they, under no circumstances whatever, would repeat an answer.‘

These conditions having, about seventy or eighty years ago, been violated by an ignorant inquirer who came from a distance, the ‘speaking stones’ became dumb, and have so remained ever since.

There were originally four of these stones: of the two that remain, the larger may be described as consisting of a thin slab of laminated sandy grit. Its dimensions are as follows:
total height above ground, very nearly 7 feet;
extreme breadth, 5 feet 8 inches;
breadth near summit, 3 feet 6 inches;
average thickness, about 8 inches.
In no part does it exhibit the mark of a chisel or hammer.

The height of the second remaining stone, above the present level of the ground, is 6 feet 4 inches;
it is in breadth, at base, 3 feet 4 inches, and near the top 1 foot more;
thickness at base, 14 inches.
The material, unlike that found in the generality of such monuments, is blue limestone.

From ‘Wakeman’s Handbook of Irish Antiquities’, by John Cooke (1903).

St. Cornely was Pope at Rome, from whence he was hunted by Pagan soldiers who pursued him. He fled before them, accompanied by a yoke of oxen, which bore his baggage and on which he mounted when weary. One evening he arrived on the outskirts of a village called Le Moustoir where he wished to stop; having, however, heard a young girl insulting her mother he continued on his way and arrived shortly at the foot of a mountain where there was another small village. He then saw the sea in front of him and immediately behind him soldiers in battle array. He stopped and transformed the whole army into stones. As a souvenir of this great miracle the inhabitants of the surrounding country erected on the spot where he stopped a church dedicated to St. Cornely. That is the reason why these long lines of stones standing to the north of the village of Carnac are seen, and why so often at night ghosts are observed walking in the alleys called ‘Soudardet sans Cornely’ or ‘Soldats de St. Cornely’. Pilgrims from all countries flocked to the place to implore St. Cornely to cure their diseased cattle. He cured them all in remembrance of the great services rendered to him by his yoke of oxen during his flight.

The pilgrims, coming to the ‘Pardon of St. Cornely’, passed among the stone soldiers. The men were supposed to bring stones, the women earth, and to drop them on an elevation near to Carnac, where in time they formed the mount of St. Michel.

Le Rouzic then goes on to hint that perhaps the worship of St. Cornely actually replaced the original worship of the ox here. Hmm who knows.

From ‘The Megalithic Monuments of Carnac and Locmariaquer’ by Z Le Rouzic (trans. W. M. Tapp), 1908, which you can see in full on the Internet Archive.

The Keeldar Stone .. is still pointed out, as a boundary mark, on the confines of Jed forest, and Northumberland. It is a rough insulated mass, of considerable dimensions, and it is held unlucky to ride thrice withershins around it.

From ‘Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border’ by Sir Walter Scott (1802).

The New Statistical Account of Scotland (written in 1845) describes cists being found on Minch Moor. Also, according to Scott’s ‘Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border’ (1802)...

There is, upon the top of Minchmuir, a mountain in Peebles-shire, a spring, called the Cheese Well, because, anciently, those who passed that way were wont to throw into it a piece of cheese, as an offering to the fairies, to whom it was consecrated.

The great distinctive headland of the Mull of Galloway is traditionally described as the scene of the last stand made by the Picts, as they were driven backwards and seawards to destruction by the overwhelming force of the Scots.

[..]

Not far from this classic spot, a favourite haunt of the fairies is located. South of Portankill there is a small fortification called the Dunnan. On this spot there came once upon a time to a man sitting there, on a fine summer evening, an old-fashioned looking, diminutive woman dressed in green, carrying a tiny ailing child on her back, and holding a little wooden water stoup in her hand. She earnestly asked this man to go to the far-famed and quite near “Well of the Co’ ” and bring her some of the healing water for the decrepit little morsel she carried, as she was tired and done. Churlishly enough the man refused, and roughly told her she could go her own errands. The little woman bore his abuse patiently enough, then, naming him, solemnly warned him “never again to sit down on her hoose-riggin’ or he might look to it” – and then somehow she seemed to disappear. The man began to regret his ungracious conduct, all the more that it was generally believed that beneath the “Dunnan” lived the fairies, and if that was so, then at that very moment he was actually on their “hoose-riggin’.” Much disturbed in mind, he made for home; but tradition affirms that from that day forward everything went wrong – cattle died and crops failed, and eventually, going one night to the Dunnan to watch a vessel that was likely to come ashore and so help his own evil plight, he was stricken with illness at the hands of the fairies – so the country-side said – and died.

From ‘Witchcraft and superstitious record in the south-western district of Scotland’ (1911), J M Wood.

Or for a version more in the local dialect (perhaps) then see Galloway Gossip.

A local tale tells of Canobie Dick and his adventures upon the hills. He was a “jolly rattling horse-cowper, who was remarkable for a reckless and fearless temper, which made him much admired and a little dreaded amongst his neighbours.”

One moonlit night he was riding home over Bowden Moor, with two horses that he’d not been able to sell. He came across a man “of venerable appearance and singularly antique dress”, who took an interest in the horses and how much they might be bought for. Now Canobie Dick wasn’t that bothered who he dealt with, in fact he’d have overlooked the cloven hooves of the devil himself, and still had a go at cheating him. But when the stranger paid up, Dick was surprised that the gold coins he were given were weird old things – unicorns, bonnet-pieces. But they were gold, so he wasn’t that bothered. He sold quite a few horses to the same man over then next few weeks, but his customer insisted they should meet only at night, and always alone.

Eventually Dick suggested that they seal their deals with a little drink, at the house of the stranger, but he said “if you lose courage at what you see there, you will rue it all your life.” Dick laughed it of though, and followed the man up a narrow footpath that led to a peculiar feature between the south and central peaks of the Eildons, called the Lucken Hare*. This is “famous for witch-meetings.” His guide disappeared into the hillside “by a passage or cavern”, but Dick was very surprised as he’d never seen nor heard rumour of such a thing, though he knew the spot well.

On they went. “They entered a very long range of stables; in every stall stood a coal-black horse; by every horse lay a knight in coal-black armour, with a drawn sword in his hand; but all were as silent, hoof and limb, as if they had been cut out of marble.” When they got to the end of the hall, a sword and horn lay on an antique table. “He that shall sound that horn and draw that sword, shall, if his heart fail him not, be king over all broad Britain. So speaks the tongue that cannot lie.”

The reckless hasty Canobie Dick seized the bugle and blew a feeble note. “Thunder rolled in stunning peals through the immense hall; horses and men started to life; the steeds snorted, stamped, ground their bits and tossed their heads” – the warriors sprang up brandishing their weapons. In his sheer terror, Dick dropped the horn and scrabbled for the enchanted sword, but he heard a loud voice intone:
“Woe to the coward, that ever he was born,
Who did not draw the sword before he blew the horn!”
and he was propelled out of the cave by an invisible whirlwind, and “precipitated over a steep bank of loose stones, where the shepherds found him the next morning, with just breath sufficient to tell his fearful tale, after concluding which he expired.”

*I suppose the Lucken Hare could be ‘Little Hill’.

The story is summarised from the version in ‘Folk-lore and legends; Scotland’ (1889).

An old bastile-house (Hebburn Castle or Tower, the old seat of the family of Hebburn) stands in the southern part of Chillingham Park, from which a concealed passage was said to have passed to a pillar-like stone, named the Horl-stone or Hurl-stone, in a field near the New Town of Chillingham or Chillingham Newton.

Hebburn Castle must be Hepburn Bastle, a 16th century tower house in Chillingham Park, which is a mile or two to the east, across the river.

Horl-stone is by some conjectured to be Earl’s Stone. It was erected in a socket by Mr. Jobson, late farmer of Chillingham Newton: and some years ago had a portion struck off it by lightning.

These quotes are from the Denham tracts, and you can read more from them about the connection between the Hurlstone and Cateran’s Hole on the latter’s page.

A man named Timothy in the parish of Llanarth, Cardiganshire, told me that an old woman known as Nancy Tynllain and her son, Shenkin Phillips, had seen the Tylwyth Teg (fairies) on one occasion. Nancy died over sixty years ago. She and her son one day left home rather early in the morning, as they were going to Cynon’s Fair, and had some distance to go. As they proceeded on their horses in the direction of Wilgarn, they saw the Fairies, mounted on small horses, galloping round and round as in a circle round about a certain hillock, and Nancy took particular notice that one of the Fairy women had a red cloak on. As the old woman and her son were looking on, watching the movements of the Fairies, Nancy remarked, “That Fairy woman over there rides very much like myself.” This was at early dawn.

A red cloak is a common fairy fashion, but I can’t shed light on Nancy’s other interesting remark. I think it’s fairly likely the ‘certain hillock’ is Whilgarn itself, but that this wouldn’t have been realised by the person recording the story if they didn’t know Whilgarn was a mound, it might sound like a village.
From ‘Folk-lore of West and Mid-Wales’ by John C Davies (1911).

Another somewhat speculative site, but these stones are marked on the map and might be worth checking out. They’re also near a Burnt Mound which is on the banks of the very close-by stream.

On a level field on the farm of Mosscobin, betwixt the Kirk of Anwoth and Skyreburn village, there lately remained, or may still remain, two large stones which bear the name of Rutherford’s Witnesses.

The reason why such a name was given stands as follows:- The people of Anwoth, ere [Rev. Samuel] Rutherford was settled among them, had frequently assembled there on the Sabbath evenings to play at football. Rutherford not only denounced this practice from the pulpit, but frequently followed them, and reproved on the spot; he called on the objects around, particularly on three large stones to witness betwixt them and him, that, however they might continue such practices, he had done his duty.

The history of the removal of the third stone is curious. A person employed in building a fence, wished to avail himself of these stones ; a fellow labourer ordered him to desist, warning him of the danger of touching such sacred relics; the other persisted, and even jeered Rutherford as a fanatic. He removed one of the stones, and swore that he would remove them all before he broke his fast. In attempting the second stone, hoever, he fell down dead; or as another tradition says, he was choked with a bite of bread which he attempted to swallow while applying his punch to the sacred stone.

Rutherford sounds like a barrel of laughs, haranging the poor locals on their day off at the Sunday five-a-side. And note the usual stoney folklore. Which makes me wonder at the stones’ original purpose, you see. Because you can’t go nicking a bit of an outcrop easily, for one thing.

From ‘Unique Traditions Chiefly of the West and South of Scotland’ by J G Barbour (1886).

Carlins Cairn seems to be the current name of the mountain, as well as the name of the cairn.

This cairn is perched upon the summit of the Kells Rhynns, and may be discerned at 15 miles distance to the south. Some say it was thrown together to commemorate the burning of a witch – others, that it was erected on the spot where an old female Covenanter was murdered by Grierson of Lag. [...] Yet the foundation of the cairn can boast of a much older date than the persecution under Charles the Second, for it was collected by a venerable old woman, who at one period was the protrectress and hostess of King Robert the Bruce.

He goes on to describe at some length, how the King found himself hiding incognito at the miller’s house, and how the miller’s wife sussed who he was, kept him safe, topped him up with honest peasant food, and concealed him when his enemies turned up. (from ‘Unique Traditions Chiefly of the West and South of Scotland‘ by J G Barbour (1886).

A carline is a Scottish word for a woman, particularly an old one, it’s not very flattering and was (according to the OED) ‘applied particularly to a witch or one charged with being such’. And from there it’s not a huge leap to the similar word cailleach, and maybe the whole mountain can be hers then. It’s the first of November today, so the first day when she’ll be taking charge from her summery alter ego up there.

Robert Burns’ poem ‘Tam o’Shanter’ is about a bloke who gets repeatedly boozed up when he goes to the market. And on his way home late one night, he passes a church and looks in, and all sorts of dreadful stuff is going on inside, and the devil accompanying it all on the bagpipes. But stupidly he draws attention to himself, and has to gallop off to escape. His horse is just on the bridge and they’re nearly safe – because if you can get across the middle of a stream of running water, you’re ok – but the witch at the front reaches out her hand, and his poor horse loses her tail.
robertburns.org.uk/Assets/Poems_Songs/tamoshanter.htm

Well that’s the poem. But this hill is where it Really Happened, honest.

The man involved was an Adam Forester, or maybe Foster, and he didn’t shake the witches so easily – although he got across a stream they used a bridge downstream (these witches could use bridges, which seems reasonable) and caught up with him on Waterside Hill.

Finding that neither he nor his horse could get a foot farther, the determined fugitive alighted, and unsheathing a sword, on whose blade was engraven the sacred name of Jehovah, he twice waved it around him, and then describing a circle with its point on the sward, he charged, in the name of God, his pursuers not to overstep that circle. The mysterious band – furious as they were – stood, as mysteriously arrested. They had no power to overpass the circle; – but surrounding it, menaced the horseman until a neighbouring cock crew, when one of the most inveterate of the gang drew a large knife from beneath her apron, cut the horse’s tail, which, it seems, hung beyond the verge of the sacred circle. They then scampered off; and the horseman, standing firm in the ring with the drawn sword still in his hand, awaited the day-break, and then, renewing the circle, and giving thanks to his Maker, he rode home to his residence.

[...] Certain it is, that Foster, as long as he lived, and his sons and grandsons after him, made a point of renewing the circle annually.

From ‘Unique Traditions Chiefly of the West and South of Scotland’ by J G Barbour (1886).

But I’d like to bet that the circle on Waterside Hill is really the cairn. But someone will have to go and have a look to answer that.

Round Tynron Doon there linger memories of a spectre in the form of a headless horseman restlessly riding a black horse.

The local tradition is, that the ghost was that of a young gentleman of the family of McMilligan of Dalgarnock, who had gone to offer his addresses to the daughter of the Laird of Tynron Castle. His presence was objected to, however, by one of the young lady’s brothers. Hot words followed, and in high wrath the suitor rode off; but mistaking his way he galloped over the steepest part of the hill and broke his neck, and so, with curses and words of evil on his very lips, his spirit was not allowed to pass untroubled to the realms beyond.

You can see that that’s not a terribly good explanation of him being headless, unless he had a very bad landing. This is from ‘Witchcraft and superstitious record in the south-western district of Scotland’ by J Maxwell Wood (1911), which it has to be said is a rather imaginative tome.

It’s also mentioned in the otherwise serious sounding ‘Archaeology of late Celtic Britain and Ireland’ by L R Laing (1975), with a ‘possible’ and less romantic explanation more satisfying to the celtic new age mindset:
Tynron Doon is a well-preserved multivallate hillfort in Dumfriesshire, associated in local legend with the ‘heidless horseman’ who is supposed to have ridden down from it as an omen of death, a story which possibly has some origin in a Celtic head cult.

It’s true. As usual I don’t even know if this exists any more, and I don’t know where it is if it does. But someone liked it enough to give it a proper name. It gets an elaborate mention in the Denham Tracts:

When ye lang for a mutton bone
Think on the Wedderstone.

The Wedderstone stands in a field near the village of Catton in Allendale. Tradition states that many years ago a notorious sheep-stealer infested this part of the county, who, it appears, was the terror of the whole of the neighbouring farmers; in the first place because he appeared to be a good judge of mutton, from the fact of his generally taking the choice of the flock; and in the secon place, that, although he paid a visit to every sheep-fold for several miles around, and to many where a strict watch was kept, he remained unsuspected; neither was there the slightest suspicion as to who the thief might be.

At length, however, the invisible became visible. It appeared that his method of carrying off his booty was to tie the four legs of the animal together, and then, by putting his head through the space between the feet and body, thus carry it away on his shoulders. On his last visit to his neighbour’s flock, the animal which he had selected for his week’s provision being heavy, he stopped to rest himself, and placed his burden upon the top of a small stone column (without taking it off his shoulders), when the animal became suddenly restive, commenced struggling, and slipped off the stone on the opposite side. Its weight thus suddenly drawn round his neck, the poor wretch was unable to extricate himself, and was found on the following morning quite dead.

Of course, the story is connected with many a stone across the country. Mr Grinsell wrote a whole article about them in Folklore v96 (1985). He said ‘The author has found no supporting evidence for the site of this stone’, but it does seem curious that Catton has its Stone Hall and Stone Stile. But I can’t see any stone on the old maps. Still. You never know.

As Postman’s photo explains, this was said to be the cell of the Red Priest, whose Stone lies nearby. The Red Priest is supposed to be St. Maolrubha, who was busy evangelising in these parts in the 7th century. He prophesied that the population of Strathnaver would be driven from here for their sins, and would not be able to return until his bones had been washed out to sea.

This page at the

[There is a tradition] regarding the Sandy dun at Bettyhill, where an old woman hid a croc of cold previous to the dun being attacked, and measured the distance from it with a clew of thread.

A disappointingly brief mention in ‘Notes of Cromlechs, Duns, Hut-Circles, Chambered Cairns and other remains, in the County of Sutherland’ by James Horsburgh, in PSAS v7 (1866-8).

Information about the broch can be found here.

To the west [is] Loch-an-Hacon, or as it is generally called Loch-an-Haalkal, in which is an island with the remains of a castle on it, said to have been built by Hacon for a hunting seat [...] it is said that a causeway ran from the island to the mainland, a distance of 20 or 30 yards; the water is now, however, 6 or 7 feet deep. On the edge of the preciptious bank of the loch, and exactly opposite the island, there is a large boulder with a flat top, and on this there are a number of cups and rings. The people say they were made by the high heels of a fairy who lived in the castle. This stone is not generally known. Old Ross, the gamekeeper at Tongue, first told me of it, and he and I scraped off the moss and exposed the whole. He thought it was for playing some game. On the left of the stone, on a bit separated by a crack, there is a sort of a figure which appears to have been formed by cutting away the stone around it and leaving it in relief, and also some artificial cutting on the right, a sort of circular groove.

From ‘Notes of Cromlechs, Duns, Hut-Circles, Chambered Cairns and other remains, in the County of Sutherland’ by James Horsburgh, in PSAS v7 (1866-8).

[There was] an old ruined church in the neighbourhood of the farm where he was shepherd. It was roofless, more than half fallen down, and all the standing portion, with the tower, overgrown with old ivy; the building itself stood in the centre of a huge round earth-work and trench, with large barrows on the ground outside the circle. Concerning this church [Caleb] had a wonderful story: its decay and ruin had come about after the great bell in the tower had mysteriously disappeared, stolen one stormy night, it was believed, by the Devil himself. The stolen bell, it was discovered, had been flung into a small river at a distance of some miles from the church, and there in summertime when the water was low, it could be distinctly seen lying half buried in the mud at the bottom. But all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t pull it out; the Devil, who pulled the other way, was strongest. Eventually some wise person said that a team of white oxen would be able to pull it out, and after much seeking the white oxen were obtained, and thick ropes were tied to the sunken bell, and the cattle were goaded and yelled at, and tugged and strained until the bell came up and was finaly drawn right up to the top of the steep, cliff-like bank of the stream. Then one of the teamsters shouted in triumph, “Now we’ve got out the bell, in spite of all the devils in hell,” and no sooner had he spoken the bold words than the ropes parted, and back tumbled the bell to its old place at the bottom of the river, where it remains to this day. Caleb had once met a man in those parts who assured him that he had seen the bell with his own eyes, lying nearly buried in mud at the bottom of the stream.

From ‘A Shepherd’s Life; impressions of the South Wiltshire downs’ (1921), by WH Hudson.

This mound – cairn? – doesn’t get a spot on the Magic map, so I admit I can’t comment on its prehistoricness. But there are so many other prehistoric cairns in the vicinity, perhaps it really is one.

Robin Hood’s Grave is an oblong mound, seven yards by three. It is situated at the bottom of a narrow rocky dell at the head of Crosby Gill, where the footpath from Orton to Crosby enters the woods, once the chase of Sir Lancelot Threlkeld. It is noticed by Mr Sullivan in his “Cumberland and Westmorland,” but he speaks of two heaps: this is, however, a mistake, there being only one. Of this mound he says “It was once customary for every person who went a-nutting in the wood, at the south end of which this heap is situated, to throw a stone on Robin’s grave, repeating the following rhyme:-

Robin Hood, Robin Hood, here lie thy bones;
Load me with nuts as I load thee with stones.”

From ‘The Vale of Lyvennet’ by J S Bland, published 1910.

“In [Finglenny] there is a ‘mound’ known as the Wormie Hillock, which has long been regarded as one of the interesting sights of the place. Legend tells us it is the grave-mound of a dragon, which at one time infested the neighbourhood, and was slain at this spot by some unknown St. George.”

From ‘Place Names in Strathbogie, with notes historical, antiquarian and descriptive’, by James MacDonald (1891).

People at Curbar in Derbyshireused to set bowls of cream on the hill-tops where they thought that the fairies mostly dwelt. The cream was always drunk, but the fairies were never seen.

‘Household tales with other traditional remains’ p141, by S O Addy (185).

The remarkable megalithic monument to which I refer is situated on the apex of the knock [Knockmany], and is usually styled “Aynia’s Cove.” Of late years a very great change has occurred in the character of the neighbouring population. Here was the country from which Carleton painted his word-pictures of Irish life and scenery. But “old times are changed, old manners gone.” As a rule, within the last thirty years or so the Irish of the district have either died out or emigrated, giving place to strangers, usually Scotchmen. Nevertheless, some little of the old folk-lore, once so prevalent amongst the aborigines, is still extant, and Aynia is remembered as a “witch-wife” bythe Scotch, and as a calliagh, or hag, by the Irish. With all, the hill is a fairy haunt, and woe betide the man, woman, or child, who would dare to lift or break the smallest of the stones which now remain of the “Cove” in which Aynia, who is reported to have been elected queen of the “wee people,” is said to have long delighted.

In ‘The Megalithic Sepulchral Chamber of Knockmany, County Tyrone’ by W F Wakeman, in the Journal of the Royal Historical and Archaeological Association of Ireland for 1879. Wakeman also mentions that Knockmany (’half mountain, half knock’) is a ‘most conspicuous eminence’ and ‘so effectually surmounts all sheltering hills that it is said a day never comes there is not at least a breeze on its summit.‘

Sir Edward [Pryse, President of the Cardiganshire Antiquarian Society, said] there were a great number of things about Gogerddan, which to his mind pointed to an older age of civilisation than even the Roman age. He referred to the camps. He was taken up to the one near Gogerddan recently, and shown a part of it, which he was not aware of before, although he had been born and bred on the place. [...] Sir Edward said he hoped the Society would be able to give him some enlightenment as to the two old stones in the Gogerddan race course. The theory in that part of the country was that a giant was buried there. He must, however, have lived in pre-historic times, because he must have measured 330 feet 9 inches.

[..]

The camp has two excellently preserved entrances, facing due east and west respectively. The western gateway, facing Clarach Bay and shore, the direction from which an enemy would be expected, is further strengthened by a curtain or circular mound, marked “Tumulus” on the ordnance maps. .. Adjacent to the curtain or mound in front of the entrance, say 80 yards off, is a spring of water, which, says Sir Edward, “has never been known to fail.” Reeds and rushes always grow there.

From 1910 v1 of the ‘Transactions of the Cardiganshire Antiquarian Society’ (p23).

Before I have done with the Irish instances I must append one in the form it was told me in the summer of 1894: I was in Meath and went to see the remarkable chambered cairns on the hill known as Sliabh na Caillighe, ‘the Hag’s Mountain,’ near Oldcastle and Lough Crew. I had as my guide a young shepherd whom I picked up on the way. He knew all about the hag after whom the hill was called except her name: she was, he said, a giantess, and so she brought there, in three apronfuls, the stones forming the three principal cairns. As to the cairn on the hill point known as Belrath, that is called the Chair Cairn from a big stone placed there by the hag to serve as her seat when she wished to have a quiet look on the country round. But usually she was to be seen riding on a wonderful pony she had: that creature was so nimble and strong that it used to take the hag at a leap from one hill-top to another. However, the end of it all was that the hag rode so hard that the pony fell down, and that both horse and rider were killed. The hag appears to have been Cailleach Bheara, or Caillech Berre, ‘the Old Woman of Beare’, that is, Bearhaven, in County Cork.

From ‘Celtic Folklore Welsh and Manx’ by Sir John Rhys, 1901.

I don’t know if this truly has to do with the stones. But there are so many stones round here. And the very name Kirksanton suggests the sort of sacred nature of the spot. So I don’t know where this refers to exactly.. perhaps you do. But I inflict the story on you in the interests of landscape folklore – and that there are circles like Sunkenkirk with a similar sunken story, and also barrows like the Music Barrow where you must listen to the earth.

Another tradition associated with West Cumberland is that at Kirksanton. There is a basin, or hollow, in the surface of the ground, assigned as a place where once stood a church that was swallowed up by the earth opening, and then closing over it bodily. It used to be believed by the country people that on Sunday mornings the bells could be heard far down in the earth, by the simple expedient of placing the ear to the ground.

In ‘Bygone Cumberland and Westmorland’ by Daniel Scott (1899).

In a piece on Badbury Rings in the Proceedings of the Dorset Natural History and Antiquarian Field Club (v11, 1890), Dr Wake Smart tells of the Roman coins and other artefacts found at and near the site (including a sword allegedly used as a ‘cheese-toster’ by its 17th century finders). He says:

“But all these treasures would be eclipsed if the golden coffin which the villagers believe is buried between Badbury and Shapwick were to be discovered! What a prize for Dorset Museum!”

A very straight road connects the well defended W entrance of the fort with the Stour River at Shapwick. Stands to reason it must originally be a Roman idea, surely. Iron age people would never have walked in straight lines. I could be wrong :)

According to TJ Westropp’s 1916 ‘Antiquities of Limerick and its neighbourhood’ Magh Adhair is a well preserved place of ancient repute and ceremonial... Legend mentions Adhar son of Umor, brother of Aenghus the Firbolg chief...

When the High King, Flann Sionna, invaded Thomond, in 877, he marched ‘to the green of Magh Adhair’ and played chess to insult the Dal gCais, ‘at the very place of inauguration.‘ So offensive. The surrounding inhabitants and the local chiefs were on him before he’d even finished his game. They were too polite to kill him though, and in a Celtic fashion just stole his best poet.

Other records (beside a vague allusion to a pillar) mention a Bile or venerated tree which the High King Maelsechnaill cut down, and had the roots dug out, in AD981, to insult King Brian Boroimhe. Apparently another tree was planted but someone later childishly chopped that down too for similar reasons.

A long succession of Kings of Thomond were inaugurated here down to the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and ‘Iraghts’ of considerable local importance were held, down to the great famine, and were remembered even about 1890. In that year people only recalled besides that the mound was a place where a king was buried...

The mound stands in a small plain, in a natural amphitheatre, formed by a low crag called ‘the Beetle’s Crag’ or Cragnakeeroge, beside the strangely named ‘Hell Bridge’ and ‘Hell River’. There are traces of a semi-circular fence, between which and the mound lies a large block of conglomerate of dull purple, with red and pink pebbles of porphyry and quartz; two basins are ground in it.

An inauguration ceremony took place around 1200 which was (it seems) documented: The carn or mound was palisaded, with a gate, guarded by three chiefs, a fourth alone ascended the carn with Cathal Craoibhdhearg and gave him the whit rod. The other chiefs and the comharbs stood below, holding the Prince’s arms, clothes and horse. He faced the north, and on stepping down from the inauguration stone on the mound, turned round thrice, as is still the custom in Co. Clare on seeing a new moon. He then descended from the mound and was helped to robe and remount.

This is actually from a letter from William Borlase to William Stukeley:

There being no other stones in this plain within some hundreds of yards, I imagine that these several stones were brought together and placed in such a mysterious manner in order to compose this efficacious (as the vulgar think) and salutiferous monument.

A farmer of the neighbourhood, then with me, assured me gravely that he had known many persons who had crept through this hole for pains in their back and limbs, but with what success he could not then recollect.

However, on looking attentively on a little wrinkle, in the top of the Men-an-tol he perceived 2 pins lying cross each other, by which we soon concluded that they were deposited there by some one under so much anxiety, that we thought it would be great pity any way to interfere and defeat his enquiries, and so left the pins as we found them.

From p59 of ‘The family memoirs of the Rev. William Stukeley’ published 1883. The letter is from November 1749.

The central mound is termed by the townspeople the “High Castle Hill,” and the ascent may be made by various paths, two of which are called the “running path” and “the steps.” One of the ramparts is called the “wooded hill,” and the others are known as the “little hills.” [...]

On the summit of the Castle Hill there is a strange depression from 8 to 10 feet below the surrounding ramparts, and in this five elms were planted in 1823 and still flourish. [...] Almost every person who visits this hill after a lapse of years is convinced that the depression at the top has been greatly lowered in the interval, but for this there appears to be no foundation in fact.

[...] It has been supposed that the ballast from the ditches would not have sufficed to build up the ramparts and mound – the latter alone being nearly 1000 feet in circumference at the base – and local tradition says that the big Gallows’ Pits a few hundred yards away were partly excavated for this purpose.

Tradition throws little light upon the possible origin of the Castle Hill. It is said that after the devil completed the long dykes at Narborough and Newmarket – both are mentioned – he jumped to Thetford, swirled round on one foot and made the earthworks. He is still alleged to haunt a depression – sometimes a muddy pool – in the moat north-east of the wooded hill, and will appear if one walks around seven times at midnight.

One tradition states that there was formerly a splendid royal castle on the site of the hill. It was filled with treasures, which at some period were in danger owing to the raid of a neighbouring tribe. The king, therefore, assembled his mighty men, and by their united efforts the castle and treasure were hidden beneath this huge mound of earth. Tradition, unfortunately, does not state why they were left there. Perhaps, however, the most general belief concerning the hill is that beneath it are seven silver bells, brought hither from the church of the Cluniac Priory, a tradition implicitly accepted by many inhabitants of the town.

From ‘Thetford Castle Hill’ by W G Clarke, in ‘Norfolk Archaeology’ v16, 1907.

[Someone] in visiting Corstorphine for the purpose of inspecting both church and village, obtained this piece of local tradition, believed to relate to the church of 1429.

“Of this (church), in November 1881, an intelligent native assured the writer that it was ‘wonderfully ancient, built by the Hottentots, who stood in a row and handed the stones on one to another from Ravelston quarry’ – on the adjacent hill of Corstorphine.”

Yes this sounds most unlikely, but the author points out that stories of the Picts doing this to build various ancient structures from various hills are quite widespread, and that the curious use of ‘Hottentot’ implied a ‘savage and inferior’ ancestor.
I know people have to get their stones from somewhere but when you’re building a church maybe it’s especially significant. Oh, bear with me please.

From the Archaeological Review v4, 1889-1890, in an article about ‘British Dwarfs’ p188.

The Piper’s Hole is at the north east of these cairns.

Under the cliffs of Peninnis Head on St Mary’s there is a cavern, termed the Piper’s Hole, which extends a long distance under ground, and is absurdly said to communicate with another cave of the same title, the entrance to which is in the island of Tresco. This legend would make the length of the cavern at least four miles; and the inhabitants of the locality tell you of dogs let in at the one entrance coming out, after a time, at the other with most of their hair off, so narrow are some parts of the cave. So there is a tradition in Scotland of a man getting through a similar cave, but paying the penalty in the loss of all his skin.

From ‘Rambles in Western Cornwall’ by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

“It may be mentioned that Buzza Hill was formerly the resort of fairies, but I believe that no traces of traditions respecting them are now to be found.”

From ‘Rambles in Western Cornwall’ by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861).

We pitch’d upon a hill where there are many of these barrows, and, as the common story goes, giants were buried, with a design to search them; and on Wednesday, June the third, 1752, having hired some soldiers, proceeded to open them. [...]

In the afternoon it rained excessively hard, so that we could not proceed in our inquiries. The wind blew, and about mid-night it was the most violent storm, while it lasted, I ever knew.

You that are curious will think very innocently of our searching these repositories of the dead for the satisfaction of the living, but will you not be surprised if I tell you it appeared in a very different light to the poor people of Scilly? The story may make you smile.

Thursday morning [...] I met a person who soon began to talk about the weather, and to complain of the bitterness of the last night’s hurricane, that it had almost ruined him and many of his neighbours, that their potatoes and corn were blasted, their grass burnt quite black, and their pease utterly destroyed. I little suspected what the man drove at, but believing him to be in distress, pitied and endeavoured to comfort him, then went [to a house where he was going to stay].

[On making polite conversation with the landlady] she told me that a few days before they were in hopes of a plentiful crop, paying their rent, and providing meat and clothes for themselves and children, but that the last night’s storm was very outrageous; then asked me whether we had not been digging up the Giants’ Graves the day before, and smiling with great good humour, as if she forgave our curiosity though she suffered for it, asked whether I did not think that we had disturbed the giants; and said that many good people of the islands were of opinion that the giants were offended, and had really raised that storm[...]

An extract from Borlase’s ‘Antiquities of Cornwall’, that I found quoted in ‘Rambles in Western Cornwall’ by J O Halliwell-Phillipps (1861). He himself says, The appearance of the barrows which now remain gives the idea that most of them have been ransacked at some period, most likely in the hope of discovering treasure. The country people still believe that valuables are hidden under some of them, and one was recently destroyed clandestinely, in consequence of a man dreaming there was gold in it.

On the western shore of the isle, near Scarrel Point*, exists a cave designated “The Piper’s Cave,” which the natives believed to be the opening to a subterranean passage through Eenan Hill to Carnbaan or Achavulig (Ach-a-bhuilg), where its exit was. Supernatural beings inhabited this dark retreat, which no mortal dared enter. A bold piper essayed this forlorn-hope, and was heard by his friends gaily piping underground until his slogan became hushed in the depths of the mountain. As he passed under the hearthstone of Lenihall farmhouse, he was heard lamenting that he had not a sword-hand as well as two for his pipes, and he would have routed the ogres and demons attacking him (“Da lamh air son a Phiob agus lamh air son a chlaideamh.“). Then the music ceased – forever.

*Is this near Michael’s Grave? Quote from ‘The Isle of Bute in the olden time” by J K Hewison, 1893.