The A-Z of Curious Nottinghamshire E-Book

Frank E. Earp

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 269

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

Weird, spooky, gruesome, humorous, and strange but true stories come alive in The A-Z of Curious Nottinghamshire. 'Curious' is perhaps not the first word you would use to label Nottinghamshire. But 'curiouser and curiouser' it becomes when you dig below the surface. Here the reader will meet highwaymen and hangmen, saints and martyrs, flying cars and bedsteads. To sum up, eccentrics, legends, folklore, murders, scandals, ghosts, incredible characters and oodles of wow factor, all may be found within the pages of this book.

Leseprobe

‘AY-UP MI DUCK’

A TRADITIONAL NOTTINGHAMSHIRE GREETING, THOUGHT TO DERIVE FROM THE OLD NORSE Se upp, MEANING TO ‘LOOK OUT’ OR ‘WATCH OUT’. DIALECT: ‘MI’ – ‘MY’ AND THE ANGLO-SAXON DUKA, LITERALLY ‘DUKE’.

Contents

Title

Acknowledgements

Introduction

The A-Z of Curious Nottinghamshire

Select Bibliography

Copyright

Acknowledgements

IHAVE BEEN studying the folklore and history of Nottinghamshire for over forty years now, and there are many people who I must thank for their help and advice. All of these people have helped contribute to my accumulated knowledge which has led to me to writing this book. You know who you are, so thank you, all of you!

Specifically, thanks go to Peter Hannah, who back in the early days was my partner in research. My thanks go to the late Paul Nix, whose expertise, particularly in the subject of Nottingham’s caves, has constantly inspired me, and to Dr Robert Morrell, an early pioneer in the history and folklore of Nottinghamshire.

I would like to thank my youngest son Joseph ‘Joe’ Earp, who is following in his father’s footsteps; John Howorth, Editor of the Topper newspaper, for allowing me to publish my weekly articles in the paper; and Robert ‘Bob’ Trubshaw for his help and inspiration and providing his contribution to this work.

Finally, my thanks go to the good citizens of Nottinghamshire, past and present, for making the county such a ‘curious’ place.

Introduction

THE DICTIONARY defines the word curiosity as the desire to know about something. It is also used to refer to that about which the desire for knowledge is sought. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it is one of the things that make us human. It is curiosity that has brought society knowledge.

So, what ‘curiosities’ does the County of Nottinghamshire have? ‘Tigguacobauc’, now there is a curious word, even if you understand its meaning. But this may have been the first recorded name for the settlement that is now the City of Nottingham.

Nottingham has two infamous curiosities: its caves and its alleged most famous son, ‘Robin Hood’. There are around 500 artificial caves under the city, each of which is a curiosity in its own right. There have been many things written about Robin, good, bad and indifferent. Rather than contribute something more to the pot, I have chosen instead to provide a list of places and objects which bear his name.

As the reader will find out, there is more to Nottingham and its county than Robin Hood and the caves. I have always been curious to know how it all began, what was on Castle Rock, BC (Before the Castle)?

Excellent examples are the ‘curiosities’ contained within these pages inlcude the county’s three ‘Old Stones’, natural geological features which for tens of thousands of years have witnessed the passage of time and human history.

Nottinghamshire had and probably still does have its eccentrics, people like Benjamin Mayo, the ‘Old General’, Frank Robinson, ‘The Xylophone Man’ and Kitty Hudson, the girl who ate pins.

The county has seen its share of violence and crime, like the murder of Elizabeth Sheppherd and highwaymen like ‘Swift Nick’ and ‘Sawly Tom’.

They say that there are more ghosts per square mile in Britain than any other country in the world. Nottingham certainly has its fair share of ghost and hauntings, and I have included six of the least-known supernatural tales.

It was curiosity that brought the American writer Washington Irvin to Nottinghamshire and led him to spend Yule (Christmas) 1824 in the heart of Sherwood Forest. It was at Newstead Abbey that he witnessed many of the curious customs of the season.

Running like a thread through this book is an ancient highway now known as ‘Mansfield Road’. It is curious how it relates to and connects many of the people and places mentioned within these pages.

I hope that this introduction has made the reader curious enough to read on!

Frank E. Earp, 2014

ANCIENT NOTTINGHAM

Prehistoric Earthworks, Ancient Mounds and a Roman Tower

Soon after the Norman Conquest of 1066, a castle was built on the top of the massive sandstone promontory Castle Rock, which juts out from the hills like a great stone monolith. On the south side the cliff face rises 130ft (38m) from the road. Over the millennium, at all levels, it has become full of caves and has taken on the appearance of a great Swiss cheese. This may be considered one of the finest views the city has to offer.

It is inconceivable that this truly impressive site had not been used before. What did the Normans find here when they came to build the castle? Certainly they found many caves excavated into the cliff face. We may believe that this was Asser’s ‘Tigguacobauc’ – ‘cavy house’ – the earliest recorded name for a settlement in the Nottingham area.

The Normans would also have found that someone had cutoff the promontory from the hill on the north and east side with a massive ditch – in places cut into the bedrock over 30ft deep. That the ditch was already old when the Normans arrived is attested to by the fact that it was being used as a Saxon boundary. There is no evidence to suggest that the Saxons had settled around this site. It is generally agreed that the settlement of ‘Snottingham’, which gave the city its name, was somewhere in the area of the Lace Market, around half a mile to the east. It is unlikely then, that the Saxons would have gone to the considerable effort of constructing such a massive earthwork and the likelihood is that it was prehistoric.

The ditch starts on the eastern side, at the foot of Castle Rock, and follows the line of Castle Road up the hill to the castle gates. This section was utilised by the Normans as a dry moat – the eastern outer defences of the castle. It was later to become a medieval sunken road known as ‘The Hollows’. At a point almost opposite the statue of Robin Hood, another old road – Hounds Gate – joins Castle Road on its right-hand side. Here, in 1779, workmen excavating to a depth of 14ft discovered what they described as ‘a solid cart road’.

From this point the course of the ditch takes a north-westerly turn along the line of the road known as Standard Hill. In places the road surface is built directly over the line of the ditch. Building on the south side of Standard Hill and Postern Street has always proven problematic. In 1807, it was decided to build a new church – St James’s – on Standard Hill. Work on the foundations was greatly impeded by the loose soil which was infilling the ancient ditch. A solution was found in the form of a ‘springing arch’ bridging the ditch.

The eastern face of the mighty Castle Rock. (Joe Earp, 2013, Nottingham Hidden History Team)

When work started on the new extensions to the General Hospital, evidence of this massive ditch was once again exposed. Foundations for the Round Ward – now The Round House – were particularly troublesome. The ditch here was found to be between 50ft and 60ft wide and 33ft deep. To make matters worse, a second parallel ditch – 13ft wide and 17ft deep – was found a few feet to the north.

The ditch continues its course along Postern Street to its junction with Park Row. Here, it takes a 90 degree turn to the left and continues for several yards before terminating just before the gates of the old General Hospital. Here on its southern side the ditch partly enclosed an open field said to be an ‘ancient camp’.

The Derry Mount

Mystery surrounds the Derry Mount and its place in history. There appears to be no references to the mount earlier than the seventeenth century, nor does it appear on any early maps. In 1904, the Thoroton Society published an old plan of the castle superimposed on a modern street plan. The mount – which is described as being ‘now levelled’ – is marked between Mount Street and Park Row. This would place it to the rear of the modern buildings on the north side of Postern Street, close to its junction with Park Row.

At the outbreak of the Civil War in 1642, King Charles I was at the castle to rally support for his cause. He began by raising his flag or royal standard above the castle ramparts, but this did not produce the desired effect. On 22 August 1642, with great ceremony, the King and his retinue proceeded to a spot ‘just north of the castle gateway’, and once again the standard was raised. The rest, as they say, is history.

One account of this momentous event names the site as the ‘Derry Mount’. However, another account simple describes it as, ‘a flat, round spot on the top of a rocky knoll’. For several years, a wooden post marked the exact spot, until the site changed ownership and it was removed. The location became known as Standard Hill and as the green fields gave way to buildings the site was marked by a plaque commemorating the event.

Was the Derry Mount a prehistoric mound? It is interesting to note that as a place name, Derry is derived from an ancient Gaelic word meaning (sacred) ‘oak grove’ – as with Londonderry or simply Derry in Ireland.

The Deity Mound

A second artificial mound, the Deity Mound, also claims to be the spot where the King raised his standard. J. Holland Walker states: ‘On the site where the old children’s hospital stands was a mysterious mound which was called Deity Mount [sic], and the history of which is obscure. It seems to have been prehistoric in origin, and was not cleared away till the Seventeenth Century.’ The Thoroton map identifies it as the ‘standard raising site’ and locates it around the centre of the ‘ancient camp’, mentioned above.

Caesar’s Tower

All of the sites looked at so far have been outside the precincts of the medieval castle. It is inconceivable that this spectacular site remained vacant until the eleventh century. Is there evidence of occupation before this date? A number of Victorian historians mention a reference to Caesar’s Tower in ‘old documents’, relating to ‘The Treaty of Nottingham’.

The documents tell how, in 867, the Viking army led by the Dane Ivor Ragnarsson – Ivor the Boneless – captured Nottingham in an incursion south from their base in York. The Vikings are said to have taken up residence in ‘a strong tower’ – the remains of a Roman fort – on the summit of Castle Rock.

A year later, the Saxons, led by Ethelred of Wessex and his brother Alfred the Great, besieged Ivor’s forces. The Vikings refused to surrender and, such was the strength of their fortifications, the Saxons were force to make a treaty. The Treaty of Nottingham allowed Ivor to remain in Nottingham in return for making no further raids into the Kingdom of Mercia. A year later, the treaty was broken and the Vikings withdrew back to York.

The Treaty of Nottingham is certainly a well-documented historic event. But what of the part relating to Caesar’s Tower? If this is to be believed, it opens a whole new aspect to Nottingham’s history. Modern historians have tended to largely dismiss this reference as fanciful partly on the grounds that Roman forts do not feature what might be determined as a strong tower. However, there is another kind of Roman building which adequately fits, not only the description but also the location. Could it be that Caesar’s Tower was the remains of a Roman signal station?

A cut-away view of Nottingham’s ridge-line from the east. (Courtesy of the Paul Nix Collection)

These stations consisted of towers of various sizes, fortified by a surrounding wall or bank and ditch. Their purpose was to relay messages using a highly effective telegraph system of flags by day and beacon firers by night. Signal stations are found all over the Empire and there are many examples in Britain. In the third century AD Roman Britain came under the threat of invasion from European Germanic tribes – the Saxons and others. To counter this threat, a series of signal stations were built along the Yorkshire coast. The example illustrated is from Filey. A tower built on Castle Rock, with its commanding views, would have been ideally placed to guard against incursions along the tidal River Trent and quickly summon help from the Roman garrison in Leicester.

BAGGULEY (POSTMAN) AND JOHN MARTYN: ACCIDENTAL DEATH OR MANSLAUGHTER?

John Martyn was the well-known landlord of Ye Lether Bottell public house, which once stood at the corner of Mansfield Road and Forest Lane, formerly Bottle Lane. The inn had been the home and source of income for the Martyn family for several generations.

Outside the inn, close to the centre of the main road, stood an ancient guide stone, then in use as a mounting block. One of Martyn’s ancestors, also a John, had carved an inscription in doggerel verse on the Mansfield side of the stone: ‘John Martyn Stone I am / shows ye great road to Nottingham. 1621.’

Although there was a regular mail coach between Nottingham and Leeds, the post for Mansfield was still delivered on foot by a postman. In the 1790s, the round was the responsibility of veteran letter carrier, 69-year-old John Bagguley. Bagguley would walk from Nottingham to Mansfield carrying the post. On arrival at his destination he would ring a hand bell in the streets to signify his presence. The good folk of the town would gather about him to see if there was a letter for them or to hand him mail that they wished delivered to Nottingham.

The winter of 1796/7 had been hard, and one morning in late February 1797 when Bagguley set out, the snow lay thick on the ground. By the time he reached Seven Mile House, the snow had again begun to fall. On reaching The Hutt, Bagguley was advised to wait until the weather had cleared or turn back. However, he insisted on continuing with his delivery.

As he left the warmth and safety of The Hutt, who can say what was going through the mind of John Bagguley? The greater part of his journey still lay ahead. How long it took him to reach the Lether Bottel we cannot say, but we know that by the time he reached the familiar landmark, the great guide stone was almost covered in snow.

Bagguley was now exhausted and, summoning what was left of his strength, he knocked on the inn door and demanded entry ‘in the King’s name!’ It is said that from an upstairs window, Martyn called back that he should ‘go to hell!’ Bagguley struggled on to a spot around where Mansfield F.C. now stands, before finally collapsing. His frozen corpse was later found, still clutching the mail bag. John Bagguley was buried with much acclaim in Mansfield Churchyard on 1 March 1797.

Bagguley’s death shocked the town and Martyn was summoned to court to answer for his part. However, there was little evidence to convict him of manslaughter and all that the magistrates could do was to deprive the Martyn family of their living by ordering that the inn be closed and that the house never again be granted a licence. At this point in the story, Martyn disappears into the pages of history. In a strange twist, the great guide stone also disappeared from its place in the road. The inn became a private house and passed through many hands. There the story might have ended. When the house was finally demolished, the old stone was found lying in its cellar. The stone proved too large to pass through the cellar’s hatch and was ignominiously broken up.

BOGGART (THE)

A Close Encounter of the ‘Furred’ Kind

This is the story of my encounter with a boggart, although I did not know it as such at the time. I first published this story in the journal of the Northern Earth Mysteries Group, in early 1981. It was picked up by the ufologist Jenny Randels and appeared in the part-work magazine The Unexplained in 1983. In 1989, Paul Devereux used it in support of his theory on the UFO phenomenon, in his book Earth Lights. From then on it quickly passed into modern folklore and now appears on several websites.

In the mid-1960s, Britain was in the grip of UFO fever. Up and down the country there were reports of lights in of sky and other unidentified objects. For several weeks the media reported strange goings-on in the town of Warminster, in Wiltshire. Nottingham too had its fair share of UFO activity. This was a fascination to a boy in his early teens and, together with a group of around ten school friends, we started a UFO club. Well, at least it kept us out of mischief – but it lead to many a strange adventure. The adventure related here happened with two of my fellow club members – whom I will call W and M.

On a fine autumn afternoon my friend W and I walked the mile or so up Chalbury Road to meet with fellow club member M. It was our intention to carry out what is known as a sky watch – looking for U.F.Os. From M’s house, the three of us crossed Woodyard Lane to walk along the north bank of the disused Wollaton canal to the site of the Wollaton Colliery. Here, the old slag heaps line the Canal bank and we thought it would be a good vantage point for our activity.

We spent the next couple of hours scaling and sliding down the heaps and swinging out over the canal on a rope tied to the branch of a tree – always with an eye on the sky. At about four o’clock, as daylight gave way to twilight, we decided – as we had seen no ‘flying saucers’ – to head back to M’s house and perhaps play some records.

At this site, the canal opens into a wide oval basin – a former passing place for the coal barges. Although the canal had been drained, the old bed was still marshy with a small channel of water running down the centre. As we crossed the basin to the opposite south bank, we were aware of a slight ground mist starting to rise within the basin.

Climbing up the wall and bank onto the towpath, we stood watching the mist as it began to thicken. As we watched, a cloud of mist – doughnut shaped, around the size of a fairground dodgem car – formed and rose above the bed to the height of around 4ft. The remaining body of mist, which now covered most of the basin, stayed within inches of the ground.

The cloud began to sparkle with a myriad of tiny pearl-coloured lights which blinked on and off with an incandescent glow. At this point I suggested this was the natural phenomenon known as ‘corpse candles’ or ‘will o’ the wisp’ – the spontaneous combustion of methane gas.

Suddenly, the cloud began to slowly move towards the bank and two balls of light – the size of watermelons and around 2ft and 3ft apart – formed at its centre. In a controlled way, the cloud came to a halt on the towpath around 30ft away.

All around, afternoon was giving way to evening. In the growing darkness the spheres became more obvious, seeming to bob up and down like corks on water. No malevolence appeared to emanate from the cloud, just curiosity. It seemed that we, as observers, where in turn being observed. However, discretion got the better of valour and turning in unison we walked away.

After a few paces curiosity got the better of us and we stopped to look back. To our horror, the cloud had followed us and was now just 20ft away. Panic now set in and we retreated, this time at a jogging pace.

The canal now took a gentle turn and then a straight course to a point where Old Coach Road once crossed via a stone bridge. The bridge had long since disappeared and the road was now carried over the canal on a high bank, which the towpath climbed over on either side.

I had the sudden feeling that the ‘thing’ would not follow us across the road and voiced this fact to my friends. Frequent glances over our shoulders told us that the cloud was keeping pace behind, in fact it was gaining with every step.

Reaching the bank, we turned to see our pursuer was now just a few feet behind us. Seconds later, we mounted the bank and found ourselves looking down on the cloud, which had moved to the foot of the bank.

It seemed that the cloud would not follow us further. With relief, we crossed the road and descended onto the path. Now, with the bank between us, we felt safe to stand and look back. For a few seconds the road above was clear and then slowly the cloud came into view. Now hovering over the road at the top of the bank, ‘it’ was looking down at us!

We took off in full retreat, running in terror, the cloud still gliding effortlessly behind. At the pace we were travelling, it was not long before we reached Wood Yard Lane and the end of this part of the canal.

Here we turned to face our pursuer – now only 6ft away – safe in the knowledge that just across the lane was M’s house. With me in the middle, we stood in silence, like gunfighters waiting for the next move. I broke the spell by taking a step forward and saying, ‘If you are a friend come forward’.

A few seconds’ silence followed as I paused for a response. With my eyes fixed on the swaying orbs I began to say, ‘If you are an enemy –’ My words were cut short as B tapped me on the shoulder and said in my ear, ‘When I say run, run!’ My eyes followed his pointing finger to the hedge on my left.

The boggart on the canal path. (Author’s Illustration)

There, only feet in front of M, silhouetted by the light from the orbs, was the black shape of a hairy figure. Around 6ft tall, its head appeared to be directly on its shoulders, whilst its arms, which were very long, tapered to a single finger. Each of these fingers curved inward around a glowing red rod the size of a pencil. The legs seemed to disappear from around the mid-calf and something of the mist from the cloud swirled around where the feet should have been.

I had absorbed all of this information in seconds, for in an instant B had shouted ‘Run!’ and like an Olympic athlete taken off. I followed with the same turn of speed, leaving M alone, calling out, ‘Can you see it lads? Can you see it?’

M must have quickly realised he was alone and soon caught us up. The other two began to blurt out their experience. I silenced them, saying that we should independently draw what we had seen. It turned out that the three of us drew identical pictures of the cloud, whilst B and I drew almost identical pictures of the figure. Because his attention had been entirely on the cloud, M hadn’t seen the figure.

Years later I was to discover that our encounter had not been with some alien being. The hairy creature fitted the classic description of a class of fairy known as a boggart.

BOOTY (RAYMOND CHARLES), ‘THE FLYING BOOT’

No one can have failed to have noticed the sudden rise in popularity of cycling in all its forms, as both a sport and leisure activity. It cannot be a coincidence that this rise began shortly after Bradley Wiggins’ stunning win of the 2012 Tour de France. But, as they say, for cycling in Britain ‘the best was yet to come!’

The 2012 Olympics and Paralympics saw the greatest ever success for Team Great Britain. Who can forget Sir Christopher (Chris) Hoy’s dominance in the Velodrome? The names of the medal winners, both male and female, have rightly passed into history and their golden legacy is to be treasured.

In July 2013 – the centenary year of the Tour de France – another British cyclist, Chris Froome, repeated Wiggins’ success and won the coveted yellow jersey.

In all sports the success of current athletes can only be built upon the generations who have gone before. For cycling, there is one man’s name that should be written large across the page: the Nottingham-born Raymond (Ray) Charles Booty, aka ‘The Flying Boot’. Sadly, Ray died on 25 August 2012. Given current events it seems an appropriate time to bring his story to a wider audience.

It is said that Ray achieved for road cycling what Sir Roger Bannister did for track-running – as Bannister broke the 4-minute mile record – Ray broke the 100 miles in 4 hours record.

Ray was a road cyclist who began competing in events for the Army Cycling Union during his time in the army and later for Ericsson’s Wheelers Club. Ray proved himself a born road cyclist and endurance rider. He held The Season Long – Best All-Rounder title three times between 1953 and 1957, given for average speeds of 50mph over 100 miles.

In 1954 Ray won the Manx International Road Race and in 1958 a ‘Gold Medal’ in the British and Commonwealth Games’ Road Race in Cardiff. However, Ray’s best achievements came in ‘time trials’ and endurance.

Ray competed in the 100 miles National Championship between 1954 and 1959 and again was Champion for the whole period. He first set the record in 1955 with a time of 4 hours 4 minutes 30 seconds, breaking this in 1956 with a time of 4 hours 1 minute 52 seconds.

On a blazing hot August Bank Holiday Monday – 6 August 1956 – Ray entered the Bath Road event. This was a time trial, out and back over a distance of 100 miles. The course was from Reading through Theale, Pangbourne, Wallingford, Shillingford and Abingdon, returning to Reading via the A4. He had already cycled from Nottingham the day before to take part in the event. The Flying Boot completed the course in an amazing time of 3 hours 58 minutes 28 seconds, beating the future professional rider Stan Brittain by 12 minutes.

With the Bath Road event, Ray had broken the elusive 4-hour barrier. Modern cycling athletes ride purpose-built light-weight cycles – Ray achieved his records riding a Raleigh bicycle with an 84in fixed gear.

On 3 September the same year, The Flying Boot had his chance to beat his 4-hour record. This time he was competing under Road Record Association Rules. This is a straight-out 100-mile trial, which allows competitors to take advantage of tail winds and gradient drop. Ray had also changed his cycle for a machine with Sturmly Archer hub gears. Ray completed the course in a time of 3 hours 28 minutes 40 seconds – a record which was to stand for thirty-four years until it was beaten by Ian Cammish.

The next time you peddle down the road on your bike, think of the achievements of Raymond Charles Booty, The Flying Boot!

CENTRE STONE (THE): WHERE NELL GWYNDROPPED HER LAST HANDKERCHIEF’

On the northern edge of Bestwood Park – once a part of Sherwood Forest – is the site of Bestwood Colliery. Its old engine house still stands as a mute testament to this once thriving pit. Known locally as the miner’s path, the course of an old railway siding leads in a straight line from the colliery into the wooded slopes of the Park. Where the old line terminates at the foot of a steep slope, a modern path climbs further into the park. By the side of this path is an unremarkable ashlar (worked stone) known as the ‘Centre Stone’.

The stone is roughly 2ft by 1ft and protrudes from the ground to around 2ft – although this may be the top of a much larger stone and further investigation is needed. It may be an ancient boundary stone or guide stone, like others found in the forest around Blidworth. However, the name suggests that it marks the centre of something. It is unlikely that it marks the centre of the estate as it does not appear to be in the correct position. It is more likely to have been the centre stone in a row or line of stones.

Although it does not appear in any history or on any map, the Centre Stone makes an appearance in local folklore. If local legend is to be believed, it played its part in the story of how Charles Beauclerk, the son of Charles II and Nell Gwynn, acquired the Bestwood Estate as the seat of the Dukes of St Albans. It is said to have been on the top of this stone that Nell dropped the last of a series of handkerchiefs on her perambulation of the boundaries of Bestwood Park. This legend suggests that the stone pre-dates the reign of Charles II (1630–1685). As there is no historical basis for Nell’s exploits, could it be that the handkerchief-dropping story also pre-dates Charles’s era and refers to an ancient boundary custom?

DIABOLICAL MISSILES:‘A BATTLE BETWEEN CHRISTIANITY AND PAGANISM’

The folklore of Britain is full of stories of the Devil, like some petulant child, throwing stones. His intended target is usually a Christian edifice. In most cases, these satanic missiles miss their target and land – with varying degrees of accuracy – harmlessly in the landscape. Here, they remain, proudly shown by generations of locals, as evidence of victory over the Devil.

Reasons for the Devil’s attack vary, but most common are his indignation at the building of a new church or that he is offended by the sound of the church bells. One of the reasons why church bells are rung, other than to summon parishioners to service, is to ward off evil spirits

It is widely accepted by folklorists that such stories derive from the conflict between the early Christian Church and the native pagan religion it supplanted. Before the advent of the science of geology, these legends also served to explain the presence of such stones within the landscape.

The diabolic missiles generally fall into three categories: natural rock outcrops of local stone; ‘glacial erratics’, non-native stones deposited by retreating glaciers at the end of the last Ice Age 10,000 years ago; and ‘worked stones’ such as the remains of an ancient cross or a prehistoric monolith.

A number of counties have their examples of a diabolic missile, but Nottinghamshire is unique in possessing three. Chief of these is the Hemlock Stone at Bramcote which falls into the first category. The other examples, at Hickling and Kinoulton, are both glacial erratics.

The Hemlock Stone Legend