Rhiannon

Curiously, no one yet seems to have mentioned the story behind the name of the stones. So here it is:

Llech y Drybed is another name for a cromlech in Pembroke; but it appears to be purely descriptive; for the trybedd, or trivet, was a utensil used for holding pans and kettles over a hearth fire; and this stone, poised on three others, has been thus designated from its resemblance to the domestic tripods, which are probably still in use in those parts of Wales where coal and grates are unknown, or unusual.

p106 in ‘Archaeologia Cambrensis’ v2 s3 (1856).

The name of Hangman’s Stone is traditionally said to have been derived from the circumstance of a sheep-stealer’s having seated himself upon the stone, with his booty, a live sheep, tied by the hind legs round his head. The sheep, finding a fulcrum, began to struggle, and the string which tied its legs slipped down to the man’s neck and strangled him before he had power to extricate himself.

Ah yes, sheep were clever in those days, they could find a fulcrum, no problem.

Pulman also mentions the following folklore. The stone is right between Borcombe Farm and Gatcombe Farm – so if you’re going to see the hounds anywhere.. though I admit it has 0 to do with the stone itself.

The secluded combes and lonely hills about Borcombe and Gatcombe are the scenes of numerous supernatural stories, and it is not many years since it was religiously believed by the peasantry that that ‘country’ was regularly hunted at night by a pack of ‘Hell Hounds’ whose breath was fire. Perhaps the smugglers [..] assisted, for the purposes of their own, in keeping alive the superstitious fears of the country people.

p56 and 63 in ‘Local Nomenclature’ by G Pulman (1853) – digitised at Google Books.

The barrow on Hog Cliff Hill isn’t quite at the highest point – so I suspect it’s doing one of those ‘false crest’ tricks so as to be seen from the valley.

Talking of the valley (crafty link there, Rhiannon) – the farm below is called ‘Crockway Farm’. I think this must relate to what this stretch of road was previously called – namely Cromlech Crock Lane. (Thomas Hardy called it Crimmercrock Lane in his writing).

Ah yes – there was a cromlech here – or at least something stoney and prehistoric, allegedly. George Pulman gets a bit carried away with the thought of it, talking about the wails of sacrificial victims mixing with sad dove-coos (?!):

Who can tell what horrid deeds were enacted upon the old stone which for so many centuries lay neglected by the roadside, and which at last was sacrificed to the genius of modern waywardenism!

.. The peasantry [are ignorant of the derivation of the word] which they have elegantly corrupted into ‘Crimmercrock! But many are the traditions descended to them from the remote generations touching the never-to-be-forgotten ‘crock.’ And they are all of a weird and a romantic kind – telling of ‘witches’ with their midnight orgies around the awful stone, upon which was wont to writhe the gasping victims of the witches’ unhallowed spells..

from Local Nomenclature, by George Pulman (1857) p53.

Satyrs, or imaginary Wild Men, were confidently said, formerly, to inhabit Hobsthirst Rocks, on the N side of FinCop Hill..

John Farey – A General View of the Agriculture and Minerals of Derbyshire, p627 (1817) – digitised at Google Books.

The name ‘Ailey Hill’ was previously “Elueshou” (or -howe) – that is, Elf Barrow.* It doesn’t sound like a very Christian place to be burying people. Perhaps that’s why the church took it over.

Other stories are connected with the site:

There remains.. a monument of some dreadful carnage that occurred here awhile after [the Danes]. This is a large conical tumulus at the east side of the town, about a bow shot from the cathedral, composed throughout of sand, gravel, and human bones, mingled in that indiscriminate manner that would occur when the victims of the battle-field were hastily collected in one vast mound, that served alike as their memorial and their tomb. The teeth and bones of horses, too, have been found in quantities within a short distance around its base.

This singular and mysterious object, which was called in Leland’s time Ilshow, but now Ailey Hill, measures about three hundred yards in circumference at its base, and about seventy in sloping height.

Etymologists have connected its name with a presumption that Ella, the Northumbrian king, fought, or was subsequently slain here in 867, and that he, or those who fell with him, were deposited in a “how” or hill that was designated by his name.

(Walbran immediately denies any belief in this ridiculous idea.)
From p 6 of Walbran’s book, and p112 of Semple’s article.

*disappointingly, Alaric Hall’s comprehensive Elf essay denies this.
alarichall.org.uk/ahphdapp.pdf

In the district [of] Eskdale, in the parish of Eskdale moor, is a very complete encampment, of an oval form, named Castle-O’er or Overbie. It is generally supposed to have been a Roman station, which communicated with those of Middlebie and Netherbie; and that the difference of form may [be because] of it being placed on top of a hill, where the square form could not be adhered to..

Well, that strange logic aside, the camp has the Black Esk down on its west flank, and the White Esk to its east. They meet to the south. And so, what an apt place for the following –

..According to tradition, a spot, at the confluence of the waters called the Black and White Esk, was remarkable in former times for an annual fair that had been held there time out of mind, but which is entirely laid aside. At that fair it was the custom for the unmarried persons of both sexes to choose a companion according to their liking, with whom they were to live till that time next year. This was called hand-fasting or hand in fist. If they were pleased with each other at that time, they continued together for life; if not, they separated, and were free to make another choice as at the first. The fruit of their connection (if there were any) was always attached to the disaffected person.

In later times, when this part of the country belonged to the abbacy of Melrose, a priest, to whom they gave the name of book-i-the bosom (either because he carried in his bosom a bible, or perhaps a register of the marriages), came from time to time to confirm the marriages. This place is only a small distance from the Roman encampment of Castle-O’er.

From p283 of ‘The Beauties of Scotland -vol 2’ by Robert Forsyth (1805), which you can read at Google Books. I think he copied most of it from the original Statistical Account. The New Statistical Account has an account of a letter from 1796 which says (p405, v4, 1845):

No account can be given of the period at which the custom of hand-fasting commenced, but I was told by an old man, John Murray.. that he was acquainted with or at least had seen an old man, I think his name was Beattie, who was grandson to a couple of people who had been handfasted. You perhaps know that the children born under the handfasting engagement were reckoned lawful children, and not bastards, though the parents did afterwards resile.

Talk about ‘friend of a friend’ stories. Who can say what the truth might be.

The fine piece of ground called ‘Cat-stones,’ is enclosed on three sides by a considerable bank of earth, and bears evident marks of the plough. The country people believe it to have been an intrenchment or camp.

p81 in William Keighley and Robert Holmes’s ‘Keighley, past and present’ (1858) – viewable on Google Books. They also say, clearly about the same area:

On Harden Moor, about two miles south of Keighley, we meet with an interesting plot of ground where was to be seen in the early days of many aged persons yet living, a cairn or ‘skirt of stones,’* which appears to have given name to the place, now designated Cat or Scat-stones. This was no doubt the grave of some noted but long-forgotten warrior.

*The Cairn was called Skirtstones by the country people in allusion to the custom of carrying a stone in the skirt to add to the Cairn.

There are a group of cairns still on Harden Moor, though these are to the NE of Catstone Hill, curiously, around SE 075 386. So maybe the one they refer to really has gone.

The information from the SMR on Magic says the site is a ‘late prehistoric enclosed settlement’ and that quarrying has destroyed much of the west side. An excavation in 1962 didn’t turn up many artifacts: perhaps it was mostly used for stock, but there is/was a bank and ditch. A Roman road runs north-south about 100m west of the site.

This folklore refers to South Uist, and is from Martin’s ‘Description of the Western Isles of Scotland’ (a tour which he undertook in 1695). It’s a shame but I cannot work out where Gleann ‘Slyte’ must be.

There are several big cairns of stone on the east side this island, and the vulgar retain the ancient custom of making a religious tour round them on Sundays and holidays.

There is a valley between two mountains on the east side called Glenslyte, which affords good pasturage. The natives who farm it come thither with their cattle in the summer time, and are possessed with a firm belief that this valley is haunted by spirits, who by the inhabitants are called the great men; and that whatsoever man or woman enters the valley without making first an entire resignation of themselves to the conduct of the great men will infallibly grow mad. The words by which he or she gives up himself to these men’s conduct are comprehended in three sentences, wherein the glen is twice named, to which they add that it is inhabited by these great men, and that such as enter depend on their protection.

I told the natives that this was a piece of silly credulity as ever was imposed upon the most ignorant ages, and that their imaginary protectors deserved no such invocation. They answered that there had happened a late instance of a woman who went into that glen without resigning herself to the conduct of these men, and immediately after she became mad, which confirmed them in their unreasonable fancy.

The book is on line at the Appin Regiment site, here:
appins.org/martin.htm

The abodes of the Daoine Shi’ are supposed to be below grassy eminences or knolls, where, during the night, they celebrate their festivities by the light of the moon, and dance to notes of the softest music.

The belief in Fairies is a popular superstition among the Shetlanders. The margin of a small lake called the Sandy Loch, about two miles from Lerwick, is celebrated for having been their favourite resort. It is said that they often walk in procession along the sides of the loch in different costumes.

Some of the natives used frequently, when passing by a knoll, to stop and listen to the music of the fairies, and when the music ceased, they would hear the rattling of the pewter plates which were to be used at supper. The fairies sometimes visit the Shetland barns, from which they are usually ejected by means of a flail, which the proprietor wields with great agility, thumping and threshing in every direction.

p108 in ‘A History of the Highlands and of the Highland Clans’ by James Browne (1834) – now on Google Books.

On the top of Barry-hill near Alyth in Perthshire.. there was a fort of very great strength..

The tradition of the country, which is probably derived from the fiction of Boyce, relates that this vast strength of Barry-hill was the appropriate prison of Arthur’s queen, the well known Guenever, who had been taken prisoner by the Picts.

About a quarter of a mile eastward, on the declivity of the hill, there are some remains of another oval fort, which was defended by a strong wall, and a deep ditch. The same tradition relates, with similar appearance of fiction, that there existed a subterraneous communication between these two British forts, on Barry-hill.

p14 of ‘A History of the Highlands and of the Highland Clans’ by James Browne (1838), now digitised at Google Books.

Slightly more excitingly than just linking the enclosure with the fort, Angus’s ‘Forfarshire Illustrated’ (1843) suggests the following about the nearby Castle of Inverquiech: Beneath the fragment of the Castle there is a vault, which is popularly believed to be the entrance of a subterraneous passage, which communicates with the old British hill-fort, on the summit of Barry Hill, in the adjoining parish of Alyth.

The New Statistical Account adds a bit more (v10 for Perth, 1845, p1118):

Like other places of the same kind, it is the scene of innumerable legends, which agree in representing it as the residence or prison of the infamous Vanora or Guinevar, who appears in the local traditions under the more homely appellation of Queen Wander, and is generally described as a malignant giantess. This tradition perhaps arose from the vicinity of the celbrated sepulchral stones at Meigle, which are generally considered as the remains of the monument of Vanora..

The Meigle stones are beautifully carved Pictish stones, which are supposed to depict Vanora’s unpleasant end, among other things.

There is a huge stone at one end of the village of Gourock, where a saint of the name of Kempock formerly kept a shop for the sale of winds to sailors.
At this place the modern navigators of the Clyde leave their mistresses, when bound on distant voyages.

Running the church as a business? whatever next.
From p17 of ‘A Picture of Scotland’ by Robert Chambers (1828) – scanned in at Google Books.

They’re probably still telling this story in the pub. Maybe people are still getting stuck up there.

It is customary with the young men in the neighbourhood to climb up this huge rock, from the top of which there is a fine prospect of the vale below, but it requires considerable dexterity and address to descend.

The rustics here relate a story respecting the “Drake Stone” with great glee. On one fine summer evening, a few years ago, a stranger arrived at the village. He entered a public house, and having taken some refreshment, immediately departed. His intention was to ascend the Drake Stone, which he did with little difficulty, and after remaining for some time on the summit of the rock, enjoying the beautiful and extensive prospect, the deepening gloom warned him that it was time to depart, and he therefore set about descending the dangerous rock, but in vain.

He looked at the yawning depth below and shuddered at the prospect of attempting to descend; further, the night was closing in, not a human being was in sight, and the poor traveller in an agony of fear was obliged to content himself with remaining on the cold rock with the starry heaven for a canopy.

Wrapping himself up in his garments as well as he could, he laid him down to obtain, if possible, some repose. To sleep, however, was not in his power, the knowledge of his situation made him to lay awake, anxiously waiting the break of day.

Early on the following morning, the inhabitants on rising, were surprised to hear a human voice, “loud as the huntsman’s shout,” bawling lustily for assistance. Seeing his danger, they immediately proceeded to the stone, and by proper means and some exertion, he was safely extricated from his very perilous situation, where he had passed so sleepless a night.

Tourists eh.
From p 142 of ‘The local historian’s table book’ by M A Richardson (1844) = now on Google Books.

They have a legend in Cornwall that St. Agnes “escaped out of the prison at Rome, and taking shipping, landed at St. Piran Arwothall, from whence she travelled on foot to what is now her own parish.

But being several times tempted by the Devil on her way, as often as she turned about to rebuke him, she turned him into a stone, and indeed there are still to be seen on the Downs, between St. Piran and St. Agnes, several large moor stones, pitched on end, in a straight line, about a quarter of a mile distant one from the other, doubtless put there on some remarkable account.”

From p240 of ‘Poetical Works of Robert Southey’ v1, 1843 – on Google Books.

Popular tradition has evinced her faithfulness in transmitting from age to age the superstitious belief that Fawdon Hill is the royal residence of the “Queen Mab” of Northumberland and all her elfin courtiers, and that the picturesque grounds adjacent are the scenes of the moonlight gambols and midnight revelries.

This is followed by pages of equal wordiness and an excruciating poem, which you may read on Google Books. It’s from the ‘Metrical Legends of Northumberland’ by James Service (1834).

The fort is also connected in various books to the battle of Otterburn – but I think this is more historical speculation than local folklore.

Brown Clee Hill has two summits – Abdon Burf is the highest one. Further down on the SW side is a fort called Nordy Bank. I’ve read there were also hillforts on both summits, not to mention various older barrows.

A large stone on the side of the principal branch of the Brown Clee Hill (Abdon Burf), belonging apparently to the class of monuments commonly called druidical, is called the Giant’s Shaft – shaft, of course, signifying an arrow.

Of course. That end of the hill has been extensively quarried, so I wonder if the stone is still there. I wonder if it has anything to do with the same Giant that sits on Titterstone Clee.

From ‘On the Local Legends of Shropshire’ by Thomas Wright. p56 in ‘Collectanea Archaeologica’ v1, 1862. Online at Google Books.

I hope I’ve got the grid reference right. The barrows were behind North Foreland Lodge (later St Stephen’s College, and now?).

Between Broadstairs and King’s Gate there is a lighthouse, erected, in 1683, on the North Foreland, the most easterly point in England*[..] A desperate battle is said to have been fought by the Saxons and Danes near this place in 853, the site of which is marked by two tumuli.

From p 442 of ‘The British Gazetteer’ by Benjamin Clarke (v1, 1852). Spotted online at Google Books.

*Not actually true. The bit about the battle might not be actually either.

The tradition is, that the Danes having landed on the Buchan coast, and pillaging their way to Murray, then in possession of their countrymen, were come up with, at the place where now stand the cairns of Memsie in the parish of Rathen, by the Scotch army, and defeated, three of their leaders being slain, over whose buried bodies the 3 cairns were raised, on the very spot where each of them fell; that the Danes retreated, and were again overtaken and defeated at Coburty*, the cairn being raised over the graves of their slain; and that the remains of this Danish army were finally defeated and cut to pieces, on a heath about a quarter of a mile W. from the church of Gamery**, which still retains the name of the Bloody Pots [or pits]; in memory of which victory, the skulls of 3 of their slain leaders were built into the inside of the church wall, where two of them still remain, the other being consumed through length of time.

p579 of v12 of the Statistical Account (1797), by Sir John Sinclair.

*somewhere here: NJ 924 642, one assumes.

**The church (also called ‘Kirk of Sculls’ – though whose skulls is debatable) is “not a mile” from Gardenstown so maybe here: NJ 790 644.
abdnet.co.uk/genuki/BAN/Gamrie/RevWilson.html – from V1 of the Statistical account.

The Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould knew a lot about folklore but I think he made this story up for his novel ‘Mrs Curgenven of Curgenven’ (1909). It sounds as if it could be based on the discovery of the Rillaton cup. If you look at my notes on that page, you’ll see that Mr Grinsell had an inkling he’d made that ‘famous folklore’ up too. But still, what’s folklore anyway. Someone’s got to make it up sometime (unless the fairies really do exist..).

Here rises an immense cairn above some ancient Cornish king. Here the dead man lies with a golden goblet in his hand, and he turns his cup from side to side. When he is thirsty, he turns the bowl to the west, and thereupon the wind blows from the ocean and brings up rain that pours through the chinks of his grave and fills the cup. The dead man holds it till full, and then drinks. If his tongue be slaked, he turns the bowl downward and the wind shifts, the clouds disperse, and the sun shines. But he has his thirsty fits full often, and when they are on him rain falls incessantly, and the fire that consumes him seems unquenchable.

p300 in the edition digitised at the Internet Archive.
archive.org/details/mrscurgenvenofcu00bariuoft

The cairn is mentioned by the erudite Sabine Baring-Gould in his 1905 novel ‘Mrs Curgenven of Curvengen’ – but I’m sure it’d be based on his knowledge of local folklore. Well ok, he could have made it up.

[Esther] kept to the heights, now traversing whole villages of ancient circular huts, some within pounds and fortifications, some outside, at what date tenanted none knew. Now and then she startled a couched moor colt or a heifer, or a frightened curlew with a whirr and scream rose from under her feet. Then she made Tolborough, with its cairn crowning the summit, a chambered cairn with a passage leading into its depths, where dwelt the pixies. She passed without fear, the Good People had never hurt her. She belonged to them; they would protect her when taking refuge in their domain, their last refuge from the encroaching plough and the sound of church bells.

p298 in the edition digitised at the Internet Archive.
archive.org/details/mrscurgenvenofcu00bariuoft

In Thomas’s History of the Diocese of St. Asaph, p. 687, the legend connected with the erection of the present church is given as follows: --

“The legend of its (Corwen Church) original foundation states that all attempts to build the church in any other spot than where stood the ‘Carreg y Big yn y fach rewlyd,’ i.e., ‘The pointed stone in the icy nook,’ were frustrated by the influence of certain adverse powers.”

No agency is mentioned in this narrative. When questioned on such a matter, the aged, of forty years ago, would shake their heads in an ominous kind of manner, and remain silent, as if it were wrong on their part to allude to the affair. Others, more bold, would surmise that it was the work of a Spirit, or of the Fairies.

From p175 of ‘Welsh Folk Lore’ by the Rev. Elias Owen (1887) – online at Project Gutenberg.

Evidently the Rev was taking some of his words from Thomas Pennant:

A Monument of our superstition remains in the Carreg y Big yn y fach Rewlyd, a pointed rude stone, which stands near the porch. We are told that all attempts to build the church in any other place, were frustrated by the influence of certain adverse powers, till the founders, warned in vision, were directed ot the spot where this pillar stood.

from ‘Tours in Wales’, p 203, v2, 1810.

There’s a bronze age cairn on the very top of Moel Eilio. And this is my excuse to mention the mountain’s fairies:

They were said to live in hidden caves in the mountains, and he [Mr Jones] had heard one old man asserting his firm belief that it was beneath Moel Eilio, also called Moel Eilian, a mountain lying between Llanberis and Cwellyn, the Tylwyth Teg of Nant y Bettws lived, whom he had seen many a time when he was a lad; and, if any one came across the mouth of their cave, he thought that he would find there a wonderful amount of wealth, ‘for they were thieves without their like.‘

p82, ‘Celtic Folklore Welsh And Manx’ by John Rhys (1901) – from a letter from a Mr Gethin Jones from 1881 – online at the sacred texts archive.

And a story with familiar motifs, based at this fairy hill.

Glasynys’s tale.. originally appeared in the Brython for 1863, p. 193. It is as follows:—

“One fine sunny morning, as the young heir of Ystrad was busied with his sheep on the side of Moel Eilio, he met a very pretty girl, and when he got home he told the folks there of it. A few days afterwards he met her again, and this happened several times, when he mentioned it to his father, who advised him to seize her when he next met her. The next time he met her he proceeded to do so, but before he could take her away, a little fat old man came to them and begged him to give her back to him, to which the youth would not listen. The little man uttered terrible threats, but he would not yield, so an agreement was made between them that he was to have her to wife until he touched her skin with iron, and great was the joy both of the son and his parents in consequence.

They lived together for many years, but once on a time, on the evening of Bettws Fair, the wife’s horse got restive, and somehow, as the husband was attending to the horse, the stirrups touched the skin of her bare leg, and that very night she was taken away from him. She had three or four children, and more than one of their descendants, as Glasynys maintains, were known to him at the time he wrote in 1863.”

‘Glasynys’ was actually the Rev. Owen Wynne Jones, and he said that he heard the story “scores of times when he was a lad”.
From p14 of ‘Welsh Folk Lore’ by the Rev. Elias Owen (1887) – online at Project Gutenberg.

We pursued this [rough track] until the extreme ruggedness of the plain rendered further advance almost impossible.. I was [pleased] that my drive was at an end, and was not less pleased to find that no garrulous guides pounced on me when I alighted from the carriage.. I was happily alone; for Carnac is one of those places where solitude becomes a luxury, and consequently where guides would be more than usually vexatious and troublesome;

for what could they tell the visitor respecting the mysterious ranks of obelisks, the purposes of which have baffled speculative investigations and learned inquiries?

Nothing beyond the whimsical legend current among Bretons, that the stones of Carnac are the soldiers of a mighty army petrified by St. Cornely, who, being hard pressed by them, took the effectual method of frustrating their murderous purposes by turning them into stone.

The skeletons of the soldiers, adds the legend, may be seen on certain occasions at midnight, in the churchyard at Carnac, performing penance for the sins committed in the flesh against the saint, and listening reverently to sermons preached by Death himself.

If you are curious to know more, you will be shown the pulpit of the grim preacher, a dilapidated stone Calvary, and, if you have sufficient courage, you may even hear the sermon; though, if accounts be true, the penalty of intrusion, on being detected by the ghastly congregation, is far more severe than that with which Tam o’ Shanter* was threatened.

p246 of Charles Richard Weld’s “A vacation in Brittany’ (1856) – now digitised at Google Books.

*of Robert Burns’ poem.

The great Menhir of Kerloaz stands on a dreary moorland, with no object near it to distract attention from the impressive mass. It consists of a single granite block, thirty-seven feet nine inches high, having a quadrangular base, with a curious round protuberance on two of its sides, about three feet from the ground.

Numerous conjectures have been hazarded respecting these bosses, none of which are supported by tradition. They are regarded with extraordinary veneration by the peasants. Villemarque states that newly-married people repair to this imposing Menhir at nightfall, and divesting themselves of a portion of their clothes, the husband goes to one boss, the wife to the other, and rub their naked bodies against the stone; the man believing that by this ridiculous ceremony he will be the father of male children only, while the woman hopes that she will have dominion over her husband.

The ground surrounding this Menhir is called in Breton ”Kerglas,” which means the field of grief or mourning -- traditionary evidence that the obelisk was erected as a funeral monument. In this case, Villemarque justly observes, the vast size of the stone denotes that the grave contained a mighty chief, for generally speaking, the bulk of the monument raised over the bodies of chiefs was proportionate to their rank and valour in war.

I just love it when these people call something ‘ridiculous’ and then come out with something equally spurious.

From p187 of Charles Richard Weld’s “A vacation in Brittany’ (1856) – now digitised at Google Books.

Other stones whisper too, at the Rollrights?

When living in that neighbourhood, this was my favourite resort. I have been there at all hours, in sombre moonless night, and in the brilliance of a full moon – at the hours of sunrise, noon, and sunset, enjoying the lovely prospect of a fertile valley winding below me in a tortuous course towards the range of the Cotswold hills.

..I may add that the surrounding fields abound in pieces of crystallized spar (though the Druidical stones are not at all of this nature) and I am told that the numerous rills of clear water which trickle down the hill possess a petrifying quality. This seems probable.

On my last visit to this hill I was rambling about the fields in my descent, when, about half way down, I found almost concealed, a large collection of rough stones, all of which had been broken down; and a beautifully pure spring issuing from among them.

I was carrying away a piece of the crystallized spar in my hand, and hurrying homewards, for it was becoming late in the evening, when a person came from his door, in Long Compton, and following me for some distance, begged me, if I valued my night’s rest, not to steal any of the whispering stones. Having thanked him for his kind advice, I proceeded onwards, with about a dozen boys at my heels through the town.

Egomet Ipse.

“Egomet” clearly thought the man was bonkers. But why mention it, if he didn’t have an uncomfortable suspicion that it related to the stone in his hand, not the whispering knights? or am I reading too, too much into it. Perhaps the man just thought he looked the type to go meddling with things.

From p476 of ‘The Mirror of Literature, Amusement and Instruction’ v16, 1830 (which may be seen on Google Books).

I imagine these could be the stones to which the Rev. refers – there are two of them, and they are on the way home to Breachacha castle (the Macleans’ abode) from Grishipoll. But let me know if you know better.

Finding our labour [on Grishipoll cairn] ineffectual, we left our work, and returned to Mr. M’s house. In our road, I saw several upright stones, particularly two, called the whispering stones*, which they call the giant’s grave, and also evident traces of ancient cairns; all of which, though hardly noticed by or known to the natives, bear strong marks of monumental labour.

*So called from a silly trick, practised by the natives, of placing a person behind one of the stones, pretending he may hear what is whispered at the other, and having thus stationed him, he is left a dupe to his own credulity.

The Reverend Clarke sounds like The biggest cynic of all time – he can’t even believe in other people’s belief?

From p235 of ‘The Life and Remains of the Rev. Edward Daniel Clarke’ (a professor of mineralogy at Cambridge) by William Otter (1824) – viewable on Google Books. He visited Coll in 1797.

Coflein says the stones were known as ‘Na Sgialaichean’ in 1937 and still in 1972 (what is the translation?). They were by tradition “ancient burial marks”. They are 46 feet apart; one is 5 ft tall, the other 6.

Falling into conversation with [Mr Maclean] on the subject of cairns, he informed me, there was only one in the whole island, called Cairn mich Re, signifying the cairn, or tomb, of the king’s son. I thought this would be a very favourable opportunity.. of opening one of these cairns; and expressing a wish to that effect, Mr. Maclean informed me he had often thought of doing it himself, and if I pleased, we would set out for the spot immediately..

.. It is situated [by the roadside] near the village of Grissipol.. We soon fell to work.. While we were thus employed, a venerable figure, with hairs as white as snow, came slowly up to the cairn, shaking his head, and muttering something in Gaelic, which I did not understand. Mr Maclean interpreting for me, told me he said ‘it was unlucky to disturb the bones of the dead!’..

..I am sorry to add, our labours at the cairn were not productive of much information. We dscovered nothing; but in casting out the stones I found several of that description of stones which are venerated in Mull for their imaginary virtues: also several specimens of beautiful black Mica.

Mr M. said, and I believe it with truth, that cairns were not erected merely where a person was interred, but often to commemorate the spot on which he died; and also at all the places where his body rested, from the place of his death to the place of his interment.

The old man informed us, he remembered the time when at any common funeral in Col, if the body was carried by that cairn, every one of the attendants cast a stone upon it. It is an expression of friendship and affection, at this hour among the islanders, to say, ‘I will cast a stone upon your cairn!‘

“We discovered nothing” yet he found axeheads? What was the man hoping for I wonder. From p235 of ‘The Life and Remains of the Rev. Edward Daniel Clarke’ (a professor of mineralogy at Cambridge) by William Otter (1824) – viewable on Google Books. The excavation took place in 1797.

Canmore says that “According to local tradition it was opened about 1765 by three Norwegians in the presence of the laird of Coll. They took the relics discovered home with them, claiming them to belong to a fellow-countryman.” Well maybe that’s why the Rev. was disappointed..

Impatience from the Rev. Edward Daniel Clarke, who probably believed all sorts of unlikely things himself.

The superstition of the inhabitants, not only of Mull, but of the neighbouring islands, is beyond belief. Stones of any singular form.. have each a peculiar characteristic virtue. They are handed with veneration from father to son, and esteemed as a remedy for every species of disease incident to the human or animal race. As there is not in the whole island of Mull a single surgeon or apothecary, it is well for the natives they can have recourse to a mode of relief so universal and so efficacious.

.. It was with much difficulty I could prevail upon these credulous quacks to part with any specimen of their potent charms. I succeeded, however, in purchasing two, during the time I remained in Mull. One of these, a hard and polished stone, evidently appears to have been once used as an axe, or hatchet, and bears a strong resemblance to the specimens of similar instruments brought by circumnavigators from the South Sea islands. The other is of the same nature with the first, with respect to the use for which it was originally fabricated, although it differs in its composition; it was probably once an instrument of war.

By holding the former over the head of any diseased cattle, and pouring water upon it, letting the water at the same time fall on the animal, the beast is said to recover without fail. The latter is a sovereign remedy against barrenness in cows, if it be used in the same way. If either of them be dipped in water, the water cures all pains of the head or teeth, it also removes the rheumatism or sprains in the joints, with a variety of other virtues, too numerous to mention.

Several others which I saw, possessed virtues as various as their forms. Some of these were fossil shells; others like the flint of a gun, called Fairy speds*; and again, others, mere oblong pebbles, which they distinguished by the appellation of ‘Cockaroo-hoo-pan’, a sovereign antidote for barrenness in the female sex.

* I guess these could have been flint arrowheads. ‘Sped’ means ‘discharged or let go’ which sounds like what a fairy might do to an arrow? Also, if anyone’s got an axe I’d like to try it on my sciatica please.

From p229 of ‘The Life and Remains of the Rev. Edward Daniel Clarke’ (professor of mineralogy at Cambridge) by William Otter (1824) – viewable on Google Books.

In some cases [during the excavations] when night was stealing on, and an urn had been but partially discovered, in order to ensure its preservation, I have bivouacked around the fire with my labourers till near midnight; no pleasant situation on a bleak and elevated Dorset Down in a November night.

Men were employed in dragging furze from an adjoining spot, and it was a fine subject for the talent of an artist to have described the venerable urn, smoking at the flame, while a red and flickering gleam played upon the countenances of the labourers, who stood around the fire, speaking in low and smothered tones, allowing their fears to work upon their imaginations, – their eyes fixed upon the flame and dead men’s bone, – were afraid to look into the surrounding darkness.

The swell of the passing breeze as it fanned the fire, raised them from their reverie, or roused their attention from some direful story of goblin damned, which was gravely related and as faithfully believed. The effect produced by the narrative of the village thatcher added most strongly to the horror of their situation, as he gravely declared that his father and his elder brother had been most cruelly dragged about and beaten by some invisible hand, on the very down on which we stood. There was no danger of a deserter from my party, as fear kept them together...

‘Most Haunted’ eat your heart out. From p 28 of ‘A Description of the Deverel Barrow, opened AD1825’ by W.A. Miles (link below).

According to Coflein the 1st edition OS map had four stones! and the fourth has been found in woodland on the far side of the farm drive. They do suggest it could be a Bronze Age stone row, but also that it could be (shock) an C18th boundary feature. But then why would the fourth be across the drive? Mysterious.

And how strange that such little stones get such a big story (including verse). There are only two in this version!

In a field near the porter’s lodge of Plas Gwynn, there are two stones, at a considerable distance from each other, which mark the place where tradition says Einion ap Gwalchmai, some centuries ago, obtained his wife by an uncommon exhibition of activity in leaping fifty feet!

There were two competitors, and the female decided their claims by taking the man who could leap farthest. Einion, it is said, some time afterwards, went to a distant part of the country, where he had occasion to reside several years, and he found on his return that his wife had, on that very morning, been married to another person. He took his harp and sitting down at the door, explained in Welsh metre who he was, and where he had been resident. His wife narrowly scrutinised his person, unwilling to give up her new spouse, when he exclaimed--

“Look not, Angharad, on my silver hair, Which once shone bright of golden lively hue:
Man doth not last like gold, – he that was fair will soon decay, though gold continue new.

[I will spare you the rest until the last verse]

Full fifty feet, as still the truth is known, And many witnesses can still attest,
How there the prize I won, thyself must own, This action stamp’d my worth within thy breast.”

From ‘Excursions in North Wales’ by William Bingley (1839 ed. p78).

Near the summit of a hill.. called Cefyn Creini, The Mountain of Worship, there is a vast circle of loose stones, which bears the appearance of having once been a British fortification. This is called Caer Drewyn and Y Caer Wen, The White Fort. It is near half a mile in circumference, but the walls are at present in such a state, that at a distance they appear like huge heaps of stones piled round the circumference of a circle.

Owen Gwynedd is believed to have occupied this post while Henry II had his men encamped among the Berwyn mountains, on the opposite side of the vale. It is also related that Owen Glyndwr made use of this place in his occasional retreats.

p39 in ‘Excursions in North Wales’ by William Bingley (1839 ed.)

This hillfort with its huge stone walls would have overseen the important routeway of the Avon Dyfrdwy (the Dee). Owain Glyndwr was apparently born and lived in the valley below – it’s said to be the place where he gathered his army.

At Cromhall, in Gloucestershire, there is a field called “Bloody Acre;” which name records a skirmish between Cromwell and the Royalists.

Notes and Queries, June 9th, 1855.

When in doubt, you may blame any of the following: Cromwell, The Romans, fairies, Danes, giants, The Devil, or (in moments of desperation) the Phoenicians.