FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - The Secret Life of Statues

The Red Lion of  Sturminster Newton

In recent weeks we've been investigating the odd behaviour of assorted stone monuments. And aside from various standing stones and megaliths being prone to start mucking about when no one is watching - revolving, walking and even going swimming - we have also found that these seemingly supernatural powers of animation and movement extend to more recent man-made stoneworks such as statues as well. And while there is a massive historical and cultural gulf between a modern piece of public art and an ancient dolmen erected in the earliest years of human civilisation, it would seem that they often share the same folkloric tradition of moving themselves about by magic. 

Firstly we have a great many statues that like to go for a wander on the quiet. A statue at Lacock Abbey is said to animate and go for a stroll at the stroke of midnight, while in the heart of London, at St Queen Anne Gate, the stone version of the aforementioned monarch takes an annual constitutional around the neighbourhood on the 1st of August every year. At Burroughs Green in Cambridgeshire, once a year on the night of the 30th of April, a pair of statues on the school door are said to get off their perches and dance on the village green. While on a more eerie note, St Lawrence's Churchyard, in Darlaston, it is said the figure of a child on a monument to a deceased mother and infant has been seen wandering off on its own through the graves. And there are many more examples too, many of which display the two distinct patterns that we have already encountered with moving megaliths - either animating on the stroke of midnight or upon a specific date.

Much like their ancient relatives, the standing stones, a surprising number of statues and stonework figures seem to enjoy popping off for a drink. A sculpture known locally as Stone Moses at Weekly in Northamptonshire, is said to animate on the stroke of midnight and make its way down to the River Ise for a drink. Outside the Red Lion pub in the village of Sturminster Newton, in Dorset, is a stone effigy of the titular beast, which according to the locals, climbs down from its plinth at the stroke of midnight to take a drink from the old water pump by the town bridge. Once again this is a surprisingly widespread tradition, with all manner of statues of people and animals leaving their plinths, pedestals and perches to nip off for a drop or two. Even some weathervanes are said to indulge in this behaviour too, However my favourite tale of this type concerns the brilliantly named folly, Jack the Treacle Eater Tower at Barwick, Yeovil. Thought to have been built around the 1820s, this eccentric structure is a huge arch of rough stone that supports a spire-like tower, topped with a statue of Hermes. Supposedly it commemorates a faithful messenger boy named Jack who would run errands between Barwick and London with only a pot of treacle for sustenance. According to legend, at midnight the statue climbs down to either take a drink from the nearby lake, or according to some go hunting for any left-over treacle!

Jack The Treacle Eater

We tend to think of folklore as stories that are old or antique, but age seems to be no barrier in this tradition of stories. For example, Leeds Town Hall is guarded by stone lions sculpted by William Keyworth, and despite being erected in 1867, there are local legends that these stone beasts leave their plinths and prowl around at night. Even more recently, the city of Nottingham gained a new Council House in 1929. Erected at Old Market Square, the impressive building is guarded by art deco stone lions created by local sculptor Joseph Else. However despite being an 20th century addition to the civic landscape, these stone beasts already have their own folklore - it is said that they will roar when a virgin passes by them!  And despite this seeming to be somewhat bizarre behaviour, even in the world of living statuary, they are not the only stonework to do this. For it is also said that the red lion statue outside the Cameron's Lion brewery in Hartlepool does the same thing. 

So then what are we to make of all this? Well, as is often the case with mysterious phenomena, it is probably a mistake to look for one catch-all explanation. However we can identify some common threads running throughout the folklore of statues and standing stones. Firstly the last two mentioned examples give us a clue to the origin of some of these strange tales of stones with a life of their own. Those stone lions which roar at passing virgins I rather suspect are an oblique form of local joke - the punchline of which either the listener must deduce for themselves, or was too smutty for polite folklorists to record. The gag is that thanks to the morals (or lack of) in the local populace, no one has ever heard the stone beasts roar! And while the roaring lion stories may be a little nudge-nudge wink-wink, it is not unreasonable to assume that many other tales of living statues are similar tall tales told to amuse. The British sense of humour famously has a surreal streak, and spinning implausible tales of the athletic prowess of objects such as large lumps of stone that are clearly very immobile fits very well with our love of the silly and the absurd.

For example, a common feature is that these stones move if they hear the chimes of twelve, and here the joke is that stones of course can never hear anything! Some legends appear to be more explicit on this front, for example the Cheesewring performs its revolutions if it hears a cock crow (as detailed here) but as it is located in the middle of a moor, there are no farms anywhere nearby, and hence there are no cockrels to hear crowing. Likewise the standing stone in Pyrford (see here) is said to revolve when the church clock chimes twelve, except the church has neither clock nor chimes!

However as  I said, we should not make the mistake of looking for a one-size-fits-all origin for these tales. Certainly in this series we have discussed several stones who have appeared to have gained generic tales of movement, and judging by the surprising amount of very recent folklore surrounding statues it would appear that these stone stories are still spreading even in the modern age. But I suspect some sorts of stories are older than others. In the course of this little series of little articles we have encounters several stones that are said to be immovable in some way or another, whether being impossible to shift in the first place, or possessing the ability to return from wherever they are moved to. Now these kinds of stories I suspect come from an older, darker tradition - for like many other folk-tales, these stories are meant as prescriptions or warnings, a colourful (and hence memorable) way to spreading the message that certain sites or objects are out of bounds and not to be messed about with. The legend of the rampaging Wimblestone is an excellent example of this - not only will the stone attack anyone who attempts to move it. But also the old tales acknowledge and re-empt an important assumption: that as the Wimblestone is a remnant of an ancient site, there must be treasure there. In addressing what might be a common motive for wanting to disturb the stone, the legends make it clear that the effort is not worth the risk, and it would be very foolish to try. After all, not messing about with very old things or places is a common warning found in many branches of folklore.

the stone lions of Nottingham

Considering that over the centuries many ancient sites were lost, as fields were ploughed up and the stones broken and moved, this particular strand of stone lore may well have evolved out of early concerns about  preserving our past. And while our forebears may not have had any idea of exactly how ancient some sites were, being old and mysterious was enough to give them local and historic importance, and so warning stories grew up around them. On a related note, I wonder if the various tales about moving statues are an echo or a remnant of this tradition; perhaps a milder, and in some cases, light-hearted way of discouraging boisterous youths from climbing on them and deterring would-be vandals.

Of course, there is always the human tendency to anthropomorphise anything around us. And given that our statutes often resemble ourselves or familiar animals, it is not surprising that people down the ages have entertained each other with stories that these objects that remind us of living things have secret lives of their own. And while it is more of a stretch to imagine the same imaginative process at work with some of the standing stones we have talked about in this series, it does seem possible that once again folks have been entertain by imagining these old monuments come to life at certain magical times.

Something that is nigh on impossible to discover, but would shed a good deal of light on the matter, would be know how seriously folks in past ages took these stories. Were they ever seriously believed? Or were they always just a surreal bit of whimsy and told with a tongue in the cheek? However whatever the origins of these tales, the fact that such stories are still springing up around modern statues shows that such tales still clearly hold a deep appeal for us. And given that these strange tales of stone-lore have not only survived but have continued to thrive into modern times, I suspect it is a story tradition that will continue for many years yet to come... 

FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - Man-size in Marble

Over the past few months we have been exploring the curious lore surrounding assorted ancient monuments that holds that at certain times, they move, rotate, walk, wander off for a drink, and even go for a swim. Along the way, we have frequently encountered theories that these strange old tales are perhaps rooted in the now lost and forgotten rites of our pagan ancestors; the legend of a standing stone that is said to dance or move around is a folk mis-remembering times when the locals would dance or move around the specially erected rock and so forth. However, we have frequently found that this magical power of animation seems to extend to assorted stones and monuments that have a far more recent origin. 

In the last instalment, while talking of stones that in a most surreal fashion that pop off for a drink or to take a dip, I could not help but be reminded of a book I read as a child - The Enchanted Castle (1907) by E Nesbit. Now in this classic children's novel, we learn that the statues in the garden of Yalding Castle enjoy a secret life of their own at night - 

Something white moved under a weeping willow; white hands parted the long, rustling leaves. A white figure came out, a creature with horns and goat's legs and the head and arms of a boy. And Gerald was not afraid. That was the most wonderful thing of all, though he would never have owned it. The white thing stretched its limbs, rolled on the grass, righted itself and frisked away across the lawn. Still something white gleamed under the willow; three steps nearer and Gerald saw that it was the pedestal of a statue empty.
"They come alive," he said; and another white shape came out of the Temple of Flora and disappeared in the laurels. "The statues come alive."

One of the castle's stone exhibits, a sculpture of a prehistoric saurian, also comes to life, and even goes for a swim in the lake, much like the standing stones we discussed last time.

At first, given that this is a magical tale for children, it would be easy to dismiss this coincidence as a mere piece of whimsy. However I then also recalled another tale by Nesbit, one that I heartily recommend not reading to the little ones! For E Nesbit also penned a great many tales for grown-ups, including a host of top notch macabre tales, and one of the most celebrated is a short story entitled Man-size in Marble. In that story, (which you can hear me read here) a young couple move to a country cottage where all is pleasant and idyllic, except for a curious local legend concerning some effigies in the the local church...

"They do say, as on All Saints' Eve them two bodies sits up on their slabs, and gets off of them, and then walks down the aisle, in their marble"--(another good phrase, Mrs. Dorman)--"and as the church clock strikes eleven they walks out of the church door, and over the graves, and along the bier-balk, and if it's a wet night there's the marks of their feet in the morning."

Now while the animated statuary in The Enchanted Castle sounds like imaginative fun for young minds, the account of stalking statues in Man-size in Marble very much has the ring of authentic folklore about it, in particular the detail that they animate annually on a certain night of the year. Was there perhaps a real legend that Nesbit had heard which had provided the inspiration for this classic horror tale? 

My first port of call was the excellent Oxford Dictionary of English Folklore (2000) by Jacqueline Simpson and Steve Roud, and there was indeed a dedicated entry on statues. And aside from noting a widespread tradition of touching various statues for luck, we also have this - 

The other recurrent piece of folklore about a statue is the assertion that it gets down from its pedestal and walks about, or sits down for a rest, whenever it hears midnight strike; the lions at the door of Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge either roar or drink from the gutter

So then, it was indeed very likely that Nesbit's tale was informed by real folklore. And what's more, it did not take me long to find a possible candidate. At the Holy Trinity Church in the village of Ingham, Norfolk are the tombs of two knights, Sir Oliver de Ingham and Sir Roger de Bois. And according to local legend on the night of the 1st of August, ever year the stone effigies get down from their tombs and take a stroll down to the nearby Stalham Broad. In a highly dubious account related by Chas Sampson in Ghosts of the Broads (Jarrold 1976), it is alleged that when they reach the water's edge, the stone knights engaged in battle with the shade of a foreign knight.

However given that the same account claims that investigators not only witnessed all these strange events, but also photographed the now empty tomb plinths, and even took movie footage of the stone effigies lumbering away, we should perhaps take the claims of a battle with a chap wield a scimitar with a pinch of salt or two. One cannot help wondering whether the entire .Ingham story was completely fabricated to fill out a book of spooky Norfolk tales - something which I fear is quite likely as the volume was clearly aimed at tourists. But even if  that were case, the tale would appear to have been inspired in turn by actual folklore. For as I was to discover, there is no shortage of stories about statues that come to life...

FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - Like A Rolling Stone

Last time on Folklore on Friday, we were exploring the history and legends surrounding the Bulmer Stone of Darlington. And one of the more curious tales about this ancient boulder of granite was found in an old rhyme from the 17th century, a little verse that alleged the stone would rotate when the clock struck twelve. Now it would be easy to dismiss this bizarre legend as mere whimsy; after all traditional verses like this are full of nonsensical things, often seemingly invented to make lines rhyme. However what sounds like sheer poetic fancy to us, often has a real story to tell - for example, numerous nursery rhymes allude to historical events or have forgotten hidden meanings. 

Now while it sounds highly odd that a huge stone should arbitrarily turn itself around at certain times, when one surveys the folklore attached to various notable stones and rocks across the British Isles, one discovers that this is not an isolated incident. For, perhaps surprisingly, there are several other stones that are alleged to behave in the same fashion. Indeed, generally speaking, the belief that ancient stones would move about by themselves appears to be a very common feature in the legends and lore surrounding them. However regarding stones specifically that rotate or revolve, there are several notable other examples. 

On Hallam Moor, which lies on the borders of Derbyshire and Sheffield, is a large blocky rock called the Headstone, but is also known as Stump John and the Cock Crowing Stone. While its huge size and rough rectangular shape may suggest that this is a weather-worn megalith erected by our ancestors, it is in fact a natural feature composed of grit stone. It is often called the Headstone because thanks to fissures and cracks in the rock, from some angles it appears to have a crude face. However its alternate name, the Cock Crowing Stone, is a reference to the local folklore which claims that this huge stone turns itself should it hear a cockerel crow. 

While we now know that the rock is a natural feature, earlier writers did indeed assume it was an ancient monument of some kind. And in turn this led to speculation that perhaps the name came from Druids sacrificing cockerels there, or that it cast a significant shadow at sunrise at certain times of the year, like the famous stones of Stonehenge, with the concept behind that latter theory being that cocks crowing is associated with sunrise. Modern studies suggest both these theories are somewhat fanciful, and unfortunately that leaves us none the wiser as to why a large stone should revolve.

The Headstone of Hallam Moor

Another turning rock once lay in the village of Barrow, Suffolk, with old tales telling of the Highwayman's Stone. And although there appears to be no sign of it now, we do know more of its history. Allegedly there used to a large stone set in the pavement near the village school which supposedly marked the spot where a highwayman was hanged in the late 18th century. Local legend tells of how a Mr Macrow was collecting tithes in 1789 when he was shot at by a highwayman. The villain however missed his target and attempted to make an escape. But while fleeing, his horse lost a shoe, making his tracks very easy to follow. And unfortunately for this would-be Dick Turpin, he was tracked down by the local folks and hanged on the spot. But according to the legend, for reasons never made clear, the stone would turn itself over every New Year's Eve at midnight. 

Now while it seems the stone itself appears to be lost, historians have discovered the tale is based on a real case. The events actually took place in 1783, and the tithe collector was a Mr Macro, who was indeed waylaid by a highwayman. Like in the legend, the criminal's undoing was his steed, although in reality he was tracked down thanks to his horse having a particular design of shoe. The perpetrator, one James Steggles, was indeed hanged for his crime, although the Norfolk Chronicle (1783) reports he was actually given a proper trial and executed in Bury St. Edmunds. (For more details check out the entry on Barrow on the Hidden Suffolk website).  And although the reasons why the commemorative stone should turn itself over remains a mystery, the day it performs this feat may well be linked to the date of the actual crime - for Mr Macro was attacked on 6th of January 1783. Given how the legend has somewhat blurred the details, it would not be surprising that the date of the crime had been shifted a few days to merge with a notable calendar date. 

As to why the stone should flip around on this night of the year, it is possible that this is due to some details of the legend becoming lost. In the actual case of James Steggles, the key evidence against him in the trial was a pair of pistols, one of which had been fired, which were discovered concealed in some bushes by the intrepid victim turned detective, Mr Macro. Given how the historical details have drifted as they have made their way into local legend, it would not be unreasonable to hazard that perhaps the pistols were once said to have been hidden under a stone. And possibly, hence the Highwayman's Stone would turn in a supernatural recreation of the discovery of the evidence. 

However again that is pure speculation, and while it sounds plausible, it is also equally possible that the Highwayman's Stone gained its ability to turn simply because moving on their own is a very common feature of stone lore. And next time, we shall explore some more examples, and see what light they can throw on the matter... 

FOLKLORE ON FRIDAY - Stone Free

Last week, we discussed the ritual of the turning of the Devil's Stone in the village of Shebbear, and while geologists have theorised that it was probably deposited there thousands of years ago by glacial ice, others have wondered whether it was placed there deliberately. While clearly not a proper standing stone or megalith, Shebbear's ancient stone is one of many such mystery rocks that can be found in ancient settlements across Britain and Europe. Clearly they were important to communities in times gone by, but what purpose did they serve?

 

On the Shebbear village website, two theories are mentioned, with the first being that the Devil's Stone was an old village marker stone. Now this is quite plausible as the Anglo-Saxons, and folks before them, were in the habit of placing large natural boulders in significant places to mark boundaries. In the early days of archaeology these were thought to be grave monuments, and indeed some were. However others, in the absence of any burial below them, are now thought to mark where territories began or ended. Hence as the Devil's Stone is quite close to an ancient church, possibly it marks where the church land began. 

 

However the second theory is far more intriguing - and that is that this ancient rock was a kind of large dobbie stone. And what in the blue blazes is one of those you may well be asking? Well a dobbie stone was a special kind of stone that gave protection against witches, fairies and  (obviously) dobbies. And those of you now making Harry Potter jokes, are actually closer to the truth than you realise. For a dobbie  - regionally varying to 'dobie' or 'dobbs' - is an old English name for a kind of spirit, whose nature and description varied from region to region.

 

In some places a dobbie was a kind of ghost, in others a faerie sprite. For example, in County Durham the Shotton Dobby was a shapeshifter appearing variously as an unusually large dog,  horse, cow or goose, and delighted in charging at travellers screeching and then promptly vanishing. However it was also said its appearance foretold a death or a birth in the village. In Lancashire, Dobbies were thought to be more ghostly, indeed any ghost seen outside or in the countryside was dubbed a dobbie. And in North Lancashire, it was said that the watery spirits that haunted the caves and coves of Morecambe Bay were dobbies. While in Cumberland, Sussex and some other places, dobbies a playful but helpful faerie that attached itself to a household, and if welcomed would perform useful chores but if annoyed play pranks - and indeed these legends inspired the naming of JK Rowling's famous large eared house elf. At the Pevensey Court Museum, there is a statue of one such dobbie - 'Master Dobbs' pictured here -

No one is exactly sure where the name 'dobby' comes from; some scholars have suggested it may share the same root or be a corruption of 'bogie' or 'bogle' - words that are similarly used to describe a range of supernatural ghosts and goblins. Other students of folklore have suggested it is derived from 'Robin', as in 'Robin Goodfellow' - again a generic name for assorted imps, sprites and spooks in English folklore. And old Goodfellow has previous in this field, with the associated terms 'hob' and 'hobgoblin' coming from Robin being shortened to Rob.  

However, whether faerie, demon or spectre, dobbies of all varieties could be warded off with special stones. Normally these were small stones that had a naturally formed hole in them. It was said that these stones could protect you from ghosts and faeries, shield you from hexes and spells from witches, and even repel snakes and serpents. Additionally it was said these stones could be used to prevent or even cure a variety of ailments: nightmares, snakebites, rheumatism and whooping cough.

And this was a very widespread belief, with these holed stones being variously known in different regions as hagstones, adder stones, witch stones and serpent eggs. Furthermore stables, farm buildings and houses up and down the country have been found with dobbie stones hung up in them as part of their construction. Indeed even today, the belief persists - albeit in a watered down form - that it is good luck to carry a holed stone in your pocket.

Quite why it was thought a stone with a hole in had these powers, no one is entirely sure. Their curative properties can be explained as deriving from the associated beliefs that the ailments listed were commonly thought to be caused by the entities the stone also repelled - for example an old term for suffering from nightmares was 'hag-ridden' referring to the belief that witches caused nightmares. But why dobbie stones had these protective properties in the first place remains a mystery.

Possibly the protective powers are linked to another common belief about them - namely that if you look through the holes, you will be able to see into the supernatural world. Hence various places have legends stating that if you looked through the hole in a dobbie stone, you could see the spells woven by witches, the unseen imps up to no good, and reveal the invisible world of the faeries.

The fact that all holed stone traditions are very clear on the point that the hole must be natural and not man-made for the dobbie stone to be effective is surely relevant somehow. Possibly in ancient times it was thought that as these holes were natural wonders, they therefore had the power to reveal other hidden wonders of the world. And hence it is a short step to theorise that a person who could see the invisible world could have power over it. Hence hanging up a holed stone could have been a warning to those unseen denizens of the supernatural realms - a way of saying don't try your tricks here are we will discover you!

In several places in Britain and Northern Europe there are large megaliths with holes in them, the most famous being Mên-an-Tol in Cornwall. However not all of the large rocks that have been employed as dobbie stones have holes in them, and the Devil's Stone falls into this category. However these large non-holed dobbie stones do have a natural bowl-like depression in them, as does the famous boulder of Shebbear. And in times gone by offering to placate the local spirits and faeries were left in these natural offering bowls, usually milk or honey or bread. However scholars suspect that in very early times, these offerings to appease the supernatural powers may have been somewhat bloodier...

And it is theorized that this practice emerged from primitive peoples seeing a stone with a natural bowl shape in it and assuming that the local spirits of the place intended it to be used for offerings. Much like the smaller holed dobbie stones, it is a case of the natural world providing a means to communicate with the spiritual one. And it is interesting to note that the dobbies which give these stones, both large and small, are invariably seen as natural spirits inhabiting the countryside, and more interesting when a dobbie adopted a place and served as house elf, it too was welcomed and placated with gifts of milk and bread left out overnight.

One cannot help wondering that perhaps the practice of hanging up a dobbie stone was possibly derived from an older piece of hedge magic, a way of perhaps binding a dobbie to place, creating a guardian sprite to watch over your home and animals. But whatever the long lost origins of these customs are, should you discover a stone with a hole in it, picking it up and bringing it home may well be a very useful thing to do.