Rhiannon

That’s right, of all the many prehistoric remains up here, why not destroy the very one that has some decent folklore.

A short distance from [Meini Hirion] is a smooth round hill called Moelfre, upon which is a carnedd, covered with turf, about seventeen feet in diameter. I allude to it chiefly for the sake of introducing the following very curious unpublished notice of it which occurs in the [17th C] manuscript of Sir John Wynn..

..“and in the top very plain and pleasant upon this hill there is a circle marked, whereupon stood three stones about a yard and a quarter above ground, the one red as blood, the other white, and the third a little bluer than the white stone, standing in a triangle.

What should be the reason of placing such three stones in such a place upon so high and so pleasant a mount, and to place there stones of such colours, I cannot express otherwise that we have it by tradition.

The tradition is this, that God Almighty hath wrought in this place a miracle for increasing of our faith. And that was thus. Three women, about such time as Christianity began to creep in amongst us, upon a Sabbath day in the morning went to the top of this hill to winnow their corn, and having spread there winnowing sheet upon the ground and begun their work, some of their neighbours came unto them and did reprehend them for violating and breaking the Lordes commandment by working upon the Sabbath day.

These faithless women, regarding their profit more than the observing of God’s commandments, made slight of their neighbours’ admonition, and held on in their work; whereupon it pleased God instantly to transform them into three pillars of stones, and to frame these stones of the same colour as the women’s clothes were, one red, the other white, and the third bluish, and to transform their winnowing sheet and corn into earth, and so to leave them there in example to others.

This is a tradition we have and believed by the old people in that neighbourhood, and however, whether it was so or no, the tradition is wholesome, and will deter others from working upon the Sabbath day.

These stones, being worth the seeing as they were placed, have been digged up by some idle headed youths within these six years, and were rolled down the hill, and do now lie together at the foot of the hill.

p162 of ‘Notes of Family Excursions in North Wales’, by J. O. Halliwell, 1860.

With old-fashioned, and possibly slightly hammed-up spelling turned into 21st century English.

John Wynn lived from 1553-1626.

This must be the source of the folklore below. Eel swapsies, St Edmund, Robin Hood, fare-dodgers – it’s all very involved.

.. I find in the charter of King Edward the confessor.. that the abbot of Ramsey should give to the abbot and convent of Peterburgh 4000 eeles in the time of Lent, and in consideration thereof the abbot of Peterburgh should give to the abbot of Ramsey as much freestone from his pitts in Bernack, and as much ragstone from his pitts in Peterburgh as he should need.

Nor did the abbot of Peterburgh from these pits furnish only that but other abbies also, as that of St. Edmunds-Bury: in memory whereof there are two long stones yet standing upon a balk in Castor-field, near unto Gunwade ferry; which erroneous tradition hath given out to be draughts of arrows from Alwalton church-yard thither; the one of Robin Hood, and th other of Little John;

but the truth is, they were set up for witnesses, that the carriages of stone from Bernack to Gunwade-ferry, to be conveyed to S. Edmunds-Bury, might pass that way without paying toll; and in some old terrars they are called S. Edmunds stones.

These stones are nicked in their tops after the manner of arrows, probably enough in memory of S. Edmund, who was shot to death with arrows by the Danes.”

Guntons History of the church of Peterburgh, 1686, p.4.

spotted on p xl of ‘Robin Hood’ v1 by Joseph Ritson, 1832 (online at Google Books).

Camden says that they were set up “to testify that the carriages of stone, from Barnack to Gunwade Ferry, and from thence to be conveyed to St. Edmund’s Bury, should pass that way toll free. They are still called St. Edmund’s stones, and the balk, St. Edmund’s Balk. The stones on the top are nicked after the manner of arrows, in memory of St. Edmund, who was shot to death with arrows.”

Carnedd Llewelyn is topped by a Bronze age cairn. It’s about 8m in diameter and up to 1.5m in height, according to Coflein, and the county boundary passes through it.

According to local tradition, a giant named Rhitta, the terror of the surrounding country, clothed in a garment woven from the beards of the enemies he had slain, was formerly the sole inhabitant of Carnedd Llewelyn.

p132 of ‘Notes of Family Excursions in North Wales’, by J. O. Halliwell, 1860.

This is like Geoffrey of Monmouth’s 12thC story: “[King Arthur] told them he had found none of so great strength, since he killed the giant Ritho, who had challenged him to fight, upon the mountain Aravius. This giant had made himself furs of the beards of kings he had killed, and had sent word to Arthur carefully to cut of his beardand send it to him; and then, out of respect to his pre-eminence over other kings, his beard should have the honour of the principal place. But if he refused to do it, he challenged him to a duel, with this offer, that the conqueror should have the furs, and also the beard of the vanquished for a trophy of his victory.” (from Aaron Thompson’s version, here:
yorku.ca/inpar/geoffrey_thompson.pdf )

So maybe the cairn is the resting place of Ritho then? But if it’s actually of Llewelyn the Great (Llywelyn ap Iorwerth), then that would be a fitting spot for him, too.

There are traces of a serious number of round huts here. Coflein conscientiously lists each one (there are nearly 30) but is forced to say ‘hard to discern in the field due to fairly extensive stone scatter’. The huts lie handily along the course of the Pant-y-griafolen stream. Some of its water comes from Llyn Dulyn, ‘the black lake’, which is very close by and was a natural lake adapted as a reservoir in the 19th century.

The dark lake has some strange folklore, as such a dramatic place might:

The extraordinary property of producing rain, when spilt upon a stone, is attributed to the waters of Llyn Dulyn, in Snowdon, according to the following account, which is translated from the Greal, a Welsh Magazine, published in London, 1805.

“There is a lake in the mountains of Snowdon, called Dulyn, in a rugged valley, encircled by high steep rocks. This lake is extremely black, and its fish are deformed and unsightly, having large heads and small bodies. No wild swans are ever seen alighting upon it (such as are on all the other lakes in Snowdon), nor ducks, nor any bird whatever. And there is a causeway of stones leading into this lake; and if any one goes along this causeway, even when it is hot sunshine, and throws water so as to wet the furthest stone, which is called the Red Altar [yr Allawr Goch], it is a chance if it do not rain before night.
Witness, T. Prys, of Plas Iolyn, and Sion Davydd, of Rhiwlas, in Llan Silin.”

This is mentioned in Lady Guest’s version of the Mabinogion, online at the Sacred Texts Archive (p77).
sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/mab/mab09.htm

Much nastier, is this from chapter one of Marie Trevelyan’s ‘Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales’ (1909):

This black lake is supposed to be an extinct and fathomless volcano, and shepherds in the surrounding mountains used to say that the appearance of a dove near those black and fateful waters foretokened the descent of a beautiful but wicked woman’s soul to torment in the underworld.

In the seventeenth century people believed that if anybody had the courage on one of the “three-spirit nights” to watch beside Llyn Dulyn he would see who were to die within the next twelve months. Fiends would arise from the lake and drag those who had led evil lives into the black waters. Those who had led good lives would be guided past the causeway leading to the lake, and vanish in spirit forms robed in white. A reputed witch disappeared from the district, and a shepherd said he saw her being dragged into the black waters. [A.B.]

Online at V Wales.
vwales.co.uk/ebooks/welshfolklore/chapt1.htm

Its malign influence has obviously continued to have effect, as in 1942 a plane crashed into the tall and foreboding rocks behind, and pieces of it eventually wound up in the lake, where they are yet.

In the same neighbourhood [as a hut circle] are the remnants of two singular avenues of upright stones, placed diagonally to each other, forming, between two rows of stones, a walk in the shape of the letter L, one of the avenues descending towards the sea, the other parallel with it.

Many of these upright stones have been unfortunately removed of late years, but a sufficient number of the smaller ones remain to enable the directions of the avenues to be traced. No plausible explanation of the character of these remains has been given; but avenues of stones have been found at Avebury, and in other places, leading to what are called Druidical circles.

The Welsh call them Hwylfar Ceirw, the high road of the deer, the tradition being that these stones formed a path by which those animals, formerly numerous in this county, descended to a meadow below.

[.. of the miscellaneous antiquities of the Great Orme] Hwylfar Ceirw is the most curious, and pity it is that it should have been so materially injured by the removal of the largest stones. It is to be hoped that what still remains of it will be carefully preserved.

p76 of ‘Notes of Family Excursions in North Wales’, by J. O. Halliwell, 1860. Online at Google Books

This page at the ‘Great Orme Expedition Society‘
goes.org.uk/html/1880letter.html
has a letter from 1880 which explains the name as follows:

A few paces westward of Dolfechan we find some divination stones, though the place is generally called at present “Hwylfa Ceirw” because the hunters used to drive the stags between those rows of stones in order to catch and spear them, when the whole mountain was a deer park; but the more ancient name “Cerrig Coch” ie Divination stones still cling to them.

Coflein lists this as a monument, classifying it as ‘prehistoric’, but gives no more information, disappointingly.

In a rock to the westward of Abergele, high above the road, after passing the large modern astellated mansion called Gwrych Castle, is a singular cavern termed Cefn Ogo, the entrance of which has not been inaptly compared to “the portal of a noble cathedral, arched, and divided within by what has the appearance of a great column.” This cave seems never to have been thoroughly explored. It is said to be penetrable about forty yards, when further progress is arrested by a chasm or by water; I could not with certainty ascertain which. The entrance is dirty and unpromising, and the large stalactites with which it abounds are neither fanciful nor brilliant.

It is strange that no adventurous Welshman has yet penetrated the depths of this cavern, in defiance of the witch, who, according to local tradition, guards a vast treasure of gold at the very extremity of the cave. There is an absurd story told in the Month’s Tour in North Wales, 1781, to the effect that four men, who attempted to explore the cavern, penetrated to a distance that required the consumption of three pounds of candles, and that two of the company were lost in its recesses.

Thomas Johnson, an enthusiastic botanist of the seventeenth century, visited this cave in 1639. The hill itself was, he says, called Garth Gogo, and the popular name of the cavern was Ogo Gumbyd, so styled after the giant Gumbyd, who was said to have been its original inhabitant. All traces of this tradition appear to be now lost. Johnson, who cared more for wild flowers than for old tales, notes having found in the cavern specimens of golden saxifrage and other plants.

p58 in ‘Notes of Family Excursions in North Wales’, by J. O. Halliwell, 1860. Online at Google Books

In all likelihood, this fort on its isolated hill dates to the Iron Age. ‘Cawr’ indicates it belonged to a Giant. In its side is a curious gash, 10ft – 15ft wide, 22ft deep, and 900ft long, according to Coflein’s record.

The only relic of antiquity of much interest hereabouts is the Roman mine, a deep trench cut right through the hill, instead of a shaft being made, as in more recent times. This mine is on the side of Castell Cawr, a raised modern pathway having been formed across it. The ancient trench is, in some parts, of amazing depth. It is, or was, called by the Welsh, Ffos-y-bleiddiaid, or the ditch of the wolves. According to a local guidebook, -- “In driving a level into the mountain, some years ago, the miners discovered that the Romans had been deep in the bowels of the earth before them. They had followed the vein, where it was large enough to admit of a small man, and where it opened out into a larger chamber, they had cleared it quite away. When the vein became too small to admit a man, they were obliged to relinquish the ore. Some curious hammers and tools, but almost decayed into dust, were found in these chambers; also the golden hilt of a Roman sword.”

Well who knows. Coflein concedes it might be a Roman lead mine. The Clwyd Powys Archaeological Trust say “Ffos-y-Bleiddiaid is a natural limestone fissure that crosses the north and coastal side of the hillfort of Castell Cawr. Locally known either as the Fosse of Wolves or the Roman Fosse (Ffos-y-Rhufeiniaid) since it has been claimed that Roman hammers and tools together with the hilt of a Roman sword had been found in the vicinity. The evidence of Roman workings, dating from 19th-century writings remains unsubstantiated.”

The strange feature would be food for the imagination, whether natural, ancient, or more recently worked, I guess.

quote from p50 of ‘Notes of Family Excursions in North Wales’, by J. O. Halliwell, 1860. Online at Google Books.

About two miles and a half further on is the pass of Bwlch y Ddwyfaen, formerly distinguished by two large stone pillars fixed upright in the ground at about a hundred yards’ distance from each other. Only one of them, that to the left of the road, is now standing. It is a block of stone, about ten feet high, quadrilateral at bottom and tapering to a point at top. It has tthe appearance of having been originally a huge boulder, partially and rudely cut on the sides, and then placed upright in the ground.

The other stone, a little further on to the right of the road, has fallen down, and has evidently been partially cut by rude workmen. These stones once probably belonged to a large circle.

Near them, to the left, is a mutilated cairn of loose stones. All these stones, according to local tradition, came there in somewhat an odd manner. A giant and his wife, many centuries ago, were travelling along this route to Anglesea. At this spot, they met a rustic of whom they enquired the distance. The poor fellow shook his head, and lifting up his feet, protected only by the remnants of what were evidently once thick wooden clogs, informed his astonished hearers that these were quite new when he quitted the island, and that he had walked direct from it ever since. The giant’s wife was so discouraged by this that she gave the whole matter up as a bad job, and in her despair let fall the contents of her apron, these identical stones.

If these roads in ancient times were anything like what they now are, we can readily believe in the state of the rustic’s clogs. They are quite rough enough to wear out soles of any thickness, whether of leather or of wood. Ours were in a rare state by the time we got to the station in Aber, between five and six miles further on.

From p120/121 of ‘Notes of Family Excursions in North Wales’, by J. O. Halliwell, 1860. Online at Google Books.

This is a bit naughty because there’s no clear connection with the stones. I don’t really understand how St Beuno seems to avoid being linked with them, when they are so close. His well, ‘Ffynnon Beuno’ is about half way between the church and the burial chamber (though not on a straight line) – it’s at about SH412494. Here are three bits of folklore:

One hundred yards from the church, adjoining the turnpike road, is St. Beuno’s well, eight feet square, inclosed with a wall, no doubt, erected by himself, eight feet high, uncovered, and each side about the same dimension, with an entrance from the road.

The well itself is six feet square, the residue of the space is taken up with seats and conveniences for dipping.

The place is now exposed to ruin, and the vilest filth. The spring is suffered to grow up, and the water is not more than a foot deep. I could not perceive it spring up within, and the discharge without would not fill a tube half an inch diameter.

The process observed in the cure was dipping the patient in the well at evening, wrapping him in blankets, and letting him remain all night upon the Saint’s tomb [..]

“If a person looks upon this well, and can see the water spring, good luck will attend him; but if he cannot, bad?” What then must become of the half blind! or even of me, whose eyes have been in wear seventy-seven years? [..]

Some ladies have drank at a favorite spring to procure conception; but the slippery damsels of the ten last centuries, have privately drank at St. Beuno’s to prevent it.

St Beuno’s ruined tomb is in his chapel next to the church; the latter is (according to this book) also supposed to house St Winefred’s remains.

From Remarks Upon North Wales, by William Hutton (1804) – p120-122. It’s online at Google Books.

According to p270 of ‘A pronouncing Gaelic dictionary’ of 1833 by Neil McAlpine (online at Google books), ‘Truiseil’ means ‘lascivious’. Maybe that’s why other writers have said they don’t know what it means – it’s too rude for polite society.

Description and folklore, from vol 11 of ‘The Beauties of England and Wales, Or, Delineations, Topographical, Historical, and Descriptive’ by John Britton and others (1810).

[The Skirrid] is isolated, arising abruptly from the plain: the north-eastern side is a ridge, of a barren russet hue; towards the south the declivity is less; and towards the botom terminates in a gentle cultivated slope. The base is ornamented with wood, and enriched with luxuriant corn-fields and pasture; which form a gratifying contrast to the brown and dark aspect of its summit, covered with heath and ling.

Seen in different directions, it assumes a variety of forms: from one point it seems like a large long barrow; from another it appears globular; from others like a truncated cone..

..[on the NE summit] formerly stood a small chapel, the site of which is traceable in a circular hollow; but no vestiges of the building remains. The chapel was dedicated to St. Michael, whence the hill is denominated St. Michael’s Mount. It is at times the scene of superstitious folly. The catholic, and ignorant persons among the lower classes, annually repair, on Michaelmas Eve, to pay their devoirs to the saint, and still consider the soil as sacred; quantities of which they carry away to strew over the coffins and graves of their deceased friends. Formerly it was considered as endued with miraculous efficacy for the curing of certain diseases; but the age of such gross blindness, it is hoped, for ever is past...

.. [on the rent in the mountain] Various have been the conjectures respecting the cause of this horrid yawning chasm. Ignorance, ever ready to cut the knot it is unable to untie; and credulity, as ready to credit the surmises of superstition, have trumped up the legendary story, that the mountain was rent asunder by the earthquake which happened at the crucifixion of the Saviour: hence it has obtained the appellation of Holy Mount, a name under which it is best known among the inhabitants of the county.

Daventry, a market town near the Warwickshire border, carries on a considerable manufactory of silk stockings, and of whips. Its horse fairs are frequented by dealers from all parts of the kingdom.

Near the town is Borough-hill, a remain of antiquity of great note, being probably the largest encampment in the island. It is commonly called Dane’s Hill, but the real authors of it are uncertain.

p201 of ‘England Described: Being a Concise Delineation of Every County in England and Wales’ by John Aiken (1818).

JACKSON’S PIG.
“It’s gone over Borough Hill (an extensive Roman encampment near Daventry) after Jackson’s pig.”
A common phrase in that neighbourhood when anything is lost.

From p354 of ‘Glossary of Northamptonshire Words and Phrases’ By Anne Elizabeth Baker (1854). Online at Google Books.

In this parish, to the south of the village, is a spacious valley called Danes-moor, or Duns-more, where, it is said that a sanguinary conflict took place between the Danes, who had in great force encamped on the heights of Rainsborough, and an army of Saxons collected to oppose their depradations. But as this is not mentioned in the Saxon Chronicle, it merely rests upon tradition. Greater credibility attaches to the account of a battle fought here between the leaders of the two contending factions for the houses of York and Lancaster..

p74 in volume 11 of ‘The Beauties of England and Wales, Or, Delineations, Topographical, Historical, and Descriptive’ by John Britton (and others), published 1810.
~Online at Google Books.

King Arthur’s Cromlech, or as it is usually called, King Arthur’s stone, stands on a high and bleak hill..

..Some authors who have described this Cromlech, say it has but eight columns: but Pedestres examined the whole very minutely, and on getting under it, he discovered that on the east side, there are two blocks of stone placed close together, thereby making nine, out of what had been noticed as only eight....

...We are told that a spring of clear water rises from beneath it, known by the name of Our Lady’s Well.. .. there was not one drop however there at six o’clock P.M. on the 11th of June, 1833.. [he thought] he might discover an indication by grubbing downwards a little among the bones of mother Earth. But no:- it was all dry. He then looked at the sea – he cast his eye towards the mouth of the river, and the line of coast: – the tide was out.*..

..It is called the Stone of Sketty:-- and “like the work of the Stone of Sketty,” has passed into a Welsh proverb to express an undertaking of vast difficulty.

p349-351 of ‘A Pedestrian Tour of Thirteen Hundred and Forty-seven Miles Through Wales and England’, by (a bit of a card,) Pedestres (1836, v1). You can read his witticisms online at Google Books.

Chris Barber in his 1986 ‘More Mysterious Wales’ has the Welsh version: “Mal gwaith Maen Cetti’ – like the labour of the stone of Cetti.

*this refers to the folklore mentioned below, of the tide and spring being sychronised.

This mound has got some good folklore, according to the accounts in ‘Sketch of the Civil and Traditional History of Caithness’ by James Tait Calder (1861) cp53.

Torgaeus gives an account of a remarkable prodigy which was seen [..] in Caithness. On Christmas-day (the day of the battle [of Clontarf] a man, named Daraddus, saw a number of persons on horseback ride at full speed towards a small hill, near which he dwelt, and seemingly enter into it. He was led by curiosity to approach the spot, when, looking through an opening in the side of the hillock, he observed twelve gigantic figures, resembling women, employed in weaving a web. As they wove, they sang a mournful song or dirge descriptive of the battle in Ireland, in which they foretold the death of King Brian, and that of the Earl of Orkney. When they had finished their task, they tore the web into twelve pieces. Each took her own portion, and once more mounting their horses, six galloped to the south, and six to the north.

[..] The scene of this extraordinary legend is supposed to be a knoll or hillock, in the parish of Olrig, called Sysa, which has been particularly celebrated, from time immemorial, as a favourite haunt of witches and fairies...

Before ‘agricultural improvements’ Sysa ‘posessed some features of interest’ and sounds suitably magical:

On gaining the top from the north, you saw the side fronting the south shaped into a beautiful green hollow, having a gentle slope downwards. This hollow contained a spring of delicious water, clear as crystal; and in the summer season, the sward around it was of the richest green, thickly sprinkled with wild flowers, and contrasting strongly with the brown and stunted herbage of the surrounding moor.

The writer also goes on to describe another story, at great length, called ‘The Piper of the Windy Ha’.’ I will try to summarise it:

Many years ago, there was a young man called Peter Waters, and he’d stopped at the well of Sysa to have a drink after driving his cattle onto the common. It was a beautiful warm day in June and after he lay back for a snooze, it wasn’t long before he was fast asleep. It was nearly sunset when he was woken up by someone shaking his shoulder. A beautiful girl stood next to him, dressed in green, with blue eyes and golden ringlets. Peter was a shy lad and nearly ran off in embarrassment and fright, but the girl smiled at him so kindly that he stayed put. She said in a voice as soft and clear as a silver bell, “You’re a very interesting boy, and I’ve come to make a man of you.”
Unsurprisingly Peter took this to mean something quite forward, but she laughed and explained that she would help him make his fortune. She mysteriously produced a set of pipes inlaid with silver, and a gold-embossed bible. “You must choose between these – the pipe will make you the best musician in Scotland, and the book the most popular preacher.”
After a quick ponder, Peter chose the pipes, and was delighted to discover that he could play them perfectly, despite never having tried the instrument before. “Some cattle that were grazing hard by lifted their heads from the ground the moment they heard the first notes of the tune, and kept flinging and capering about in the most extraordinary manner.“[!]

Before they parted, the lady said, “There is one condition attached to your gift – seven years from this day, at the exact same hour of the evening, you must meet me by the well of Sysa.” Peter had to swear on the fairy well that he would, and walked back over the hill of Olrig to his father’s house, “Windy Ha’“.

As soon as his parents saw the pipes and heard how he’d got them, they advised him to have no more to do with them – they’d come from the queen of the fairies. But Peter was so pleased with his new-found ability to play, that he performed at every party for miles around, gradually gathering a small fortune.

Eventually the seven years rolled away, and Peter felt anxious about meeting the strange lady. As the sun set he started off, and his dog started after him, but Peter sent the dog back home. It howled as it saw him disappear over the hill. No-one knows what happened to Peter at this second meeting, but he never returned to Windy Ha’, and the general belief was that he’d been carried away to Fairyland.

There is yet another tradition connected with Rollrich Stones.

A certain man of wealth, the lord of the manor of Little Rollewright, Humphrey Boffin by name, resolved to remove the King’s Stone to the courtyard of his own dwelling, about a mile distant, at the foot of the hill.

The country people dissuaded him from making the attempt, telling him that no good would come of it; but he, being an intemperate, violent man, would not be thwarted of his headstrong will, and commenced the attempt.

He thought to accomplish his purpose with a wagon and four horses, but, though the latter were of a famous breed and remarkably strong, they could not stir the stone a single inch. He then yoked another four to the team, but still without success; again and again he made the same addition, nor was it until four-and-twenty horses had been attached to the load, that he was able to effect its removal.

At length Humphrey Boffin triumphed, and the King’s Stone stood in the centre of his own courtyard. But his triumph was of short-lived duration, for no sooner had the shades of night appeared, than an indescribable tumult appeared to surround his house, waxing louder and fiercer as the night drew on; nothing was heard but groans and shrieks, the clash of weapons, and the direful din of battle, which noises lasted till the morning, when all again was still. Humphrey Boffin was greatly frightened; but, for all that, his heart was not changed, and in spite of omens he swore he would keep the stone. The second night was worse than the first; on the third, the uproar of the two were combined, and then Humphrey Boffin gave in.

Adopting his wife’s counsel (for she, clever woman, saw at once where the shoe pinched), he agreed to restore the King’s Stone to the place where Mother Shipton had commanded it to stand. But, the difficulty was how to accomplish the task. It had taken four-and-twenty horses to drag the stone down hill. How many must there be to carry it up again? A single pair settled the question : they wer no sooner in the shafts than they drew the wagon with perfect ease; nor did they stop to breathe nor did they turn a hair on their up-hill journey!

The country people, however, were right. The attempt did Humphrey Boffin “no good;” the civil war breaking out shortly afterwards, his homestead was burnt and his house ransacked by Cromwell’s troopers, and he himself, endeavouring to escape – without Mrs. Boffin- tumbled into a well and was drowned. The lady, it is added, eventually consoled herself by marrying the captain of the troop, who, when the wars were over, became a thriving farmer and leader of the conventicle at Banbury.

From p163 of ‘Household Words’, an article on Mother Shipton, in volume 14, for July-December 1856. Charles Dickens wrote some of the articles and edited the others, but it’s not clear to me if this is one of his.

online at Google Books.

The Sloane MS. tells us that Robin Hood was interred under a great stone between Halifax and Wakefield upon Calder. This stone, says Thomas Gent, the old historian of York, was placed by a certain knight as a hearthstone in his hall, but on the morning after its installation it was found to have been “turned aside”. This phenomenon occurred three times and at length the monolith was returned to its original position. It was evidently capable of self-propulsion and miraculous motion, like some of the other stones to which I have referred.

Or it could have been the ghost of Robin Hood of course. Either way, and however prehistoric the stone, it’s got similar folklore, as he says. From ‘The Minor Traditions of British Mythology’, by Lewis Spence (1948. It’s on p143 of the edition on Google Books).

(The ‘Sloane Manuscripts’ were collected in the mid to late 17th century, and are now held by the British Library)

When Malcolm Canmore came into Scotland, supported by English auxiliaries, to recover his dominions from Macbeth the giant, as the country people called him, he marched first towards Dunkeld, in order to meet with those friends who had promised to joint him from the north.

This led him to Birnam wood, where accidentally they were induced, either by way of distinction, or from some other motive [disguise, surely??] to ornament their bonnets, or to carry about with them in their hands the branches of trees. The people in the neighbourhood stated, as the tradition of the country, that they were distinguished in this situation by the spy whom Macbeth had stationed to watch their motions. He then began to despair, in consequence of the witches predictions, who had warned him to beware “when Birnam wood should come to dunsinnan;” and when Malcolm prepared to attack the castle, where it was principally defended by the outer rocks, he immediately deserted it; and flying ran up the opposite hill, pursued by Macduff; but finding it impossible to escape, he threw himself from the top of the hill, was killed upon the rocks, and buried at the Lang Man’s Grave, as it is called, which is still extant. Not far from this grave is the road where, according to tradition, Banco was murdered.

p321 in The Beauties of Scotland, by Robert Forsyth. v4 (1806). Online at Google Books.

It is generally said by historians, notwithstanding [another tradition] existing in Perthshire, that Macbeth was killed at Lumphanan in this county. About a mile northward from the parish church, on the brow of a hill, is a heap of stones, called Macbeth’s Cairn. It is forty yards in circumference, and rises in the middle to a considerable height. On the same hill are several smaller cairns.

It is said that Macbeth, flying from the south, had only a few attendants when he reached Lumphanan; that he endeavoured to conceal himself at a place called Cairnbaddy; but finding that impracticable, he continued his route northward for about a mile, till Macduff, outriding his company, overtook him on the spot where the cairn is placed, killed him in single combat, and brought back his head to his men.

p425 of The Beauties of Scotland, by Robert Forsyth. v4 (1806). Online at Google Books.

More folklore connected with the Garn Goch. I haven’t found out where the Ynys Geinon rock is, although Ynisgeinon House, Farm and Bridge are near SN767081 so I’m sure it wasn’t far away.

A farm servant called Dai was trying to catch some rabbits near the Ynys Geinon Rock, when “he saw a little man going up to that great mass of stone. On his uttering a curious little word, a door opened in the face of the rock: he went in, and the door closed behind him.”

Obviously Dai couldn’t resist and plucked up the courage to repeat the little word. The door opened – and he ventured inside. Suddenly a little man came running up shouting “Shut the door, shut the door, the candles are guttering with the draught.” Then he muttered another curious little word, and the door slammed shut. The fairies treated Dai kindly, but he was to stay there with them for two years.

“He found that there were underground passages running in all directions: they could get to the Cave of Tan yr Ogof, near Craig y Nos Castle, the Caves of Ystrad Fellte, the Garn Goch, and other places by them. He learned, too, much about their habits: these fairies were dreadful thieves, always stealing milk and butter and cheese from farm-dairies.”

When they let him go they gave him a hatful of gold guineas. The existence of these coins reached Dai’s old master, who was greedy, and decided he would use the curious little word to steal from the cave “enough guineas, half-guineas and seven-and-sixpenny pieces to fill his salt chest.”

Of course this wasn’t enough for him, and he went back for more. But the fairies caught him. Dai went to look for him and (grossly) “he found his four quarters hanging behind the stone door.” Understandably Dai wouldn’t use or reveal the password ever again.

Mildenhall: treasure chest said to have been concealed by Oliver Cromwell in the barrows known as the Three Hills, or in pits near them. Proc. Suffolk Inst. Arch. 4 (1864), 289.

Collected onto p31 of
Barrow Treasure, in Fact, Tradition, and Legislation
L. V. Grinsell
Folklore, Vol. 78, No. 1. (Spring, 1967), pp. 1-38.

Shepton Mallet (Ashwick or Doulting parish to north): one of the barrows on Beacon Hill is said to contain a golden coffin. Somerset Year Book (1933), 107.

Reported on p31 of
Barrow Treasure, in Fact, Tradition, and Legislation
L. V. Grinsell
Folklore, Vol. 78, No. 1. (Spring, 1967), pp. 1-38.

Leslie Grinsell was told personally ‘by a countryman’ prior to 1939 that one of the barrows south-west of Whitnell Corner had been opened “for a pot of gold”.

(p31 in Barrow Treasure, in Fact, Tradition, and Legislation
L. V. Grinsell
Folklore, Vol. 78, No. 1. (Spring, 1967), pp. 1-38.)

As you can see from the post

Here, as elsewhere, the megaliths have been disturbed at various times by the activities of searchers for buried treasure. The Lower Kits Coty is said to have been broken up for this reason, and the interior of the Coldrum chamber was disturbed for the same purpose. Even today country people find it difficult to believe that archaeologists excavate for anything else but gold and the treasures of ancient peoples.

Oh the silly country people. As if archaeologists ever excavate/d for reasons other than Serious Scientific Research.

From p40 of Notes on the Folklore and Legends Associated with the Kentish Megaliths
John H. Evans
Folklore, Vol. 57, No. 1. (Mar., 1946), pp. 36-43.

Apparently a golden coffin is said to be buried in one of the many barrows in the parish of Priddy.

Is the mystery about which barrow part of the story? Mr Grinsell mentions it on p31 of ‘Barrow Treasure, in Fact, Tradition, and Legislation’, in Folklore, Vol. 78, No. 1. (Spring, 1967), pp. 1-38.

It seems that at one time this area had a rather ill reputation. Sir Walter Scott included it ‘The Fair Maid of Perth’, and a footnote in the book from ‘Morrison’ explains:

This place [Houghmanstares], referred to as hateful to the Highlanders, lies near the Stare-dam, a collection of waters in a very desolate hollow between the hill of Birnam, and the road from Perth to Dunkeld. The eeriness of the place is indescribable, and is rendered yet more striking from its being within a furlong of one of the loveliest and richest scenes in Scotland[..]. The whole aspect of the place fitted it for being the scene of the trial and punishment of one of the most notorious bands of thieves and outlaws that ever laid the Low Country under contribution. Ruthven, the sheriff, is said to have held his court on a rising ground to the north, still called the Court-hill; and there were lately, or there still may be, at the east end of the Roch-in-roy wood, some oaks on which the Highlanders were hung, and which long went by the name of the Hanged-men’s-trees. The hideous appearance of the bodies hanging in chains gave the place a name which to this day grates on the ear of a Celt.

on p463 of the version held at Google Books,
here.

This hilly district, so near the limits between Deira and Bernicia, is very likely to have been the scene of the contest*: and it is worthy of remark, that the entrenchments on Scamridge, near Ebberston, have from time immemorial been known by the name of Oswy’s Dikes, probably because Oswy’s army encamped there, before engaging with the forces of his rebellious son.

*This is confusingly written, it could mean between King Alfred (or his brother?) and his father. Possibly. It’s on p38 of ‘A History of Whitby, and Streoneshalh Abbey’ by George Young (1817). It’s on Google Books.