Rhiannon

The Coflein record, to be fair, isn’t sure how old this stone is. It describes it as “an upright slab, 2.8m high by 1.7m by 0.5-0.8m” possibly on a mound.

I think it could well be the one mentioned here in on p186 of “Tales of the Cymry: with notes illustrative and explanatory” by James Motley (1848).

It is reported of a large stone near the end of the old canal, but on the left of the road from Neath to Brittonferry, that there is a charm, not yet discovered, which can compel it to speak, and for once to reveal the secret of its history: but that having once spoken it will be silent for ever.

Online at the Internet Archive.

Maen Cetti, on Cevn-y-bryn, in Gower, was, says ancient tradition, adored by the pagans; but Saint David split it with a sword, in proof that it was not sacred; and he commanded a well to spring from under it, which flowed accordingly. After this event, those who previously were infidels, became converted to the Christian faith. There is a church in the vicinity, called Llanddewi, where it is said that St. David was the rector, before he became consecrated a bishop; and it is the oldest church in Gower.

From ‘Iolo Manuscripts: A Selection of Ancient Welsh Manuscripts, in Prose and Verse’ by Taliesin Williams and completed by Rev. Thomas Price (1848).

online

The giant of Norman’s Law in Fife, known in legend as the Earl of Hell, is said to have hurled a boulder at the people of Dundee across the River Tay. The boulder fell short and crashed against the (Dundee) Law Hill where it still rests.

From an article for the Scotsman by Brendan O’Brien, online at heritage.scotsman.com/myths.cfm?id=1870532005

This comes from the Scottish Big Cat Trust at
bigcats.org/abc/sightings/1998/beastofnefife1.html
and was originally in the Dundee Evening Telegraph for September 8th 1998.

A North Fife man, who was out for a walk in woods near Luthrie on Monday night, reckons he may have caught a glimpse of the same black puma-like animal which was apparently spotted a few miles south in Letham at the weekend. The man, who asked not to be named, said he was strolling down a path near the west side of Norman’s Law at around 6.45 pm when he saw a ‘mysterious creature’ roaming through undergrowth around 20 yards in front of him.

He said, “At first I wasn’t that worried because you always hear noises from rabbits, foxes, deer and the like, but when I stopped for a minute to watch this mysterious animal more closely I quickly realised it was not the sort of thing you normally see in the area. It was long, black and sleek like a big cat – certainly with a feline posture – and looked to be something like a panther or a puma. I don’t think it saw me but I have to say I didn’t hang around for long after that to give it a chance. It is quite remote up there and with me being on my own, I didn’t want to find out if it had had its tea or not.”

The man, who regularly walks in the area, said he had doubts about what he had seen until he read Press reports about another sighting. At around 8.15 on Sunday morning a man out walking his dog apparently saw a similar creature prowling across playing fields in Letham.

Mary Stark who runs the Bow of Fife post office said the sighting of the big cat in Letham had been the “talk of the village” for the past few days. She said several people who attended a christening at Letham village hall on Sunday had also claimed to have seen the creature that morning.

Around 30 sightings have been reported at a number of locations in north east Fife over the past few years. Anyone who thinks they might have seen such an animal in the area recently is asked to contact divisional intelligence officer George Redpath at Cupar police station. He has been collating a file on the subject for many years and can be contacted on 01334 418700.

Traditionally Black Dogs are well known for haunting barrows – and why should modern Black Cats miss out on frequenting prehistoric spots?

Denbury Hill, or Denbury Down, has an encampment. There is also to be seen an ancient stone, with all the markings thereon, with which the Danes sharpened their weapons of war. Treasure is said to be hidden there, and these two rhymes are current:

“When Exeter was a furzey down,
Denbury was a borough town.”

“If Denbury Down was levelled fair,
Denbury could plough with a golden share.”

This information was taken from the Illustrated Western Weekly News, 5 August, 1911, p24, and quoted in Notes on English Folklore
J. B. Partridge
Folklore, Vol. 28, No. 3. (Sep. 30, 1917), pp. 311-315.

The main road from Padstow along the coast cuts through this ancient cemetery. It is interesting to note that this portion of the road has ever been dreaded by passengers at night as haunted.

From chapter 9 of ‘A Book of Folk-lore’ by Sabine Baring-Gould [1913], online at:
sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/bof/bof09.htm

Black Dogs. The Padfoot or phantom black dog is common enough in this county. His chief attribute seems to be the guardianship of graves. The retreat of Prince Charlie’s army through the Moorlands in 1745 left quite a crop of these spectres. At Swinscoe on the Leek-Ashbourne road three Jacobites were ambushed, and a phantom black dog guards their grave.

I’d like to make a bet the dog guards this barrow, as many of his canine cousins do elsewhere. The barrow’s not far from the road, and there’s no graveyard the soldiers could have been buried in.

According to the scheduled monument record on Magic, the barrow’s on the crest of a prominent ridge in the landscape, and is nearly 1.5m high. “Limited antiquarian investigation at the monument’s centre located a rock-cut grave containing a partly disturbed inhumation. A cremation, Romano-British pottery, a piece of iron and a flint were found above the rock-cut grave.”

From Notes on Staffordshire Folklore
W. P. Witcutt
Folklore, Vol. 53, No. 2. (Jun., 1942), pp. 126-127.

I suppose this isn’t the stone Baza’s taken a picture of? But maybe another Bulford stone to search out I suppose.

.. a stone formerly in the Avon near Bulford, in the bend just south-west of Watergate Farm (SU 16054330 [this is at the foot of a slope crowned by a long barrow]). This is less than a metre across, and its upper side has been cut to form a square socket, and to the slab is fixed an iron ring possibly for mooring a boat. It is in fact a slab of oolitic limestone and has nothing to do with Stonehenge, yet it has already gathered ‘megalithic’ folklore.

A farmer with his team of oxen is said to have tried without success to move it from the river (Long 1876, 75, note 2). ‘An observer’ wrote in the Salisbury Times (11 March 1910) that ‘several attempts have been made to drag the stone from the river. Forty, and some say sixty oxen were employed, but it was never even moved.’ Similar traditions occur at the Rollright Stones and many other megalithic sites in Britain.

The stone was mentioned in the poem by F. Bowman (1823), 5:
No kindred relics boasts the neighbouring soil,
Save one rude rock, that rests its time-worn side
On Avon’s bed, and curbs his struggling tide.

Scarcely compatible with the supposed immovability of this stone is another local belief that ‘whenever it is turned over it always rights itself again’ (Emslie 1915, 167).

When this stone was removed from the river ten or twelve years ago, the men allotted to the task were at first reluctant to have anything to do with it, believing that there was a curse on the stone. The latter is now in the garden of a house by Bulford Bridge (inf. Dr Isobel Smith and the Wessex Water Authority, Poole).

From The Legendary History and Folklore of Stonehenge
L. V. Grinsell
Folklore, Vol. 87, No. 1. (1976), pp. 5-20. The eminent Grinsell also reminds us in this article of another water bound stone at Figheldean, which Aubrey says was supposedly dropped on the way to Stonehenge* (Figheldean is a little further north, so curiously not really on the way at all).

Long’s work is ‘Stonehenge and its barrows’, and Emslie’s, ‘Scraps of Folklore’ in Folklore 26. Emslie has this to say:

Bulford Water Stone, near Amesbury, is a stone in the middle of the River Avon. On its north side is an iron ring, fixed in it, and which always lies upon it in a direction which is opposed to the current of the river. It has frequently been turned over so as to lie in the same direction as the current of the river, but has always returned to its original position by going against the current of the river. [collected 1896]

Here’s something a little earlier which I found in ‘The Beauties of Wiltshire’ by John Britton (1801):

About two miles north of Amesbury, on the banks of the Avon, is Bulford. Near this village are two large stones of the same kind as those at Stonehenge. One of them is situated in the middle of the river, and, as I am informed, has an iron ring fixed in it; but the waters being very high I could not see it.

The other is on the Downs, a little to the south-east of the village; and about a mile further up the valley is another, all evidently appertaining to the structure I have already described [i.e. Stonehenge]; but whether they were ever brought from the circle, or were left here on their passage, on whether they belonged to an avenue stationed between Stonehenge and Avebury, it is impossible to determine.

And a little more, on the stone that was in the water (this is from p229 of v1 of ‘Miscellaneous Tracts’ by William Withering – 1822). It’s from a letter by James Norris to Dr Withering, dated Feb9, 1798.

I was at Bulford again in August last, and conversed with the farmer who occupies the estate on which it lies; he assured me he had been upon it when a long drought had laid dry its surface, and that the ring is certainly of iron. But I found him inclined to invalidate the opinion of its antiquity, by relating a tradition, which I will here repeat: ‘it is said, that, formerly, a railing extended across the river at this place, to detain the fish: that the square cavitiy in the stone received one of the supporting posts: that another similar stone was once placed in the same river also, near the opposite bank, for the same use; and that the ring is of later date, and fixed only to attempt the removal of the block.’ Be this relation true or false, I cannot but think it improbable, at least, that so much needless trouble and expense should be incurred, when a post firmly fixed in the earth of each bank only, would have been fully adequate to the purpose. He says the nature of the stone is different from any of the three kinds at Stonehenge: that it is softer, and agrees with the productions of the Chilmark quarries, situated about fifteen miles south-west of Stonehenge and about twelve miles west of Sarum.

*From Bulford I went to Fighelden, and made many particular inquiries of aged and intelligent natives of the place concerning the stone said by Aubrey to lie in the river there. Their invariable reply was, ’ that none such was ever known to exist at Fighelden, or nearer than Bulford; where (added they) is to be seen one corresponding with the description.’ It is alsmost certain, then, I think, that the Bulford stone is the real object of that writer, who has fallen into a local error in the name, and in about three miles in the situation of the place.

There are lots of barrows up here. And there’s a bit of megalithic style folklore. But where is the stone?

A rock is set up at a four-crossroads on Gittisham Common. It is called the Witch’s Stone, for it is said that witches used to sacrifice babies on it. There is also said to be a treasure buried beneath it, and whenever it hears the church bells striking midnight, it descends to the River Sid to drink.

From p153 of The Folklore of Devon
Theo Brown
Folklore, Vol. 75, No. 3. (Autumn, 1964), pp. 145-160.

At Fermoy, the name given to a somewhat curious cromlech, “The Hag’s Bed,” interested me. I was at some trouble to learn the origin of the name, and fortunately our car-driver succeeded in finding an old man, who gave me the desired information..

“On yonder hill there lived, in days gone by, a giant and a giantess. They were called Shara and Sheela. One day Shara returned from his labours (wood-cutting) in the forest, and finding no dinner ready he was exceeding angry, and in his passion gave Sheela a severe wound with his axe on the shoulder. His passion was assuaged as soon as he saw the blood of his wife, and he carefully bound up the wound and nursed her for many weeks with great care.

Sheela did not, however, forgive Shara for the injury he had inflicted on her. She brooded on her wrong. Eventually she was so far recovered that Shara was able to leave her; and their stock of wood having fallen short, he proceeded to the forest for a fresh supply. Sheela watched her husband as he descended the hill, and, full of wrath, she seized her bed, and, as he was wading through the river, she flung it after him with a dreadful imprecation. The devil changed the bed into stone in its passage through the air. It fell on the giant, crushed him, and to this day he rests beneath the Hag’s Bed.

In the solitude which she had made she repented her crime, but she never forgave herself the sin. She sat on the hill-top, the melancholy monument of desolation, bewailing her husband’s loss, and the country around echoed with her lamentations. “Bad as Shara was, it is worse to be without him !” was her constant cry. Eventually she died of excess of grief her last words being, “Bad as Shara was, it is worse to be without him !”

“And,” said the old man, finishing his story, “whenever any trouble is coming upon Ireland, the voice of Sheela is heard upon the hill still repeating her melancholy lamentation.”

From “Popular Romances of the West of England” by Robert Hunt (1903 edition), online at the Sacred Texts Archive:
sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/prwe/prwe332.htm

St Piran has several stoney connections – for one, he travelled to Cornwall from Ireland on one.

On a boisterous day, a crowd of the lawless Irish assembled on the brow of a beetling cliff, with Piran in chains. By great labour they had rolled a huge millstone to the top of the hill, and Piran was chained to it. At a signal from one of the kings, the stone and the saint were rolled-to the edge of and suddenly over, the cliff intd the Atlantic. The winds were blowing tempestuously, the heavens were dark with clouds, and the waves white with crested foam. No sooner was Piran and the millstone launched into space, than the sun shone out brightly, casting the full lustre of its beams on the holy man, who sat tranquilly on the descending stone. The winds died away, and the waves became smooth as a mirror. The moment the millstone touched the water, hundreds were converted to Christianity who saw this miracle. St Piran floated on safely to Cornwall; he landed on the 5th of March on the sands which bear his name. He lived amongst the Cornish men until he attained the age of 206 years.

Another stoney story explains the origins of the black and white Cornish flag:

St Piran, or St Perran, leading his lonely life on the plains which now bear his name, devoted himself to the study of the objects which presented themselves to his notice. The good saint decorated the altar in his church with the choicest flowers, and his cell was adorned with the crystals which he could collect from the neighbouring rocks. In his wanderings on the sea-shore, St Perran could not but observe the numerous mineral, veins running through the slate-rocks forming the beautiful cliffs on this coast. Examples of every kind he collected; and on one occasion, when preparing his humble meal, a heavy black stone was employed to form a pan of the fireplace. The fire was more intense than usual, and a stream of beautiful white metal flowed out of the fire. Great was the joy of the saint; he perceived that God, in His goodness, had discovered to him something which would be useful to man.

From Robert Hunt’s “Popular Romances of the West of England”, now online at the excellent Sacred Texts Archive:
sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/prwe/index.htm

..there is another Trelleck tradition. If you ask your way to the three stones you will be answered, “The way to Harold’s Stones? Yes Miss,” and then directed. Specially will you be so answered if your informant is at all above the labouring class, and the information will be added that “Harold he did set them up because of a great battle he did win, and if you goes on, Miss, you’ll see the great mound where they did bury all the dead.”

The facts of that battle and that victory are real enough. The late Professor Freeman, in the second volume of his Norman Conquest, under the year 1063, quotes the chronicler Geraldus Cambrensis to this effect, that “Each scene of conflict was marked with a trophy of stone bearing the proud legend, ‘Here Harold conquered.’” It is quite possible that Earl Harold may have taken to himself stones obviously not of his own raising, though there is no trace of an inscription on any of the menhirs at Trelleck..

Oh whatever. You lost me once you’d made your snobby comment about the labouring classes, Ms Eyre. She goes on to debate at length and somewhat pointlessly the roots of the legend. From:
Folk-Lore of the Wye Valley
Margaret Eyre
Folklore, Vol. 16, No. 2. (Jun. 24, 1905), pp. 162-179.

“A dragon once lived on Bignor Hill, where ridges made by its coils can be seen.”
It doesn’t seem wholly unlikely that this folklore could refer to the enclosure, which is slightly along the ridge from Bignor Hill. The area also has many Bronze age barrows. Folklore from the Sussex County Magazine, III, 1929, p552, by F.J. Bulstrode.

Cwm Ferman seems to run between this hill fort and ‘Waun Twmpath’, which Coflein describes as a motte.

My attention was drawn to this valley by a man from whom I asked my way on top of Pembrey Mountain. After answering my question he volunteered the additional information that “Over there is Cwm Verman where the Little People lived.”
A week later when trying to find the way to Cwm Verman I asked two people where the “Little People” lived, and they replied, “Oh Bendith y Mammau (i.e. the Blessings of the Mothers) you mean.” To find the fairies described in both these ways in the same district is interesting because it is unusual.

The Little People of Cwm Verman
G. Arbour Stephens
Folklore, Vol. 50, No. 4. (Dec., 1939), pp. 385-386.

Like at many a megalithic monument, the stones of Stonehenge cannot be counted. Or at least, the poet Sir Philip Sidney couldn’t count them. He made mention of this in his ‘The 7 Wonders of England’, written pre-1581.

“Neere Wilton sweete, huge heapes of stones are found,
But so confusde that neither any eye
Can count them just, nor reason try,
What force brought them to so unlikely ground.”

Perhaps it was common knowledge and not just a personal problem with figures, since Alexander Craig mentions it in ‘To His Calidonian Mistris’ (published 1604):

“And when I spide those stones on Sarum plaine,
Which Merlin by his Magicke brought, some saine,
By night from farr I-erne to this land,
Where yet as oldest Monuments they stand:
And though they be but few for to behold,
Yet can they not (it is well knowne) be told.
Those I compared unto my plaints and cryes
Whose totall summe no numers can comprise.”

..a literary reference occurs in William Rowley’s The Birth of Merlin, a play published in 1662, but believed.. to have been staged forty or fifty years previously.

..and when you die,
I will erect a monument upon the verdant plains of Salisbury:
no king shall have so high a sepulchre,
with pendulous stones that I will hang by art,
Where neither lime nor mortar shall be used,
a dark enigma to thy memory,
for none shall have the power to number them.

That the tradition was well known is indicated by the fact that King Charles II spent October 7, 1651, ‘reckoning and rereckoning its stones in order to beguile the time’. Colonel Robert Phelips, who accompanied his sovereign, added, ‘the King’s Arithmetike gave the lye to that fabulous tale.

Celia Fiennes, travelling in about 1690, had no trouble, and ‘told them often, and bring their number to 91.‘

Gathered in
The ‘Countless Stones’: A Final Reckoning
S. P. Menefee
Folklore, Vol. 86, No. 3/4. (Autumn – Winter, 1975), pp. 146-166.

Perhaps Bryony’s tale comes originally from the version in ‘Sussex Local Legends’ by Jacqueline Simpson (Folklore, Vol. 84, No. 3). This contains a written version of that told by L.N. Candlin, in 1971, from her childhood recollections (c1915), and includes the same unusual word, ‘midriff’.

[Hilaire Belloc told the story] of how St Dunstan pulled the Devil’s nose with red-hot tongs at Mayfield, making this a sequel to the [Devil’s Dyke story below]. I have also recently heard a friend of mine associate the two tales, but in the reverse order; according to him, when the Devil felt the hot tongs at Mayfield, he leapt into the air and hurtled out to sea to cool his nose, kicking the Downs with his hoof as he passed overhead. The Dyke is the mark left by his kick. My informant thinks he learnt this unusual variant at Mayfield, not in the neighbourhood of the Dyke itself.

p210 of
Sussex Local Legends
Jacqueline Simpson
Folklore, Vol. 84, No. 3. (Autumn, 1973), pp. 206-223.

[The Devil’s Dyke] is a deep, narrow cleft in the north face of the Downs, beginning near Poynings and pointing southwest towards the sea. The hill above it is a famous beauty-spot with a superb view – and also with a cafe and souvenir shop which energetically exploit the legend. But in spite of this commercialisation, it is interesting to see what a number of variations exist in written and oral sources, and how many landscape features have been swept into the orbit of this ever-popular tale. It is far from being as stereotyped as I used to assume it was.

All but one of the versions I know agree that the Devil dug the Dyke because he was furious at the piety of villages to the north of the Downs, and wanted to let in the sea to drown them. He started near Poynings and dug vigorously, having sworn to finish the job in a single night, until something occurred to stop him -- but what? Here versions differ.

The most popular variant, which can be traced back as far as the late eighteenth century, says that during the night an old woman was woken by the noise, and guessed what the Devil was up to. So she lit a candle and put it in her window with a sieve in front of it, so that it made a dim globe of light. The Devil looked round, and thought this was the sun rising; he could hardly believe his eyes, but then he heard a cock crow -- for the old woman, just to make sure, knocked her cockerel off his perch. So off he flew, leaving the job half done.

This version still circulates orally, as well as in guidebooks, and is often enlivened by extra topographical details, as that the Devil as he dug sent huge clods of earth hurtling through the air, which became the Caburn, or Chanctonbury, or various other hills.

Some say that when he flew off he went out over the Channel where a lump of clay fell from his hoof and became the Isle of Wight; others, that he bounded northwards into Surrey, where the impact of his landing formed the Devil’s Punchbowl.

On the other hand, there are versions which ignore the old woman and say the Weald was saved by a saint, though they disagree on which one should have the credit: an unnamed hermit weilding a Cross, said the Penny Post in 1837; or St Cuthman, helped by a nun whose prayers gave the Devil cramp and whose blessed candle tricked him, said Harrison Ainsworth in Ovingdean Grange in 1879, followed by the official guide-book on sale at the Dyke; or St Dunstan, as Hillaire Belloc maintained in a lively retelling in The Four Men in 1912..

From p209/210 in
Sussex Local Legends
Jacqueline Simpson
Folklore, Vol. 84, No. 3. (Autumn, 1973), pp. 206-223.
Her sources in the latter part of the text were local people in the 1960s/70s.

Some will tell you this is a mediaeval fortification. But as a handy natural mound overlooking the stream below – well surely. Pastscape says a Lower Palaeolithic Handaxe was found here in the 1880s. I know, this doesn’t necessarily mean anything. But until the Magic pdf arrives to describe this Scheduled Monument, perhaps it’s enough.

One of our best [Sussex] fairy legends was published in 1854 from the narrative of a certain Will Fowlington, who had turned seventy at the time and had learnt it from a great-uncle; it is set at Burlow Castle..

“When I was a liddle boy and lived with my gurt uncle, old Jan Duly, dere was an old place dey used to call Burlow Castle. It warn’t much ov a castle -- onny a few walls like -- but it had been a famous place in de time when dere was a king in every county. Well, whatever it had been afore, at de time I speak on, it were de very hem ov a place for pharisees [fairies], and nobody didn’t like to go by it ahter dark for fear on um.
One dee as Chols Packham, uncle’s grandfather (I’ve heerd uncle tell de story a dunnamany times) was at plough up dere, just about cojer time, he heerd a queer sort of a noise right down under de ground’ dat frightened him uncommonly, sure-lie...”

The story is too long to quote, but it develops into a fine version of ML 5080, ‘Food from the Fairies’, with the motif of the broken peel.

How cruel to leave us hanging like that. The original, if you can find it, is in M.A. Lower’s ‘Contributions to Literature’ 1854, p158-61. The above is a quote from p208 of Sussex Local Legends
Jacqueline Simpson
Folklore, Vol. 84, No. 3. (Autumn, 1973), pp. 206-223.

I think a long paper could be written on the silly way people used to write down dialects.

***

Some more of the story:

Collected pre-1852 (pre-1840?) by Mark Anthony Lower from Will Fowington, a 70-year old South Downsman who had heard the story from his uncle, Jan Duly. Earthwork (medieval?). Charles Packham, the narrator’s great great uncle was ploughing at Burlow Castle, a noted ‘Pharisee’ haunt. About ‘cojer’ time (11.00 A.M.), he was frightened by a voice coming from a crack in the ground, calling for help. Harry, his mate, denied the existence of fairies, but hearing the voice again, Charles inquired what was the problem and was told ‘I’ve been a bakin’, ... and have broken my peel ... and I dunnow what upon de airth to do.’ ‘Under the earth,’ silently thought the ploughman, but he said to put the peel up, and he would try to mend it. Although it was no larger than a ‘bren-cheese knife... not big enough to hold a gingey-bread nut hardly,’ Charles refrained from laughing in order not to run the risk of offending the fairies. He took out some tin tacks, and, using his knife as a hammer, mended and returned the peel. Harry was unbelieving when informed of this, but the next day, at the same time, Charles was rewarded with a bowl of beer-sops. He hoped to keep the bowl as proof, but it slipped from his hand and dashed itself to pieces. Harry again was unbelieving, but the fairies punished him for his comments. (He fell sick and died a year to the hour that he had first insulted them.)

From A Cake in the Furrow
S. P. Menefee
Folklore, Vol. 91, No. 2 (1980), pp. 173-192

In Jacqueline Simpson’s “Sussex Local Legends”
(Folklore, Vol. 84, 1973) she mentions in a footnote on p207 that:

“I have come upon a cutting from the Worthing Gazette of 16 Oct, 1935 referring to Aaron’s Calf being buried on Highdown Hill – yet another site with a hill-fort.”

The Aaron’s Calf story is better known from The Trundle.

St. Just, from the Land’s End district, once paid a visit to St. Keverne, who entertained him for several days to the best of his power. After his departure his host missed some valuable relics, and determined to go in pursuit of his late guest, and try, if possible, to get them from him.

As he was passing over Crousa-down, about two miles from St. Keverne church, he pocketed three large stones, each weighing about a-quarter of a ton, to use if St. Just should offer any resistance. He overtook him at a short distance from Breage and taxed him with the theft, which was indignantly denied.

From words the saints came to blows, and St. Keverne flung his stones with such effect that St. Just ran off, throwing down the relics as he ran. The stones still lie where they fell, about four hundred yards from Pengersick Lane.

Violence and theft? From Saints? And they say things are worse these days.
p22 in
Cornish Folk-Lore
M. A. Courtney
The Folk-Lore Journal, Vol. 5, No. 1. (1887), pp. 14-61.

Precautions have to be taken against changelings, and at Chudleigh mothers used to tie their babies to them in bed at night for fear of the pixies..

A keeper and his wife used to live at Chudleigh, near the rocks, whose holes the pixies “bide” in. This couple had two children, and one morning when the wife had dressed the eldest she let her run away while she dressed the baby. Presently her husband came and asked her “where the little maid was to?” For she was gone and was not to be found. They searched high and low for days; the neighbours came to help, and at last bloodhounds were to be sent for. But one morning some young men thought they would go and help themselves to some nuts from a clump of nut-trees not far from the keeper’s house, and at the farther side they came suddenly on the child, undressed, but well and happy, and not at all starved, playing with her toes, or toads; I do not know which. The pixies were supposed to have stolen the child, and are still firmly believed to have been responsible for her disappearance.

Bad parenting blamed on the pixies. At least they looked after her, and they didn’t even swap her. This story on p213 of
Devonshire Folklore
Lady Rosalind Northcote
Folklore, Vol. 11, No. 2. (Jun., 1900), pp. 212-217.