Rhiannon

Also in Mr Britton’s 1801 ‘Beauties of Wilshire’ it’s mentioned that Alfred’s Tower “was erected [in 1772) by Mr. Henry Hoare, to commemorate a signal victory which Alfred obtained over the Danes near this spot... Tradition (which has commonly some foundation for its stories) says that there was so much blood shed in the above-mentioned battle, that the water was stained therewith three leagues below Christ-church.”

And to link the King Alfred and the beacon stories together (see misc. post), the website devoted to the tower quotes Harper’s Weekly from 1901: “Local tradition says that on Stourton hill... the beacon was lighted that summoned the men of three counties to Alfred’s standard.”

The site also suggests that the boundaries of those three counties (Wiltshire, Somerset and Dorset) once met up here. Probably.

This page on the Tha Engliscan Gesithas site is an interesting argument for the hills here being the ‘Woden’s Hlaew’ mentioned in Anglo Saxon documents – and thus once sacred to Woden.

Maybe it could be that people were aware of the earthworks up here and just put them down to Woden (in a kind of ‘Grim’s Ditch’ sort of way).

That’s if there’s truly any link at all of course...

The Somerset HER website describes this as possibly the biggest hillfort in the country! covering the whole top of the hill. And there are finds from Mesolithic to R*man times. So you’d think there’d be room for a few ghosts.

Hamdon Hill is, as some might say, ‘seriously haunted’, with descriptions of ‘bizarre shapes outlined by light’ to those of Roman soldiers walking the hilly ramparts.

... G F Munford [one time editor of the Western Gazette] was an avid collector of supernatural tales ... one of his favourites concerned a local witch whose spirit is still said to haunt the district.

Another startling story tells of ... David G., a retired postal worker [who] was visiting friends in the nearby hamlet of Hamdon Hill. It was a humid afternoon in the summer of 1957 and his first excursion to Somerset. He was driving along the boundary of the hill ...

“There wasn’t another car in sight, and although it was broad daylight I couldn’t help feel that something wasn’t right. I was also feeling tired, but not sleepy. There were lots of people walking towards me. Bit of a surprise. I stopped and turned off the engine. The shock of it was that these people were dressed in armoured uniforms. They looked the spitting image of Roman soldiers, bit like the ones I had seen in ‘The Robe’, which was showing that year in town [at the cinema]. I really thought a film was being shot, until they just kept coming on and walked right through the car and me. Everything turned very cold. Believe me, it took a long time to get started. I arrived to my friends safe and sound. Never said a word, until you brought up the subject of ghosts.”

Mr G. allegedly asked his friend not to share the story with anyone until after his death (which the book says was the year after his experience).
From ‘Haunted Somerset’ by John Garland (2007).

---

I so want the nearby knoll of ‘St Michael’s Hill’ (known as Lodegarsburgh in Saxon times) to have prehistoric significance. But if there ever were traces they’ve been destroyed by the overlaying layers of Norman castle. It’s got interesting (and madly complicated) stoney folklore, according to Alan Holt’s ‘Folklore of Somerset’ (1992). A blacksmith dreamed that Jesus told him to dig on the top of the hill. He had to dream it three times before he was convinced. In the hole he found a ‘great stone which miraculously split in two, and in the cleft they saw a great crucifix of glistening black flint. Beneath it was a smaller one, an old bell and an old book.’ Then the Dane Tofig stuck the cross on the back of a cart, drawn by 12 red oxen. The oxen didn’t want to go anywhere except Waltham, where Tofig built his Abbey. He displayed the crucifix and when King Harold turned up it bowed to him.

Giant stones? Flint? Blacksmiths? Red oxen? Crucifixes? Mental.

From John Garland’s ‘Haunted Somerset’ (2007):

The pretty little hillside village of Stogumber boasts one of the hardest to find and reach promontory fortresses, Curdon Camp, carpeted with undergrowth and thick foliage. It is in Curdon Copse, which locals say is haunted by ‘queer looking pixies’, and will-o-the-wisps have been witnessed hovering over its brook.

The Somerset HER suggests this may be an Iron Age hill-slope enclosure, rather than a full-blown hillfort. The banks have been quarried but there may still be something to see on the west and south sides. It’s a scheduled monument so you would hope the destruction is at an end.

Curiously, directly on the other side of the Donniford Stream.. and the electricity pylons.. and the railway.. was allegedly another camp, called ‘Turks Castle Camp’. Although there don’t seem to be any traces (the railway was put straight through it) it still gets a mention on the OS map, while Curdon Camp languishes in obscurity.

John Garland says (in his 2007 ‘Haunted Somerset’):

Hill climbers and ramblers often report strange and ‘distant voices’ and on occasions feel as if ‘being watched’ by unseen eyes in and around Porlock’s Berry Castle, situated on a lower ride of one of Exmoor’s combes, acclaimed for its scenic beauty.

The Somerset HER says that this site is likely to be an Iron Age / Romano-British era hillslope enclosure. It might never have been finished (you know how these DIY projects drag on). Another small enclosure exists up the slope to the south west. The record suggests the land is open access here.

It is believed that there is an invisible door in Cadbury Hill, Nailsea. ... whoever finds this door and enters will encounter the ghosts of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table.

The door recalls that at Alderley Edge. But I do hope it’s the real Arthur and his knights, and not just ghosts. From the 2007 ‘Haunted Somerset’ by John Garland.

Just beyond Cannington... a lane reaches out to a desolate field encircling a quarry. It is called the Warren. Archaeological excavations may have answered the talk about ‘several misty figures’ and the area’s sometimes sombre mood. Not only were a number of skeletons unearthed, but experts believe it is the site of a huge battle because several of the skeletons showed signs of injury.

Cannington Park ... [spurs] forth a pack of demon hounds on misty mornings. Cynwit’s Castle ... is said to be very haunted by scary faeries and a demonic wild hunt. ... [The] Park’s headless horsemen of ‘The Devil’s Hunting Ground’ have given the Park’s wilderness a grim reputation. It has also given good incentive for the locally superstitious to uphold the custom of either carrying a small cross of aspen wood, wear blue, or simply avoid the place after sunset...

Seemingly a bit geographically confused? but you hope the stories really are still doing the rounds. From ‘Haunted Somerset’ by John Garland (2007).

To the superstition about the sides of the sheep of Largo Law, add, as a note, that the same idea prevails in the south about the teeth of those which graze upon the Eildon hills. We know, from authentic documents, that there were gold mines in these hills in the time of James VI; but whether the metal communicates any tinge to the verdure, and the verdure again to the teeth of the sheep, must be left to naturalists.

From the additions to ‘The Popular Rhymes of Scotland’ by Robert Chambers (1826).

The Largo Law sheep have golden fleeces due to the golden hoard beneath the surface. I thought Largo Law was on TMA but it seems not – insufficient archaeology! It is a prominent hill near the stones at Lundin Links, and you can see a photo of it on that page.

On the farm of Clerkston, in the parish of Lesmahagow, there had existed since creation an immense stone, or saxum, which, being deeply bedded in the middle of a good field, at a great distance from any other rocks, was productive of infinite inconvenience to the husbandman, and defrauded the proprietor of a considerable portion of territory.

Beneath this stone, it was believed by the country people of the last generation, that there was secreted a vast treasure, in the shape of “a kettle-full, a boot-full, and a bull-hide-full,” of gold; all which got the ordinary name, reason unknown, of “katie Neevie’s hoord.” The credibility of this popular tradition was attested by a rhyme to the following effect:--

Between Dillerhill and Crossfoord,
Here Lies Katie Neevie’s Hoord.

Many efforts had been made, according to the gossips, to remove the stone, and get at the treasure; but all were baffled by the bodily appearance of the enemy of mankind, who, by breathing intolerable flame in the faces of those making the attempt, obliged them to desisted. Thus well guarded, the legacy of Mrs. Katherine Niven lay for centuries as snug as if it had been deposited in Chancery; and it was not till at least an hundred years after the last despairing effort had been made that the charm was at length broke.

Mr James Prentice, the present farmer of Clerkston, had the address to convince several Irishmen, who had served him during the harvest, of the truth of the said rhyme; and, by expatiating upon the supposed immensity of the treasure, wrought up their curiosity and their cupidity to such a pitch, that they resolved, with his permission, to break the stone in pieces, and make themselves master of whatever might be found below. On the day after the kirn, therefore, the poor fellows provided themselves with a well-loaded gun, for the protection of their persons from the Devil, and fell to work, with punches and mallets, to blow up and utterly destroy the huge stone which alone intervened between them and everlasting affluence.

They laboured the whole day, without provoking any visit from Satan, and at last succeeded in fairly eradicating the stone from the field which it had so long encumbered; when they became at once convinced of the fallacy of the rhyme, of the craft of Mr. Prentice, and of their own deluded credulity.

p68 in ‘The Popular Rhymes of Scotland’ by Robert Chambers (1826).

This large hillfort was protected on one side by the natural crags, and had a single rampart around the rest of its perimeter. A lot of the stones from the wall have gone, but the Canmore record suggests that there are still some massive ‘grounders’ that remain. It also mentions that the boundaries of three parishes meet here.

Robert Chambers’ ‘Popular Rhymes of Scotland’ (1826) says on page 33:

On the top of Benarty, which rises above Loch Orr, there were formerly held games, which all the herds of Fife, and other neighbouring counties, attended. They brought their wives, daughters and sweethearts; and having a plentiful stock of victuals, kept up the fete for a few days, bivouacking upon the ground during the night. The chief games were the golf, the foot-ball, and the wads*; and what with howling, singing, and drinking, after the manner of the modern Irish, they continued to spend the time very merrily. The top of Benarty is flat, and sufficiently extensive for their for their purpose. This custom is now disused, -- the number of herds being much diminished, and the profession not being of such importance in the country as formerly, on account of the increased number of fences.

* Wad -- a pledge or hostage.

“In this game the players being equally divided, and a certain space marked out between them, each lays down one or more Wads or pledges at that extremity where the party, to which he belongs, choose their station. A boundary being fixed at an equal distance from the extremities, the object is to carry off the wads from the one of these to the other. The two parties, advancing to the boundary or line, seize the first opportunity of crossing it, by making inroads on the territories of each other. He who crosses the line, if sezed by one of the opposite party, before he has touched any of their wads, is set down beside them as a prisoner, and receives the name of a Stinker; nor can he be released, till one of his own side can touch him, without being intercepted by one of the other; in which case he is free. If any one is caught in the act of carrying a wad, it is taken from him; but he cannot be detained as a prisoner, in consequence of his having touched it the pursuit is at an end. When the one party have carried off, to the extremity of their ground, all the other wads of the other, the game is finished. ”

Hope you’ve got that. It’s from Folklore vol VII – Fife, here.

The Height Atween Tintock-Tap And Coulter-Fell
Is Just Three Quarters O’ An Ell.

These hills are the most conspicuous objects in a district of Lanarkshire, which is in general rather flat; and the rhyme seems merely to denote that they are nearly of the same height.

p16 in ‘The popular rhymes of Scotland’ by Robert Chambers (1826).

Can it really only refer to something so mundane? It sounds like an aphorism you would speak sagely in response to a certain situation. You wouldn’t say:“There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip. This seems merely to denote that some people have messy table manners.”

This stone is otherwise known as Clach a’ Druidh. It’s a massive lumpy glacial erratic boulder, over six metres long and broad, which rises four metres out of the ground. Obviously it’s the rock of the druids. Slightly less convincing is to link the name with Roderick Hael, a king of Strathclyde.
This page from the Geological Conservation Review says it is composed of a basalt, criss-crossed by haematite veins. A quick websearch suggests it’s currently (and probably always has been) the haunt of rock climbers. If you can’t get to the top, BRAC has some photos of some cupmarks that are up there.

Canmap describes two stones here. They’re only about four feet high and are both ‘natural stones with no artificial markings’. This folklore admittedly doesn’t involve them, but is about their environment above the steep slopes down into the city.

The Glasgow chronicle (January, 1826) records the following occurrence at Paisley, on the occasion of some silkworkers being out of employment.*

“Visions have been seen of carts, caravans, and coaches going up Gleniffer braes without horses, or with horses without heads. Not many nights ago, mourning coaches, too, were seen going up the Cart above the town, with all the solemnity of a funeral. Some hoary-headed citizens relate, that about thirty years backward in their history, a famine was prognosticated in much the same way, by unusual appearances in the Causey-side. The most formidable witnesses in favour of the visions come from Neilston, who declare that they have seen the coaches, &c. two by two, coming over the braes, and are quite willing to depose to said facts whenever asked, before the Paisley magistrates.”

They’re probably visible at the moment, as I assume this bit [*] refers to Woeful Economic Climate.

“Knock Firinn is called by the people of the country ‘Knock Dhoinn Firinne,‘ the mountain of Don of Truth. This mountain is very high, and may be seen for several miles round; and when people are desirous to know whether or not any day will rain, they look at the top of Knock Firinn, and if they see a vapour or mist there, they immediately conclude that rain will soon follow; believing that Donn of that mountain and his aerial assistants are collecting the clouds, and that he holds them there for some short time, to warn the people of the approaching rain. As the appearance of mist on the mountain in the morning is considered an infallible sign that that day will be rainy, Donn is called ‘Donn Firinne,‘ Donn of Truth.”

In ‘Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland’ by Thomas Crofton Croker (1828).

I assume one of the stones here must be the owner of this story?

[referring to a stone at Skelmuir Hill:] Its position is accounted for in local tradition by its having fallen upon and crushed to death an old-time farmer who was digging below it in search of a bull’s hide full of gold. The same legend is told of two other monoliths in Aberdeenshire, one at Kildrummy and one at Binghill.

from ‘Report on the Stone Circles of the North-East of Scotland’ by Fred. R Coles, in PSAS 38 (1904).

In ‘Report on Stone Circles of the North-East of Scotland’ in PSAS v38 (1904) the author talks of this circle, but also mentions a stone elsewhere called the ‘White Cow of Crichie’ –

In the Buchan, this curious appellation is frequently given to great stones, presumably, as this one, of white quartz.

Are these the white cows? like the bovine equivalent of the ‘grey wethers’ of Wiltshire?

Nice story, Drew! It sounds like the stones have been moving/moved all over the place. Here’s a much more dull version – but it’s nice to see the stories are still there after 100 years.

Since making our investigations, we have ascertained* that many years ago there was a group of three stones, and that deserved ill-fortune befell the two farmers (whose lands were divided by the dike) for their wantonly removing them. These three stones stood in a triangle, and were probably the remains of a Circle.

*Through the good offices of friends at Longside whose relatives formerly lived near Skelmuir.

From PSAS v38, 1904: ‘Report on Stone Circles of the North-East of Scotland’ by Fred R Coles.

This is from Richard Gough’s additions to Camden’s ‘Britannia’ (volume 2):

[Thetford] was a seat of the kings of the East Angles. The Danes are generally supposed to have cast up the great hill [Thetford Castle] here about 865 when they wintered on it opposite to that on which king Edmund’s army lay, on the extremity of which are many tumuli (particularly one called the Tut hill) where were buried the slain in the battle between him and them.

Sounds like the Danes still feature in local folklore:

Tutt Hill, Suffolk.
The noises of fighting and a man screaming have been heard over the years. The fighting is said to date from the Viking attack on the town of Thetford which was successfully taken by them. As for the screaming man, tradition tells us that he was a Saxon traitor who betrayed Thetford to the Vikings and was rewarded for his efforts by being executed by his victorious ‘allies’.

‘They Still Serve: a complete guide to the military ghosts of Britain’ by R McKenzie (2008), viewable on Google Books.

People round here must be very fond of a tale – the variety and permutations are endless.

Some talked of the king’s palace and kitchen and well; and the imaginative Stukeley had a story of a road across the fields, ‘bearing very rank corn,’ which was known as ‘King Arthur’s Hunting-causeway.’ Here we see the warrior king turning into a shadowy creature like the wild huntsman of the German tales.

[...] A labourer, not long ago, told Mr. Bennett that the old bridle-path leading towards Glastonbury was King Arthur’s Lane, and that sometimes on rough winter nights he heard the king and his pack of hounds go by.

The rustics have other legends of a more interesting kind. They are convinced that the hill is hollow and teeming with fairy gold, though the latter belief may be only a reminiscence of the fine coins of Antoninus. [...] Mr Bennett told a story about a broken quern which had found near a hut site on the hill. A labourer said, ‘Now, Sir, I see what I could never make out afore; what it was the fairies wanted with carrying corn up here out of Foreside.’ ‘Why,’ said Mr. Bennett, ‘do the fairies bring corn up here?’ ‘Yes, Sir, we all know that; but I never could make out for why; but now I see, for here is their grindstone.‘

Ah those witty locals. In ‘Somerset: Highways, Byways, and Waterways. Edinburgh Review 181 (April 1895).

Thor’s cave has obtained a diversity of names. Dr. Plot calls it Thyrsis cavern, Thor’s house, Thurshole, and Hobhurst cave, some of which names appear to have originated with the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, who now call it Huzzes Tar, which according to traditions handed down from father to son, was formerly the retreat of a very mysterious being called Hobhurst.

[...] There is a small opening in the rock immediately below Thor’s Cave, which is known by the name of Radcliffe’s stable, from a person of that name having concealed his horse there when the Scotch rebels were making marauding excursions on marching through the country in 1745.

From Samuel Carrington’s ‘Account of the Excavations and Discoveries in Thor’s Cave, Wetton Dale...’ in Reliquary 6, April 1866.
I’m sure Stubob will know which is the latter cave, after his feats of mountaineering, and the likelihood of anyone being able to stable a horse in it.

“Thirst House” must strike the reader as a singular name for a cave, which, to ordinary frequenters, appears to be remarkably devoid of water. There is, however, a small spring in the valley below the entrance; and according to the lore of the country-side, Hob charms its waters on Good Friday, so that whoso quenches his thirst thereat -- with proper faith of course-- will be cured of any ailment he may be suffering from. It is obvious that this is merely a popular explanation of the name, the spring being too insignificant and distant for the name to have originated from it. The reference to Hob points to the solution.

Mr Salt [...] reports that a farmer in the district, occasionally finding small, old-fashioned tobacco-pipes when ploughing his fields, explained their presence by the tradition that Deep Dale was “a noted place for the fairies in the olden times”; and to give point to his explanation, he related how a workman, in crossing the valley one early morning, caught one of them and put it into his bag and took it part way home; but as it shrieked so pitifully he let it go, whereupon it ran back to the valley!

Hob-Hurst was a capricious elf, who, when in a good humour, made everything on the farm, particularly in the dairy, go smooth and prosperous; but when irritated made the cows go dry, the milk turn sour, the crocks smash, and generally infuse a spirit of contrariness in everything. A charm used in this district against his trickiness is given in an early volume of the Reliquary; it ran thus:--

“Churn, butter, churn!
Peter stands at our gate
Waiting for a butter-cake!
Churn, butter, churn!”

[...] The credit of the discovery of archaeological remains seems to be due to Mr. Millet, a young man of Buxton, who about ten years ago was attracted, in common with his school-fellow, to the cave, through a story of money hidden in it by an old miser who died suddenly.

From ‘Recent Cave Hunting in Derbyshire’ (part 2), in Reliquary April 1897.

Not strictly about Aveline’s Hole, but about another cave also in Burrington Combe:

[...the cave] locally known by the name of Goatchurch. Like all the other large caverns in the district, it has its legends. The dwellers in the neighbourhood, who have never cared to explore its recesses, will tell you that a certain dog, put in here, found its way out after many days at Wookey Hole, having lost all its hair in scrambling through the narrow passages. At Cheddar the same legend is appropriated to the Cheddar cave. At Wookey the dog is said to have travelled back to Cheddar.

‘Cave Hunting’ by W Boyd Dawkins, Macmillan’s Magazine, October 1870.

In 2003 some scratches were found in Goatchurch Cavern. You can see a photo at the fascinating Apotropaios website. It’s been suggested that they’re ‘ritual protection marks’ and an invocation to the Virgin Mary – maybe to do with the fact that the local caves were seen to be entrances to Unpleasantness and to be avoided.

An example of the imaginative descriptions you can spin to tourists, probably:

[The view] seems better than anything you saw before. Besides, it is historic ground; here the English fought their way up into the Danes’ stronghold. Villagers will show you ‘Guthrum’s kitchen’ and other of his haunts inside the still perfect rampart.

From ‘Good-bye to Wessex’ in ‘London Society’ magazine, April 1871.

Cheddar Cave [...] is lofty in parts, and full everywhere of fantastic incrustations -- turkeys hanging by the legs, a brown loaf, with the mark of the baker’s thumb, ropes of onions, organ pipes, cables, curtains (broad, transparent sheets), jelly glasses (reflected in a pool), and a stalactite and stalagmite separated now, as when the cave was first discovered, by just the space of one drop of water. This, Mr. Cox used to say, shows the slow growth of all these diverse petrifactions, the breaking off of one of which (he ominously hinted) had brought ruin on a thriving Taunton solicitor.

Mr Cox, we are told, discovered the cave in 1837 when he was breaking up the ground for potatoes. Running a show cave obviously became more lucrative. I thought it was interesting that he used the same kind of ‘harm to meddlers’ threat that accompany other stoney sites.

From ‘Good-bye to Wessex’ in ‘London Society’ magazine, April 1871.

According to a letter in Archaeologia Cambrensis (Oct. 1875), this stone was “traditionally said to mark the grave of ‘Gwydion ab Don’.” Gwydion ab Don (as Evans-Wentz tells us) was the king of the Tylwyth Teg – the fairies. Caer Gwydion (the Milky Way) is named after his castle, don’t you know.

The author of the letter and his friend Mr Wynn had a dig around the stone – they found the remnants of an urn and the cremation it held on the eastern side. Unimaginatively they put this down to the Romans.

More imaginatively, Mr Wynn rejected the idea that the stone marked Gwydion’s grave. But then attributed it to someone in the medieval ‘Englynion y Beddau’ (stanzas of the graves), to his friend’s dismay.

The traditions of the country point to these lands as the site of an ancient battle-field. One of the workment present told us that a very old master, with whom he worked on that land when a young man, used to say that there had been foul work there a long time ago. The old farmer would threaten to call up the “old one” who was buried there.

From ‘Tumulus at Berriew, Montgomeryshire’, in Archaeologia Cambrensis, July 1857.

... the great massive monolith known as “Carreg y Bwgi” (the Goblin’s Stone) was examined. It is 15 feet in length, and on an average 4 feet wide by 3 feet in thickness, and lies within a moated circle of 60 feet diameter. It is said to have been upset in search of treasure; and, alas! the farmer on whose land it lies has offered five shillings for breaking it up into wall material. Happily, however, there is a salutary tradition, confirmed by the subsequent experience of some of the party*, that any rash intruder on the Bogey’s precincts will be made to feel the consequences of his temerity, and perhaps fear may preserve what covetousness would destroy.

*Unsatisfyingly, this is not elaborated on.

From a report of the ‘Lampeter Meeting’ in Archeologia Cambrensis, October 1878.

This hill has cairns with kerbstones, cists, a bronze axe head – and of course, was the home of ‘Gormal Mor’:

“who is said to have lived at Achinduin at the south-west end of Lismore, which faces the Garbh-shlios Hill in Morven.

‘Gormal,’ it is said, ‘was as strong as five ordinary men, and very proud of his strength; and so the Evil One tempted him by a challenge to fight, with the design to destroy him.

Gormal induced his friends to row him over to the lonely shore of the rugged Garbh-shlios. There [...] he bade them farewell [...] in the waning light they thought they saw a huge black bull, terrible and grim, descending the hill to meet him [...]

So they came home to Achinduin, and spent the night in great fear and dismay for their brave strong friend and kinsman Gormal; and next day they crossed the Linnhe [...] but they found only his trampled body lying in the wood on the hillside, and they brought him home with weeping and wailing [...] ‘

This story was told to the narrator of it by a cottager in Lismore as absolutely true. Another cottager of a more rationalistic tendency of mind denied its truth, and explained away the appearance of the evil one by saying that the hills [...] were the one time abode of wild and fierce cattle.

From ‘Records of Argyll’ in The Scottish Review 6, October 1885.

I love the wiggly stone at the front in Postman’s photos. I wonder if it was chosen so you could reach your hand in the gap and get some benefit from being close to the ancestors – rather like at a medieval shrine?

My actual point is that I’m sure the Ancient People were pleased that Postman sneaked over to see them and tidy up a bit – because the name ‘Bryn yr Hen Bobl’ means ‘Hill of the Ancient People’.

Coflein is giving nothing away about this stone. But there is a story that relates to its vicinity:

A tradition connected with [the slopes above the stone], and related to me by the present tenant of Waen-canol, runs thus, and must be taken for what it is worth: “A great battle was fought on this spot by two armies of Welshmen, commanded by two brothers. The fight had been in progress some time, and the slaughter had been great, when the two brothers met in mortal conflict, while the other combatants ceased fighting to watch the struggle. A terrible thunderstorm, however, sprang up, and so fearful were the flashes of lightning that they thought it was a sign from the heavens to make peace, and they did so.”

From ‘Archaeological Notes and Queries’ by A Stepney-Gulston, in Archaeologia Cambrensis 15:60, 1898.

Calling at a farm, Maes y tyddyn Ucha, a lad told me he knew where Bryn y Beddu (Hill of the Graves) was, where he said his father had told him there had been severe fighting in the olden days.

From ‘Archaeological Notes and Queries’ by A Stepney-Gulston, in Archaeologia Cambrensis 15:60, 1898, p370.

A fort defended by a single wall and a rock-cut ditch topped this hill.

... tradition points out on the north side of Bizzyberry (or Bushyberry) “a hollow rock and a spring called Wallace’s seat and Wallace’s well.”

- from the Statistical Account of 1834-45, page 359, volume 6. Wallace and his men were said to have fought a huge battle locally.

... [a] characteristic specimen of a Tanist* stone may be seen on the top of Dun Add... On a smooth flat piece of rock which protrudes above the surface there is carved the mark of a right foot, covered with the old cuaran or thick stocking, eleven inches long and four inches and a half broad at the widest part, the heel being an inch less.

It is sunk about half an inch in the rock, and is very little weather-worn ... Quite close to it is a smooth polished basin, eleven inches in diameter and eight deep, also scooped out of the rock. With these two curious sculptures is associated a local myth.

Ossian, who lived for a time in the neighbourhood, was one day hunting on the mountain above Loch Fyne. A stag which his dogs had brought to bay charged him, and he fled precipitately. Coming to the hill above Kilmichael, he strode in one step across the valley to the top of Rudal Hill, from whence he took a giagantic leap to the summit of Dun Add. But when he alighted he was somewhat exhausted by his great effort, and fell on his knee, and stretched out his hands to prevent him from falling backwards. He thereupon left on the rocky top of Dun Add the enduring impression of his feet and knee which we see at the present day.

*so called from the Gaelic word tanaiste, a chief, or the next heir to an estate... These stones were used in connection with the coronation of a king or the inauguration of a chief.

From ‘Footprints’ in the Blackwoods Edinburgh Magazine, July 1885, p115.

As commonly held beliefs about the site, these surely belong in the ‘folklore’ section. People state as fact what they hold as a belief, or they say what they think will impress people, or they tell other people what they want to hear?

Dr. Pegge, writing in 1783, says that “the stones formerly stood on end, two and two together, which is very particular.” Glover, in his History of the County of Derby (1829), states that “Mr. J. Pilkington was informed that a very old man living in Middleton, remembered when a boy to have seen them standing obliquely upon one end;” tersely adding that “this secondary kind of evidence doesnot seem entitled to much credit.” One of my excavators, an old man, assured me that he had seen five stones standing in his boyhood, and had sheltered under them! On inquiry, however, I ascertained that the man had a reputation for gross exaggeration.

From ‘On the Excavations at Arbor Low, 1901-1902’ in Archaeologia 58 (1903), p466.

Judging by the record on the RCAHMS site, unfortunately I don’t think there’ll be much left here – or at least, there won’t be anything accessible below ground, maybe just a cairn above.

In the beginning of May, Mr. Hourston, tenant of the farm of Yinstay [...] was engaged in fencing operations ... his spade fell from his hands and disappeared underground ... breaking through rough masonry [he] effected an entrance into and underground chamber of very peculiar structure...

It is the highest ground in the neighbourhood... Tradition tells of a standing stone here, which is said to have been destroyed by a bauldie*, who took it for the devil...

The opening to the chamber, which is only three or four feet below the surface, and only a few feet from the cairn, is very difficult to negotiate, and can only be accomplished feet foremost, working oneself down sideways, and on the back... it is of an irregular oval shape, about 19ft. long from east to west, and about 10ft. in greatest breadth. The roof... is formed of flagstones, and supported upon nine apparently water-worn stones set upon end, forming pillars... In the chamber were picked up fragments of deer’s horn, bones, and teeth of horned sheep, oyster and whelk shells, burnt wood, and a few fragments of... pottery.

From ‘A Curious Chamber’, an article in The British Architect, June 1906.

I like the sound of the water worn stones and the image of the farmer wriggling into the space.

*??

The earliest known account of the Dwarfie Stone is in a Latin description of Orkney in 1529 by Jo. Ben, an unknown author, variously identified as John the Benedictine, or John Bellenden. Ben relates that the chambers had been originally made by a giant (i.e., in point of strength) and his wife, and that the latter was enceinte at the time, as was shown by her bed, which had the shape of her body. He was unable to account for the use of the door stone farther than that it was related that another giant, who was at enmity with the occupant of the stone and grieved at his prosperity, made the door stone to fit the size of the entrance so that the occupant might be shut in and perish from hunger, and that thereafter when he himself ruled the island he might have the stone for his own use. With this end in view the other giant took the stone, thus made, to the top of the mountain, and with his arms threw it down into the entrance. The giant inside awakened, and found himself in a quandary, being unable to get out, whereupon he made a hole in the roof with his mallets, and so escaped.

From A W Johnston’s article on the Dwarfie Stone in ‘The Reliquary’ April 1896. He also writes:
“Dr. Clouston, in his Guide to Orkney [1862], states that offerings used to be left in the stone by visitors.”

also that
In Bleau’s Atlas (1662) the stone is called the Dwarves’ Stone, pumilionum lapis, or commonly “Dwarfie Steene.” It is also related that it was a common belief that the cells conduced to the begetting of children by those couples who might live in them.
and
It may be noted that Ben, in 1529, described the doorstone as stopping the entrance, ostium habet obtrusum lapide; later writers, including Ployen, in 1839, describe it as standing before the entrance.
Perhaps that shouldn’t be given any more credence than the folklore though? as early accounts often get the measurements of the stone completely wrong, and we can be pretty sure those haven’t changed at least.

Now I’m not 100% certain this is the right stone. But it could well be. The article mentions Cowdenknowes and Smailholme, and Gordon, all of which are near. Also the cottage – which although isn’t there now, is mentioned on the RCAHMs record as having been demolished .

On a knoll by the side of [the] road there was an old thatched cottage, with an immense upright block of stone at the end of it. The place was called ‘Standing Stone,’ and there was a popular rhyme attached, which used regularly to afford us matter for the most serious inquiry, whether superstitious, mythological, or historical; shedding also a mysterious interest on the house itself and its inhabitants.

The doggerel couplet involved a favourite quirk with the vulgar of most rural districts, though somehow or other it always seemed to have in this case an unusually imposing effect--

‘When Stannin’-Stane hears the cock craw,
It wheels about, and faces Gordon Law.‘

He then goes on (at great length) to describe a boyhood incident when there was a ‘the most awful thunder-storm I ever witnessed’ and he and his friend were terrified by the stone’s ‘black shape as silent as death’ waiting to act as their gravestone. ‘Drenched we were to the skin, yet couldn’t think of going up to ask shelter.‘

From Chamber’s Edinburgh Journal of Nov. 11th, 1848.

A bit of a silly story:

As late as a few years prior to the demolition of the Stone of Odin, a woman was known to have travelled about 12 miles to lay her pain-racked head within the healing embraces of Odin’s Monolith. One can picture her disappointment on finding that her low stature precluded her from this privelege. After a little thought she gathered some small stones, and by standing upon them got her head into the desired hole. Whilst thus dedicating herself to the healer, the stones slipped away from beneath her and she was left with her head in the chill, relentless grasp of Odin. After several painful and frantic efforts she managed to extricate her head, and found that her neuralgia was cured, and that her only pains were where her head and Odin had come into too close grips.

From ‘Standing Stones and Maeshowe of Stenness.’ by Magnus Spence, in the Scottish Review of 1893 (v22, p401).

Various have been the conjectures as to the origin of the erection of the [stones]; they are commonly known by the name of the Standing Stanes of Lundy, a seat belonging to a very old family of the name of Lundin, now to Sir William Erskine, near Largo in Fife.

Tradition tells us, they were placed there in memory of that victory gained by Constantine II. over Hubba, one of the generals of the Danish invaders, about the year 874. It is certain that battle was fought near this spot; but whether these were in memory of the action or not, I cannot determine: It is more than probable they were of a much older date.

I have been found fault with for looking farther back than I should upon a former occasion, and by a person who never examined the subject which I endeavoured to give an account of. I shall not here controvert his arguments; I do not sit down for that purpose: My aim is to amuse myself at a leisure hour, and add my mite to an useful and entertaining publication.

From a clearly irritated correspondent in the Edinburgh Magazine of November 1785 (p324).

The next day we repaired to the place, and shortly after we were met by Miss Pickford [..] who most obligingly gave us the history of the mound in question. She narrated as follows:-

‘The place was called from time immemorial ‘The Gospel Hillock;’ the mound was held in considerable estimation and reverence, as its name imports, for here, in perilous times, people repaired for religious purposes, and holy persons preached and read the scriptures, whence it had obtained the name by which it was known.‘

We of course assented with her on its sacred character, and we thanked her for the valuable information we had obtained, and after her departure we commenced our operations with spade and pick, not doubting that ere long by these means the exact nature of ‘Gospel Hillock’ would tell a different tale as to its origin and purpose.

You can see a diagram of the three disturbed occupants of the barrow here in the article ‘Archaeological notes made by Captain Francis Dubois Lukis, H. M. ‘s 64th Regiment, during a visit to Buxton, Derbyshire, in 1865’ in ‘Reliquary and Illustrated Archaeologist.‘

This camp is situated upon the brow of a hill, next the Severn, so as to command an extensive view of that river, and every thing passing upon it. ‘Tis supposed to be Saxon, but no mention is made of it in the Chronicle, nor by any of the antient writers.

Tradition will have it to be the work of Offa, king of the Mercians, whose coffin the common people think was dug out of a tumulus, at Over, in this parish, in the year 1650, but Florilegius affirms, that he was buried at Bedford, whose authority, in this matter, ought to be preferred to vulgar opinion...

From ‘A New History of Gloucestershire’ by Samuel Rudder, 1779 (p222).

Six late-4th century bronze coins were found around one of the chambers of this barrow. Now it’s always possible that this was the result of a visitor with holes in his or her pockets. And there’s also a traditional idea of a ‘hoard’ of coins, where people stashed them intending to come back. But according to this article*coins of this era have been found at various prehistoric sites... as though they were left as some kind of nod to the local ancestors – perhaps a gift, or a payment for something, or you know, just your vague ‘votive / ritual activity’ type thing. I suppose one question would be how much were the coins worth? Another thing could be what the coins symbolised to their owners – was having money a flashy thing? and leaving money (rather than leaving a different sort of thing) a way of showing your status to the dead/living, – or was cash just the way their society worked by that time, and the obvious thing to leave? Questions questions.

*’Roman Wealth, Native Ritual: Coin Hoards within and beyond Roman Britain’ by N. B. Aitchison, in World Archaeology, Vol. 20, No. 2 (1988), pp. 270-284.