The antiquarian Reverend David Royce (a Victorian rector of Nether Swell) said the barrow had been “seen at times, by those gifted with second sight, swathed in unearthly flame”.
Blimey.
(’Gloucestershire Barrows’ – Grinsell and O’Neil – Proc Brist Glos Arch Soc 1960)
Leslie Grinsell collected a couple of stories about the barrow. Mrs Clifford, who excavated the site, heard there was a tradition of an underground passage here extending for some distance from the Tump. He also spoke to a Mr Rymer of Cherington in 1960, who told him of the belief that a golden coffin lay buried inside.
(’Gloucestershire Barrows’ – Proc Brist Glos Arch Soc 1960.)
The ‘Grickstone’ itself is apparently a stone alone with no hint of a barrow. Grinsell and O’Neil’*s source said it “was put up when the Greek wars were in England” and “a Greek officer is supposed to have been buried under it.”
Not far away there was Grickstone Farm long barrow at ST782832. Its three chambers were excavated in 1844, revealing many skeletons. You could still see some slabs of stone at its SE end in 1960. The photo on the Megalithic Portal just has it as a bump in the ground. Their photo of the stone though makes that look worth visiting – and it’s conveniently next to a footpath.
(*’Gloucestershire Barrows’ – Trans Brist Gloc Arch Soc 1960.)
It is said that a mysterious passageway lies beneath Lamborough Banks.
(Grinsell and O’Neil: ‘Gloucestershire Barrows’ – Proc Brist Glos Arch Soc 1960.)
“Men have had the terrifying experience of seeing headless human beings [here] which have vanished.”
(Thank god they vanished, eh. Mentioned in Trans Brist Glouc Arch Soc 1931.)
Also, a look at the map shows that the stones are in ‘Battlescombe’ – you can’t help speculating that they might be caught up in a story about people (or giants?) killed in battle – many megaliths are said to be such graves. Maybe if you live locally you know more??
This barrow is on the edge of a slight spur and is 56m long, orientated ESE-WNW. It’s been rounded down by ploughing but a 1947 aerial photograph shows it trapezoid shape, with the wider end at the east.
In the 1940s, rumour was that the barrow had been opened 70 years previously in search of a golden coffin.
(info from Magic / ‘Gloucestershire barrows’ PBGArchSoc 1960)
Traditions of an underground passage at the site were noted by Grinsell and O’Neill in their ‘Gloucestershire Barrows’ edition of the Trans Brist Glouc Arch Soc for 1960.
The eminent Leslie Valentine Grinsell spoke to a local farmer in Puesdown Inn in 1959. He told him that the older farmers in the area would say that when the plough went over one of these longbarrows, the ground sounded hollow.
The south barrow used to have 2 upright stones at its SE end, but these were gone by the 1920s. Got in the way of the plough probably. Oh well. But they kind of indicate the ‘megalithic’ nature of the barrow and hence that it might well have sounded hollow, maybe having a chamber inside.
(Trans Brist Gloc Arch Soc 1960 – Gloucestershire Barrows)
Photo of two axes found at Cwm Mawr / Corndon Hill.
Two Bronze age round barrows survive in the centre of Wold Newton. They were known locally as the Butt Hills – because they were used in medieval times as archery butts. Medieval ridge and furrow field strips in the area go around where both of the mounds were, confirming them as barrows rather than specially constructed archery mounds. The SMR info on Magic says the barrows survive pretty well despite later career change.
They are near the mere in the centre of the village – a pond fed by the nearby Gypsey Race.
This round barrow is not far from the Rudston monolith and looks down to the north towards the Gypsey Race (well, it could do. But now it’s in a wood). MAGIC scheduled monument info says it is well preserved and stands c 1.5m high, 20m in diameter. It’s apparently quite unusual, the mound being separated from its ditch by a berm – rather like the saucer barrows in Wessex.
Folklore from ‘DF’ at Driffield Online forum.greatdriffield.co.uk/forum/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=1062
Many moons ago – when I was small, we were led to believe that if you ran round the stone backwards 100 times an Angel would appear from the top, blowing a trumpet. Many’s the time that my friend and I got to 99 times but never dared to run the last lap!!
This is from ‘English Fairy and Other Folk Tales‘
by Edwin Sidney Hartland (1890). He quotes from an older book called ‘Pandemonium’ by Bovet (1684).
The place near which they most ordinarily showed themselves was on the side of a hill, named Black-down, between the parishes of Pittminster and Chestonford, not many miles from Tanton. Those that have had occasion to travel that way have frequently seen them there, appearing like men and women, of a stature generally near the smaller size of men. Their habits used to be of red, blue, or green, according to the old way of country garb, with high crowned hats.
One time, about fifty years since, a person living at Comb St. Nicholas, a parish lying on one side of that hill, near Chard, was riding towards his home that way, and saw, just before him, on the side of the hill, a great company of people, that seemed to him like country folks assembled as at a fair. There were all sorts of commodities, to his appearance, as at our ordinary fairs: pewterers, shoemakers, pedlars, with all kind of trinkets, fruit, and drinking-booths. He could not remember anything which he had usually seen at fairs but what he saw there. It was once in his thoughts that it might be some fair for Chestonford, there being a considerable one at some time of the year; but then again he considered that it was not the season for it. He was under very great surprise, and admired what the meaning of what he saw should be.
At length it came into his mind what he had heard concerning the Fairies on the side of that hill, and it being near the road he was to take, he resolved to ride in amongst them, and see what they were. Accordingly he put on his horse that way, and though he saw them perfectly all along as he came, yet when he was upon the place where all this had appeared to him, he could discern nothing at all, only seemed to be crowded and thrust, as when one passes through a throng of people. All the rest became invisible to him until he came to a little distance, and then it appeared to him again as at first.
He found himself in pain, and so hastened home; where, being arrived, lameness seized him all on one side, which continued on him as long as he lived, which was many years, for he was living in Comb, and gave an account to any that inquired of this accident for more than twenty years afterwards; and this relation I had from a person of known honour, who had it from the man himself.
There were some whose names I have now forgot, but they then lived at a gentleman’s house, named Comb Farm, near the place before specified. Both the man, his wife, and divers of the neighbours assured me they had at many times seen this fair-keeping in the summer-time, as they came from Tanton market, but that they durst not adventure in amongst them, for that every one that had done so had received great damage by it.
Chestonford is now called Churchinford.
City Druids line up to put a spring in their step
By Sam Coates – Times Online
It was an incongruous sight: 40 hooded Druids staging a fertility ritual next to the Tower of London, while customers from an adjacent fast-food restaurant looked on in bewilderment.
Yesterday was the spring equinox, one of two dates each year when day and night are of equal length. Since the earliest times this has been celebrated by pagan festivals, with Druids and others gathering round the bonfire to chant, sing, dance and leap through the flames, while praying for a bountiful harvest.
Festivities were held around the country yesterday, including a dawn celebration at Stonehenge. But perhaps the most bizarre was held in the City. Here the Ancient Druid Order, a pagan group based in the financial heart of London which includes businessmen, a dancer, an osteopath and an alternative therapist, donned their white cloaks to take part in the traditional ceremony, begun in London in 1717.
But this ritual came with a modern twist: gone was the bonfire and the seed-planting, while the long flowing robes barely covered the participants’ jeans and hotpants. Led by David Loxley, the Chief Druid, the group assembled next to Tower Hill Underground Station to call for peace and prosperity, and mourn the passing of the dead.
At the heart of the ritual was a woman representing the goddess of spring, dressed in a long yellow robe, bringing seeds and flowers to present to the Chief Druid. These were sprinkled liberally on the concrete floor. After this exchange, Mr Loxley, who works in an alternative therapy store, said: “Prepare for the day when that seed in you shall live and grow — when the influence and the power of the All-Excelling shall shine forth in your life.”
The spring equinox of the Ancient Druid Order is held in the City of London to demonstrate pagans’ belief that the City will eventually revert its “pre-metropolis natural state”.
The cave gazetteer at CAPRA
https://www.shef.ac.uk/~capra/1/caves.html#The%20map%20below explains that pottery and skeletons from the Neolithic and Early Bronze ages were found in the caves inside Elbolton. Finds are in the Craven museum in Skipton.
There are so many caves here with many weird names. Elbolton Cave /Pot itself is also known as Navvy Noodle Hole and Knave Knoll Hole. It is rather a strange landscape with these entrances to worlds below – it is any wonder it is famed as the haunt of fairies?
A tale related in the Readers Digest ‘Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’ mentions them – and they weren’t very nice ones either. A man from Burnsall was walking home in the moonlight, when he was surprised to come across a crowd of them dancing. They hadn’t seen him so for a while he tried to keep quiet, watching their antics. However, (quite well-meaningly I feel) he eventually piped up: “Na’ then, Ah’ll sing a song if tha loikes.” But the fairies were not impressed and actually beat him up. His bruises lasted for ages.
I’ve found the story in Yorkshire Legends and Traditions which says:
[The man from near Burnsall] was passing Elbothon Hill – the fairies’ haunt – when he saw a large number of them dancing in the moonlight. He knew their wishes always to be left uninterrupted; but he so far forgot himself as to off to join in their revellings by singing a song. He was at once attacked by the whole band, and so punished by pinches and kicks, that he was glad to get away as quickly as possible. He, however, succeeded, as he fled, in taking one of them prisoner – whether a lady or a gentleman the record sayeth not – and he secured, as he thought, him or her, in the pocket of his coat. Rejoicing in the capture, he hastened home, where he delighted his children, by telling of the beautiful living doll he had secured for them. But, alas! when the prison-house was opened and searched, the prisoner had fled!
The ‘Readers Digest Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’ suggests that the dyke is haunted by a spectral ‘White Lady’. I can’t find any more on her, but did notice on the map that there is a spring called the Gell/Gel-Spring at the southern end of the dyke – and white ladies are often associated with springs and water. Can ‘gell’ mean girl? Or is the fact it is an old word for ‘leech’ more significant? Or perhaps it’s just like the word ‘gill’ for a narrow stream.
Brochure of the area with aerial view and maps.
Duggleby Howe contained many burials. Ronald Hutton (in ‘Pagan Religions..’) suggests that many of them were sacrifices, there to glorify the burials of just a few important old men. Patriarchy here we come then.
I thought you might like details of his description: it kind of gives a different view of the place. Still mysterious, but not quite as peaceful as Silbury, perhaps. It’s no wonder Fitzcoraldo didn’t get any nice vibes! ;)
In the centre of the mound of packed chalk there was a wooden mortuary hut, and in it a man buried with some flints, a pot, and some red pigment. The mound was built up round this, and as they filled in the shaft above the hut, they included the skull of a youth (with a suspicious looking hole in it). At the top was the skeleton of a child of about three, and to the side the grave of a man of about fifty, buried with arrowheads, knives, ox bones, beavers’ teeth, a bone pin and boar tusks. In the infill of his grave were the bodies of another young child and another youth.
A man of about 70 was placed beside the original shaft, with his head laid as if looking down into its packing. In one hand he had a piece of semitransparent flint, holding it up to his face.
At some time later a man of about 60 was also interred, with again the bodies of a youth and a child above him. He was buried with an axe, an arrowhead and a macehead.
Four piles of mixed bones were found around the graves – bones of oxen, roe deer, foxes, pigs, sheep/goats and humans. Soon after a layer of chalk was piled over everything – over 50 cremations have been found in this layer. A layer of blue clay and more chalk rubble completed the monument. Duggleby Howe probably contains an impressive 5000 tons of material.
The website of the museum where the ‘finds’ are: hullcc.gov.uk/museums/hulleast/index.php
This idea of a ‘druidic oracle’ stone and much more besides can be found at nidderdale.org/Antiquarian/Brimham%20Rooke/Illustrations.htm
Mr Rooke holds the usual opinion of the Britons as being ignorant, I’m afraid.
Some Account of the Brimham Rocks in Yorkshire
In a Letter to the Rev. Mr. Norris, Secretary
By Hayman Rooke Esq.
Read at the Society of Antiquaries, May 25th 1786.I think [this] may be called an oracular stone, though it goes by the name of the Great Cannon. It rests upon a bed of rock, where a road plainly appears to have been made leading to the hole (a), which at the entrance is three feet wide, six feet deep, and about three feet six inches high. Within this aperture on the right hand is a round hole, marked (b), two feet diameter, perforated quite through the rock, sixteen feet, and running from south to north. In the above mentioned aperture, a man might lie concealed, and predict future events to those that come to consult the oracle, and is heard distinctly on the north side of the rock, where the hole is not visible. This might make the credulous Britons think the predictions proceeded solely from the rock deity. The voice on the outside is as distinctly conveyed to the person in the aperture, as was several times tried.
A less pleasant story than the ‘fairies/bees’ is that Twmbarlwm Hill was a fort where the Druids held their courts of justice. And people that had been very naughty, they threw down into the valley below: Dyffryn Y Gladdfa.
Well, that’s what I read in the ‘keep the references to yourself’ Reader’s Digest ‘Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain. Supposedly Twmbarlwm means ‘Hill of the Judge’ and Dyffryn y Gladdfa means ‘Valley of the graves’ – but perhaps a Welsh speaker can confirm or deny this. Elsewhere I’ve read that the earlier Twyn Barlwm just means ‘bare-topped hill’. Not quite so romantic. The story is probably just a Victorian fantasy as it’s about druids, based on a convenient mistranslation. I can’t see the valley on the map anyway – but do you know this story and where it’s set? Whatever, Druids gather yet at Twmbarlwm, as you can see at the Tylwyth Silwri page at
mysite.wanadoo-members.co.uk/silurian/page5.html
A local saying (mentioned in the ‘Reader’s Digest Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’) is: “There are enough witches in Long Compton to draw a load of hay up Long Compton Hill.”
Long Compton Hill is, I take it, the rise on which the stones lie, and from which the King was challenged to spot the village by the bad witch in the story.
The explanation related in ‘Reader’s Digest “Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain”’ has the effect of craftily Christianising the monolith’s arrival.
Legend has it that the stone simply fell from the sky “killing certain desecrators of the churchyard”. Act of God rather than the Devil. Makes a change.
From Nikolaus Pevesner’s ‘Berkshire’ (1966):
.. an estate called Temple Combe and in this the Druidic Temple, called by Horace Walpole ” little master Stonehenge”, a stone circle [sic] found in Jersey in 1785 and brought over as a gift to General Conway in 1787.
The stones were all re-erected accurately, and Walpole is right, as usual, when he calls the monument ” very high-priestly “. [Actually, they probably weren’t that accurate. As he hints below, for a start.]
The circle stood originally on Mont de la Ville, St Helier, Jersey. In its original form the tomb was covered by a mound of earth revetted with drystone walling, but only the megalithic structure was erected in the park. In its present form it consists of a stone-built passage 15 ft long and 5 ft wide roofed with four capstones leading to a circular area enclosed by a ring of thirty upright slabs, against which are built five cells roofed with capstones but open to the centre. The diameter of this circle is now 27 ft, although a contemporary plan made before its removal from Jersey shows it to have been originally 21 ft in diameter. Some slight additions appear to have been made to the monument as a number of the stones are of a sandstone unknown in Jersey but outcropping in Berkshire.
The house and grounds now appear to be owned by this company parkplaceestate.co.uk/index.html
who want to turn it into a country club. The extensive website does not mention their policy on riff-raff wishing to view stones.
I found this extra information in Glyn Daniel’s 1972 ‘Megaliths in History’: the reason why the stones were moved at all was because in 1785 a colonel of the St Helier militia was having a piece of landl levelled for a parade ground (somewhere later occupied by Fort Regent). His men found the ‘Mont de la Ville’ and he offered it to the Governer of Jersey. Apparently the governer didn’t want to pay to have it delivered (he actually was probably thinking, why do I want those stones cluttering up the garden) – so when Horace Walpole persuaded the Marshall to send it to his house near Henley, he agreed. It bears an inscription (or did, at least) – “Cet ancien Temple des Druides decouvert le 12md Aout 1785 sur le Montagne de St Helier dans l’Isle de Jersey, a ete presente par les Habitans a son Excellence le General Conway, leur Gouverneur.” Ah yes, the Druids again.
See it in its original spot at
themodernantiquarian.com/site/7855
Campaigners have hit back at claims by quarry company Tarmac over the threat of job losses if it is not allowed to expand its operations close to the Thornborough Henges.
In a statement last week Tarmac warned the local economy would suffer if quarrying had to cease and said tourism would not compensate for the loss of some £2.3m resulting from its present operations at Nosterfield Quarry.
Responding to the claims this week, the Friends of Thornborough campaign group insisted that quarrying did not provide long-term jobs.
Chairman, John Lowry said: “Aggregates quarries actually create very few jobs in relation to the amount of land they sterilise, and the employees know those jobs are relatively short-lived because all mining ventures have a limited life.
“To ensure a constant supply of minerals, well-managed mining companies buy up mineral reserves in advance, phasing development so that a new quarry is opened as an existing one becomes exhausted. So jobs are not ‘lost’ – they are simply transferred to the new quarry and the sub-contractors follow them.
Mr Lowry, who is a qualified exploration geologist and chartered engineer, added: “In trying to reduce this issue to a simple contest between the relative economic benefits of quarrying versus tourism, Tarmac is cynically ignoring the over-riding need to save Yorkshire’s greatest archaeological treasure for future generations.
“Due to the concern our campaign has raised in both Parliament and the EEC, Tarmac now has to prove that it is necessary to destroy a landscape of international importance in order to supply a local market with sand and gravel that could readily be obtained from a less sensitive site like those already quarried by its competitors.”
Tarmac is applying for planning permission to quarry further land close to the henges, at the Ladybridge Farm site.
But Mr Lowry said: “Tarmac’s employees should be demanding that the company gives up its plans to expand near the henges and turns its attentions to opening a replacement quarry in a location already designated by the county council. Surely good management practice dictates that a contingency plan should already be in place, in case the application to extend the present quarry is refused?”
Knaresborough Today at
knaresboroughtoday.co.uk/ViewArticle2.aspx?SectionID=18&ArticleID=968360
The Reader’s Digest book ‘Folklore, Myths and Legends of Britain’ mentions that the stone was said to have been quarried on the other side of the River Torridge at Henscott, apparently intended as a foundation stone for a church there. But the devil rolled it away to Shebbear – and continued doing this every night (though the villagers repeatedly rolled it back) until presumably the villagers got fed up of it. Which would have been pretty soon if they had to get it through the river and up the hill, I would imagine. From the map, Henscott still doesn’t appear to have a church – so I guess the Devil won that round.
A tale about Carn Kenidjack, from R. Hunt’s 1903 edition of Popular Romances of the West of England. By way of introduction he mentions that ‘Cairn Kenidzhek’ is pronounced ‘Kenidjack’ and means ‘Hooting Cairn, from the sound of the wind around the rocks. (I admit it’s a bit long-winded, but sometimes it’s nicer to have the original language than a summary..)
Two miners who had been working in one of the now abandoned mines in Morvah, had, their labours being over, been, as was common, “half-pinting” in the public-house in Morvah Church.. town. It was after dark, but not late; they were very quiet men, and not drunk. They had walked on, talking of the prospects of the mine, and speculating on the promise of certain “pitches,” and were now on the Common, at the base of the Hooting Cairn. No miner ever passed within the shadow of Cairn Kenidzhek who dared to indulge in any frivolous talk: at least, thirty years since, the influence akin to fear was very potent upon all.
Well, our two friends became silent, and trudged with a firm, a resolved footstep onward.
There was but little wind, yet a low moaning sound came from the cairn, which now and then arose into a hoot. The night was dark, yet a strange gleaming light rendered the rocks on the cairn visible, and both the miners fancied they saw gigantic forms passing in and about the intricate rocks. Presently they heard a horse galloping at no great distance behind them. They turned and saw, mounted on a horse ~’hich they knew very well, since the bony brute had often worked the “whim” on their mine, a dark man robed in a black gown and a hood over his head, partly covering his face.
“Hallo! hallo!” shouted they, fearing the rider would ride over them.
“Hallo to you,” answered a gruff voice.
“Where be’st goen then?” asked the bravest of the miners.
“Up to the cairn to see the wrastling,” answered the rider; “come along! come along!”Horse and rider rushed by the two miners, and, they could never tell why, they found themselves compelled to follow.
They did not appear to exert themselves, but without much effort they kept up with the galloping horse. Now and then the dark rider motioned them onward with his hand, but he spoke not. At length the miners arrived at a mass of rocks near the base of the hill, which stopped their way; and, since it was dark, they knew not how to get past them. Presently they saw the rider ascending the hill, regardless of the masses of rock; passing unconcernedly over all, and, as it seemed to them, the man, the horse, and the rocks were engaged in a “three man’s song,” the chorus to which was a piercing hoot. A great number of uncouth figures were gathering together, coming, as it seemed, out of the rocks themselves. They were men of great size and strength, with savage faces, rendered more terrible by the masses of uncombed hair which hung about them, and the colours with which they had painted their cheeks. The plain in front of the rocks which had checked the miners’ progress was evidently to be the wrestling ground. Here gathered those monstrous-looking men, all anxiety, making a strange noise. It was not long ere they saw the rider, who was now on foot, descending the hill with two giants of men, more terrible than any they had yet seen.
A circle was formed; the rider, who had thrown off his black gown, and discovered to the miners that he was no other than Old Nick, placed the two men, and seated himself in a very odd manner upon the ground.
The miners declared the wrestlers were no other than two devils, although the horns and tail were wanting. There was a shout, which, as if it indicated that the light was insufficient, was answered by the squatting demon by flashing from his eyes two beams of fire, which shed an unearthly glow over everything. To it the wrestlers went, and better men were never seen to the west of Penzance. At length one of them, straining hard for the mastery, lifted his antagonist fairly high in the air, and flung him to the ground, a fair back fall. The rocks trembled, and the ground seemed to thunder with the force of the fall. Old Nick still sat quietly looking on, and notwithstanding the defeated wrestler lay as one dead, no one went near him. All crowded around the victor, and shouted like so many wild beasts. The love of fair play was strong in the hearts of the miners; they scorned the idea of deserting a fallen foe; so they scrambled over the rocks, and made for the prostrate giant, for so, for size, he might well be called. He was in a dreadful strait. Whether his bones were smashed or not by the fall, they could not tell, but he appeared “passing away.” The elder miner had long been a professor of religion. It is true he had fallen back; but still he knew the right road. He thought, therefore, that even a devil might repent, and he whispered in the ear of the dying man the Christian’s hope.
If a thunderbolt had fallen amongst them, it could not have produced such an effect as this. The rocks shook with an earthquake; everything became pitchy dark; there was a noise of rushing hither and thither, and all were gone, dying man and all, they knew not whither. The two miners, terrified beyond measure, clung to each other on their knees; and, while in this position, they saw, as if in the air, the two blazing eyes of the demon passing away into the west, and at last disappear in a dreadfully black cloud. These two men were, although they knew the ground perfectly well, inextricably lost; so, after vainly endeavouring to find the right road off the Common, they lay down in each other’s arms under a mass of granite rock, praying that they might be protected till the light of day removed the spell which was upon them.
It seems that Carn Brea is still the home of seasonal celebration. This from the West Cornwall Festivals and Events list 2005 at penwith.gov.uk/media/adobe/s/4/Events_List_2005.pdf
Midsummer Eve (evening): Bonfire, Chapel Carn Brea, Nr Land’s End. Organised by the Old Cornwall Society. Prayers etc spoken in Cornish and lighting of the bonfire torch. For more information tel. 01736 368153.
Presumably this tradition of bonfires has lasted a long while. The Reader’s Digest ‘Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’ has this to say: that the first of a chain of beacon fires is lit here – then at Sennen, Sancreed Beacon, Carn Galver, St Agnes Beacon.. Each fire is blessed by a local clergyman in the Cornish language; herbs and wildflowers are burnt. When only embers remain, young people leap across them to drive away evil and bring good luck. Good job they involve the church, eh, or the whole thing would sound suspiciously pagan.
Pure Joy may be pleased to hear that there was a sequel to his story about the idle misogynistic giant. He met his death at the hands of Jack the Giant Killer – no doubt hired by the local people who were fed up. He snuck onto the mount one night and dug an enormous pit, covering it with sticks and straw to disguise it. Then, tooting loudly on a horn, he woke the giant. Cormoran, stumbling about (like you do when some idiot wakes you up in the middle of the night) fell straight into the hole, and Jack cracked him over the head with his axe – the giant died instantly. The local people were so grateful they gave Jack a magnificent sword and a belt embroidered with gold.
(story noted in the Reader’s Digest ‘Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’).
By the way, it is said the you may still see the greenstone Mrs Giant dropped from her apron, on the causeway. And while you’re crossing, apparently you may see the remains of a fossilised forest around you – Michael’s Mount is known as ‘Carrick luz en cuz’ in Cornish: ‘The ancient rock in the wood’.
Is this a genuine site? It merits a place in the Somerset sites and monuments record. Their website info says:
“In Hurdlestone Wood is a very erect large boulder of millstone grit, in a line with several but smaller ones. It measures about 18ft by 4ft by 20ft high and seems to have been placed on end artificially, though perhaps in the course of quarrying. The group seems to have been given the name “The Hurlers” and the large stone “The Hurdle Stone”, though these could be inventions of Skinner who first drew attention to the group [c.1820]. H.E Balch compares the big stone to a stone at Avebury. ”
They are also mentioned in the lavishly-illustrated ‘Reader’s Digest Folklore Myths and Legends of Britain’ – they are the result of a game of quoits between the giant of Grabbist and the Devil. Predictably the devil started cheating (well, what can you expect?) so the giant picked him up by his tail and hurled him into the Bristol Channel. There’s another story that suggests it was thrown from Redhill.
The cross on Banwell Hill apparently stands 2ft proud of the ground’s surface, with compass-bearing pointing arms four feet broad. The local explanation is that people tried to raise a cross on the hill, but the Devil repeatedly blew it down by raising huge gales every night. Eventually they figured out the solution – to build one on the floor (this is mentioned by Ruth Tongue in her ‘Somerset Folklore’ 1965).
You can read more about the cross in an extract from “The Birthplace of St. Patrick in Somerset”
by Harry Jelley, at Vortigern Studies.
vortigernstudies.org.uk/artgue/guestjelley.htm
.. which, as you can tell, also expounds the theory that Banwell is where St Patrick was born. The plot thickens.
Other explanations have the construction as a warren (dismissed due to the effort digging out the bedrock) or a windmill base (but it would be a very big windmill with 20m arms of the cross).
Grimspound features in one of Richard Long’s time/space-spanning artworks: “Dartmoor Time”.
Great Gnat’s Head cairn features in one of Richard Long’s time/space-spanning artworks: “Dartmoor Time”.
I can’t help wondering if the name of this hill implies that it was supposedly thrown from somewhere – pick or peck are apparently both old words for pitching or throwing, and the hill is known by both versions. Maybe thrown from Knap Hill or somewhere else along the nearby escarpment? This is pure unfounded speculation but the shape of the hill cries out for a mythological explanation. It seems a natural inspiration for a barrow or even for Silbury.
On second thoughts, I suppose the name sounds a bit like ‘peaked hill’.
In a continuation of the Kentchurch woman’s story posted at the Skirrid, she mentions another stone at Trellech which Jack O’Kent threw after he’d pitched the three that are famous:
“.. and he threw another, but that didn’t go far enough, and it lay on the Trelleck road just behind the five trees until a little while ago, when it was moved so that the field might be ploughed; and this stone, in memory of Jack, was always called the Pecked Stone [pecked meaning thrown]”
Quote in J. Simpson’s ‘Folklore of the Welsh Borderland’ (1976) noted from B.A. Wherry “Wizardry on the Welsh Border” in Folklore 15, 1904.
Ysgyryd Fawr – the Skirrid – is the easternmost of the Black Mountains. It has a distinctive shape – the great cleft in its side was allegedly split open in an earthquake at the moment of Christ’s death.
This is an extract from Mary Trevelyan’s 1909 ‘Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales’:
It was formerly the custom of Welsh farmers and peasants to obtain earth from certain important places, for the purpose of sprinkling through their stables, pigsties, gardens and even their house, to avert evil. Portions of this earth were also strewn over the coffins and graves of their relatives and friends.
Earth from the fissure of the Skyrrid Fawr, in the parish of Llantheweg Skyrrid, Monmouthshire, was used [in this way]..
A Kentchurch woman told this story in 1903 about Jack O’Kent, giving a non-Christian explanation for the Skirrid’s scar:
“Jack did some wonderful things in his time. Why, one day he jumped off the Sugar Loaf Mountain onto the Skirrid, and there’s his heel mark in the Skirrid to this day. An’ when he got there he began playing quoits; he pecked [threw] three stones as far as Trelleck (and there they stand to this day)..”
(from B A Wherry’s ‘Wizardry on the Welsh Border’ in Folklore 15).
As an alternative, it is said that Jack and the Devil met and quarrelled on Trellech Beacon – the hill directly to the East of Trellech. The Devil challenged Jack to a throwing match – Jack threw first.. the Devil threw a bit further.. Jack (probably with eyes closed and one hand behind his back) threw that bit further – and the Devil ran off in disgust.
(mentioned in Folklore 48 – Davies, the Folklore of Gwent)
In WH Howse’s ‘Radnorshire’ of 1949, the author mentions that at the time of writing many farmers still felt in awe of the stones. The hay was left unmown around them and some people avoided going near them after dark. Well you wouldn’t want to risk it – they’ll be lumbering off to the Hindwell pool when they hear the Old Radnor bells.
Mentioned by Simpson in her ‘Folklore of the Welsh Border’ (1976).
The Broad Stone is mentioned in Waters’ ‘Folklore and Dialect of the Wye Valley’ (1973). It is is said to have been chucked here from Tidenham Chase (maybe somewhere here? c. ST557959) as part of a stone-throwing contest between Jack O’ Kent and the Devil. (Yes, they were always having stone throwing contests. But this was before the advent of television and you had to make your own entertainment then).
Another stone is supposed to have landed at Thornbury (I’m assuming that’s the Thornbury across the Severn – an especially good throw, though I can’t see the stone on the map. Do you know where it was supposed to have landed?
Hmm perhaps it was at the nuclear power station?
Some of the ancient hill-top sites of Southern England are named in this poem by Rudyard Kipling:
“The Run of the Downs”
The Weald is good, the Downs are best -
I’ll give you the run of ‘em, East to West.
Beachy Head and Winddoor Hill,
They were once and they are still.
Firle, Mount Caburn and Mount Harry
Go back as far as sums’ll carry.
Ditchling Beacon and Chanctonbury Ring,
They have looked on many a thing;
And what those two have missed between ‘em
I reckon Truleigh Hill has seen ‘em.
Highden, Bignor and Duncton Down
Knew Old England before the Crown.
Linch Down, Treyford and Sunwood
Knew Old England before the Flood.
And when you end on the Hampshire side -
Butser’s old as Time and Tide.
The Downs are sheep, the Weald is corn,
You be glad you are Sussex born!
From Kiplings ‘Rewards and Fairies’ online at hn.psu.edu/faculty/jmanis/kipling/Rewards-fairies.pdf
The Caburn – Hillfort or ritual enclosure? Article by Mike Haigh.
Article on and diagram of the site.
Summary of the excavation of a causewayed enclosure found at St Osyth’s in Essex.
The Gray Hill Landscape Research Project: A stone circle, possible stone row or standing stones and prehistoric cairns were known on the hilltop, but a GPS-based assessment survey carried out in 1999-2000 by Graham Makepeace on behalf of Monmouthshire County Council identified many more archaeological features..
Gaer Llwyd means ‘Grey Fort’. According to Leslie Grinsell’s ‘Folklore of Prehistoric Sites in Britain’ (1976), the site was until recently known as Y Garn Llwyd (’Grey Cairn’).
The barrow is mentioned in Phil Quinn’s ‘Holy Wells of the Bath and Bristol Region’ (1999) – it lies in a field called Bridewell. Was this spring, we ask ourselves, a reason for the barrow’s location? Or maybe alternatively, the presence of the barrow helped gain the spring its helpful reputation? The water now goes into a reservoir – but once the water was renowned as being “very good for sore eyes and Diet drinks.” (one assumes this meant good for your stomach, rather than a helpful slimming aid).
Etymology fans may see something interesting in the name of the nearby settlement: Pucklechurch (Puck’s church? – but of course it may come from something quite different). Pucklechurch is also infamous for being where the second king of England, Edmund, was stabbed to death.
The ‘Puckleweb’ site (below) contains the local wisdom that “if a Pucklechurch boy is looking for a wife, he should look no further than Shortwood Hill”. So if you think the locals look inbred, remember it wasn’t me that said so.
There was a local belief that the stones were gradually sinking and shrinking. When the Rev. Francis Kilvert visited the site in 1878 he noted in his diary:
Joseph Gwynne told me that when he was a boy the great stone called Arthur’s Stone was much longer than it is now. A hundred sheep could lie under the shadow of it. Also the stone stood much higher on its supporting pillars than it does at present, so high indeed that an ordinary sized man could walk under it.
Across the green lane and opposite the stone was a rock lying flat on the ground on which were imprinted the marks of a man’s knees and fingers. These marks were believed to have been made by King Arthur when he heaved the stone up on his back and set it on the pillars.”
No, I don’t think the last bit quite makes sense, but there you are. I suppose it does imply people thought it was originally part of the main tomb? Diary quoted in Jacqueline Simpson’s ‘Folklore of the Welsh Border’ (1976).
The fort on Torberry Hill is spoon-shaped. The reason why? The Devil scalded his lips sipping hot punch from his ‘Devil’s Punchbowl’ and pettishly threw his spoon away, it landing heavily here.
The gold purejoy mentions was buried by Royalists. They obviously buried their treasure to avoid it being stolen by riff-raff: you need a golden plough to dig it up. Local rhymes are
“Who knows what Tarberry would bear,
Would plough it with a golden share.”
and
“He who would find what Tarberry would bear,
Must plough it with a golden share.”
And as purejoy suggests, Torberry is indeed a haunt of the fairies. In fact you can still see their bed. Well, actually the Fairy Bed is the cross-shaped base of a post-medieval mill. But that’s just dull.
From David Staveley’s Sussex Hillforts
homeusers.prestel.co.uk/aspen/sussex/hillfort.html#main#
and the Scheduled Monument record on Magic.gov.uk, also
Sussex Local Legends
Jacqueline Simpson
Folklore, Vol. 84, No. 3. (Autumn, 1973), pp. 206-223.
The midsummer dancing by the fairies is (according to Simpson, above) mentioned by H D Gordon, in ‘The History of Harting’ (1877) p19.
According to the Museum of Liverpool Life website, large numbers of the flint tools used by our hunter-gatherer forebears have been found in this area. Apparently there are fantastic views of the estuary from here – it’s the highest point in the Wirral so perhaps it had good views in prehistory too. And perhaps its elevation explains the folklore connected with it – if you remember, when Thor struck his hammer there was lightning: a high spot like this would be bound to attract thunderbolts. Or maybe Thor’s axe Mjollnir really is buried here.
The place is consequently rumoured to have been an altar on which those nasty Vikings offered sacrifices to Thor. Or maybe they really did – the rock is very red: maybe it’s stained with all the blood. The woods and common nearby have a spooky reputation too. But this obviously doesn’t put off the local Morris dancers, who use this as a Mayday dawn dancing spot.
From its description, the place does rather sound like Alderley Edge to me, with its red sandstone and ‘edgey’ quality.
(gleaned from all over the internet, and Hole’s ‘Traditions and Customs of Cheshire’ 1937)
The distinctive outline of Burnswark.