A Chapter from ‘The Chisper Effect’
While I was down Somerset on my search for the mysterious Mr WH, I took the opportunity to drive deeper into the West Country on another research mission. I would be travelling to its very tip, the Penwith peninsula of Cornwall, which tapers out at Lands End & into the wild & vasty waters of the Atlantic Ocean
My research would be centr’d upon my further studies into the Picto-Saami relationship, out of which I had come to the conclusion that the Picts had, at one point, inhabited Cornwall, if not the entirity of the British Isles. It makes sense really: the ‘Corn’ element of Cornwall is also present in Ptolemy’s ‘Cornavii,’ whose tribal demense c.150 AD constituted the far north of Scotland, in present-day Sutherland & Caithness. Pure Pictish country.
The case begins with the oldest record of living Britons we possess, drawn from a text, ‘On the Hyperboreans,’ created by Hecateus of Abdera, c.350 BC. The whole work is lost to modernity, alas, but fragments do remain; embodied in the works of later authors, such as the following extracts by Diodorus Siculus.
An Island off the Coast of Britain
“Hecataeus and certain others say that in the regions beyond the land of the Celts there lies in the ocean an island no smaller than Sicily. This island, the account continues, is situated in the north and is inhabited by the Hyperboreans, who are called by that name because their home is beyond the point whence the north wind (Boreas) blows; and the island is both fertile and productive of every crop, and since it has an unusually temperate climate it produces two harvests each year.”
Of the two possible large islands off the coast of Europe, we are fac’d with a choice of either Britain or Ireland.
The Partying Picts
“Moreover, the following legend is told concerning it: Leto was born on this island, and for that reason Apollo is honoured among them above all other gods; and the inhabitants are looked upon as priests of Apollo, after a manner, since daily they praise this god continuously in song and honour him exceedingly. And there is also on the island both a magnificent sacred precinct of Apollo and a notable temple which is adorned with many votive offerings and is spherical in shape. Furthermore, a city is there which is sacred to this god, and the majority of its inhabitants are players on the cithara; and these continually play on this instrument in the temple and sing hymns of praise to the god, glorifying his deeds.”
It is this passage which points us towards the etymology of the Picts thesmelves. The name they were known as by the Romans, Picti, was connected to the pictorial tattooed images worn by the Picts. This is actually a factochisp, for the correct etymology begins with the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. In this text, the Picts are describ’d as calling themselves Pehtas, Pihtas or Pyhtas, all variants of the same principle phonetic.
In Proto-Finnic, ‘pito’ is the word for feast & banquet, while in Estonian, ‘pidu’ means party, celebration, social gathering – a generally festive coming together of the tribe. These two names clearly resonate with the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle’s names for the Picts – Pehta/Pihta/Pyhta. Therefore, when Hecateus says the Hyperboreans of Britain spent all day, every day, in religious festivity, this connects with the Uralic meaning of the word pehta-pito.This divine state of being was also refer’d to by Pindar;
But neither on foot nor by sea could you discover
the fabulous way to the gathering of the Hyperboreans.
Apollo always takes special delight in their feasts and
worship,
and laughs to see the beasts’ upright arrogance.
Nor is the Muse a stranger to their customs: everywhere
maidens whirl in the dance to the loud lyre and the pipes’
strident voice.
At their merry feasts they bind golden laurel in their hair;
disease has no place among that holy people, nor ruinous
old age,
but they live without toil or battle, avoiding Nemesis’ severe
judgement
The Year of Meton
“The account is also given that {Apollo} visits the island every nineteen years, the period in which the return of the stars to the same place in the heavens is accomplished; and for this reason the nineteen-year period is called by the Greeks the “year of Meton.” At the time of this appearance of the god he both plays on the cithara and dances continuously the night through from the vernal equinox until the rising of the Pleiades, expressing in this manner his delight in his successes. And the kings of this city and the supervisors of the sacred precinct are called Boreadae, since they are descendants of Boreas, and the succession to these positions is always kept in their family”
It is a mention of the “year of Meton” & the earlier ‘magnificent sacred precinct of Apollo and a notable temple which is adorned with many votive offerings and is spherical in shape”, that help’d me hone in on Penwith. That one wee corner of Britain is remarkable for the number of ancient sites, including several stone circles with 19 stones, a number which corresponds with the “year of Meton.” The Metonic Cycle is such that every 19 years, that is to say 235 synodic months, the full moon returns back to exactly the same place in the night sky.
As I started to keyboard warrior my way thro’ Penwith’s ancient history, I came across the Boleigh Fogou man, an image which immediately resonated with me as a likeness for Bieggolmai. The rais’d arms, the paddles, the similar etymology – it was simply fascinating to see. a visit to the Boleigh Fogou would be my chief reason for visiting Cornwall, & not one shy of asking locals for help, I posted the following on St Buryan’s main village facegroup book
April 1st 2026
Hello (briefly) St Buryan – I’m a poet/historical researcher from Burnley, living on the Isle of Arran in Scotland. I’ve been working on the Pictish symbols up north & found connections between one of them & the Saami (Lapland) God of the wind, Bieggolmai. I’ve also found the same image in Hungary (on the vase), 5000 BC, & also the Boleigh Fogou down your way. There’s more reasons why the Boleigh image represents the God of the Wind, not just the image; but anyway, I’ll be coming down to check it out, about the 10th April.
How do I gain acces the fogou itself? Also, if anyone wants to show me about the rest of your ancient ritual landscape, all those stone circles & stuff, via the best pub, I’d be more than happy to be help’d
DE
Hey Damo, i work at Rosemerryn, if you send an email, its best, as its more reliable than their phone. The main house is a holiday and retreat house, so you’ll have to arrange with a member of the team for a visit on a change over day. Enjoy! Its a beauty. The chap on the stone is incredibly hard to make out now though. There is an ancient episode of Time Team on you tube where they talk about that stone, I think.
Damo Beeson Bullen
Thanks I will contact them
My journey to see the Boleigh Fogou began on foot from Castle Cary, heading in the direction of North Cadbury once more. Passing thro’ that idyllic Englisg gem of a village, I then reach’d its sister conurbation, South Cadbury, in order to camp on the imposing Iron Age hillfort which towers over the area. My first choice of pitch went up, then down like a lead balloon. The local landowner stomping up to me with an about-to-explode head saying it wasn’t allow’d. I knew that I wasn’t on Scottish soil anymore, where wild camping is positively encourag’d for the physical well-being of the people, I was in England where rules establish’d by the Norman conquerors a thousand years ago still held sway.
Being polite of soul I moved my tent to one of the deep trenches that defended the hillfort, & relax’d with a fine panarama, under a deep orange sunset, into which Glastonbury Tor stitch’d an evocative sillouhette. This was pure King Arthur country, with local folklore at least as old as the 16th century claiming South Cadbury as Camelot. In 1542, the antiquarian John Leland, wrote that:-
“…At the very south end of the church of South-Cadbury standeth Camallate, sometime a famous town or castle…. The people can tell nothing there but that they have heard say Arthur much resorted to Camalat…”
In another book, The Matter of Britain, I shall elaborate more, but back in this book, I spent a pleasant first night’s sleep under canvas in my £20 argos tent. As is my wont, I awoke before dawn, & set off hiking thro’ the dark towards Ilchester. In the waking light of day I pass’d the impressive looking Royal Naval airforce museum at Yeovilton, before hopping on a bus to Taunton, the county-town of Somerset, about 8 in the morning.
I arriv’d in Taunton just over an hour later, a fine place enough to spend a full day in before my late evening pre-book’d bus to Truro, in Cornwall. First up was a trip to the local homeless food place – I was doing this trip on Universal Credit, remember, & every penny counts. It was a wonderfully cook’d full breakfast serv’d up by ladies of a certain age & conscience, & was attended by your usual roll-call of alcoholics, junkies & foreign workers. Down & Out in Taunton & Truro!
With a full belly it was time to hit the County Archives, in which place I discover’d quite ecstatically the potential Matthew Saunders referr’d to in this book’s Mr WH chapter. After this, my poet’s soul pilgrimag’d itself to the Unitarian Chapel in Mary Street, to where in, the spring of 1798, the great Romantic Poet, Samuel Taylor would walk the 16 miles from his home in Nether Stowey to preach sermons.
While in Taunton, I found time to visit its excellent museum, in which place I dress’d up as a British army soldier of the Somerset regiment in the era of the Zulu Wars. Sooo – much fun. A visit to the site of Islandwhana, where the Zulus massacr’d the British, is one of my life priorities, & being in the actual uniform of the time reminded me of my need to one day walk its blood-soak’d soil.
Catching my bus on the edge of Taunton, I was deposited several hours later, & just after midnight, in Truro, the county town of Cornwall. A kebab shop was open, just, so buying some supper I climb’d into the town’s well-manicured Victoria Gardens, & bedded down for the night. It wasn’t raining, & wanting to remain inconspicuous, I merely slept on the flatten’d tent, rather than in it.
The next morning I was away on a little English bus. The country had capp’d its single bus fares nationwide at £3, wherever the destination, & this day mine was to be St Ives, on the northern coast of Cornwall. What a delightful place, full of shops, ships & the sea, & it is no wonder the place is a popular tourist destination.
Before moving on I spent a wee while in the town’s local library, where I began looking at William Bottrell’s; ‘Traditions and Hearthside Stories of West Cornwall, Vol. 1 (1870)’. The book is collection made by Bottrel of the fireside legends, local superstitions and everyday lore of West Cornwall, & one of the stories caught my attention immediately – that of the Bucca.
B i eggo lmai
B ucca
According to Bottrel, in villages near the Boleigh Fogou, Newlyn & Mousehole, the local fisherman believ’d in a wind deity call’d the Bucca. The connections between their worship of the Bucca, & the Saami worship of Beigeollmai were seriously solid.
(i) A southern Sámi variant of Bieggolmai’s name, Biegkålmaj, gives us the harder sounding ‘k’.
(ii) Both deities, or to be more accurate, personifications of the wind, were given ritual offerings, whether to appease a storm or to ask for fair winds.
(iii) The Bucca had two forms: Bucca Gwidden – a benevolent spirit bringing fair winds and good fishing, & Bucca Dhu – a dark spirit bringing storms, bad winds, and shipwrecks. Such a ‘good cop, bad cop,’ vibe also exists in the Saami tradition. In 1691, a Saami shaman, Anders Pålsson, while explaining the symbols on his drum, describes deities extremely similar to Bucca Gwidden & Bucca Dhu.
In the first row stands, as he now confessed to have made the drum himself:
1[.] [An] image of a person, which he calls Ilmaris, that is storm and ill weather. When he prays to God, then the same shall contain and call back its ill weather. He can also make ill weather, but it is a sin to ask for that.
- An image of a person, which he calls Diermis, that is thunder. When God is prayed to, Diermis helps when it is flood weather with much rain, then he calls that weather back again. This Diermis does not have any power until God allows him. He now also confessed that Ilmaris can make evil and ill weather to harm ships and boats, but Diermis can make good weather again, and prevent the evil, when he is allowed so by God.
I left St Ives on foot, walking several miles thro a really wild-looking region, shorn of trees – its a landscape very reminiscent of Malta. You can tell that this promontorial edge of Britain has really been batter’d by the incoming Atlantic over its many ages, & the wind was really bloody strong. If this was a place where Bieggolmai was worshipp’d in ancient times, I could definitely see why!
As I walk’d along the coast from St Ives, the first point of interest on my walk was the hamlet of Zennor, in whose church I got my first historical hit. It came via the image of a mermaid which has remarkable similarities to the image of mermaid us’d as a symbol by the Picts. The first is at Meigle in Scotland, on a Pictish stone, while the Zennor Mermaid, carv’d into a chair in the 16th century. Alright, there’s a thousand years between the two images, but they do seem to share a folk memory of a much older depiction of mermaids. Seeing such a correspondence, especially with the arms, reaffirm’d to me that it was OK to chase ancient ghosts & hike commando style on the wind-swept edges of Britain – for fun!
Back on the road I began to make out a large, canary yellow house. It turn’d out to be the Gurnard’ Head, a fabulous old inn which still offers safety & succor to those who visit the region. I avail’d myself of the chance to have a pint, some food, banter with fellow travellers & charge my phone.
Towards dusk I headed awat from the coast & off into the rough hinterland in search of my first stone circle of the tour. It was tough going at first – one of those moments when the paths on the map don’t seem to exist anymore. Eventuallu, but, after hacking my way thro’ deep thorny brush & scrambling over many a dry-stone wall, all of a sudden, & on ascending a gentle slope, away in front of me & to my left I could see several tall stones.
This was Boskednan stone circle, my first ancient site in Penwith, & I set my tent up in the circle itself, in protest of the Norman conquest. A little further away was a point from which the views to the south were stunning, especially St Michael’s Mount punching Arthurian gauntlet from the waves.
It was sit on a ridge, basking in the windy sunset, that I made contact with Palden Jenkins via facebook messenger. A woman had given me his name via the St Buryans facebook page, as somebody steep’d in the area’s ancient history. He also lived close to a village call’d St Just, which I was rapidly approaching, & so I was happy to have him ping back a reply quite quickly. A plan was soon form’d to go see him the following morning for a chat,& I was presented with the address of the farm he was living on.
That night my tent became a big bag of blustery breezes, but being a fan of silicone earplugs, I slept off soundly a long day’s travelling. By the next morning, the rain had join’d the wind, & so I waited & waited for a brief lull in the Atlantic shnizzle to pack up my tent without all my stuff getting too wet. Eventually it came, & I was up & away in about seven minutes flat on the walk to see Palden Jenkins.
An hour or so later I had reach’d the farm where Palden liv’d. Knocking on a door of a young woman with a shock of hippy-red hair, I was promptly directed to Palden’s pad; a bedsitter of sorts with perfect views of Penwith. I knock’d, & he was at home, a handsome looking man somewhere in his 70s. ‘Mate’, I said, ‘I need a brew & the ability to dry my clothes, please.’ Demanding, yeah, but our auras were getting on fine.
Palden possesses a very special mind & soul, completely druidically attun’d to the magic of Penwith, & much more of ancient British history. He had led a rich life, including being at the actual Bloody Sunday massacre in Northern Ireland, where he had been a protestor for civil rights – an Englishman being shot at by Englishmen
During our happy, tea-assisted conversations I was interested very much in the way he describ’d Britain pre-1200 BC as a peaceful, religious place, only to be follow’d by the arrival of the war chiefs. ‘Sounds a bit like the Trojans,’ I conjectur’d.
Palden also explain’d to me about the Minnessotta Bronze fields, which I mention’d in the Tomb of Kronos chapter, but had known nothing about previous to meeting Palden. All of a sudden, in that room in Cornwall, the Bronze road of the Hysos empire open’d up fully in my mind – trade emporiums peperring the coast from the Near East, thro’ Cyprus, the Pillars of Hercules, Corunna, Brittany, & then the waters between Ireland & Britain, before opening up into the atlantic swells for the crossing to America. Palden also mention’d an obscure find some time ago of a green mineral deposit that could only have come from Minnesota. The British museum was in shock, I believe, but what happend to the mineral Palden didnt know. A cursary check on the internet by myself turn’d nothing up – so to find out what eactually happen’d is for another case in another book.
Unfortunately, Palden has been striken with a rare blood cancer, & after a while he began to get tired of my ‘excited-to-be-there’ energy, but we parted in fine spirits & I promis’d to return one day to continue our informative, erudite, & entertaining conversation. I had learnd many new things, including the fact there was a fairly cheap campsite at St Just rugby club, & wth the weather not really showing much sign of improvement, nor intending to for the rest of the day I set off walking there in earnest.
I reach’d St Just Rugby Club about midday, where for only £8 a night one has access to the club’s changing facility, which meant hot showers. With the club also having wifi & a bar with beers less than a fiver, I thought to myself this’ll do, & paid my £8.
It was a Saturday, but the team was playing away, so the place was relatively quite. The club is situated in a very scenic setting, with huge trees towering over the pitch, & the village of St Just perch’d upon a ridge beyond those. The path up to the ridge is steep, but not to far a distance, & I was soon spilling breathless into the heart of the village itself: a lovely civic square, around which several pubs hustl’d togther to catch each others’ revellers as they fell out, drunk, from the doors. A Cornish, alcoholic carousel.
I took it on myself to hunt down one of Penwith’s unique underground ‘fogous’. The one at Boleigh, where I was headed, was one of many in the area, but there was one near St Just, so I had a reason to explore a little more.
I set off walking north along the coast, passing sprawling areas of old tin-mine works, all erected high above the atlantic surf – it really was a scenic sensation to be there. Apparently, the best tin was under the ocean, & so the mine-shafts started at the edge of the coast.
As for the fogou, on getting closer to its location I asked a guy in his own garden for directions. This was trevor, a cheeky chap in his eighties who still thinks he’s a ladies man. “Hold no there, boy,” he said, & moments late had turn’d up in his car & was driving me to a nearby farm, once home Sr William Borlase, a famous Cornish antiquary & custodian of the Cornish tongue. a plaque on the farmhouse reads;
Dr William Borlase
1696-1772
Rector of Ludgvan
Vicar of St just
Antiquary and Naturalist
Greatest of Cornish Scholars
As for visiting the fogou, a herd of about 30 cows were sat slam-dunk at the entrance, so I refrain’d from disturbing them & just return’d to car, much to Trevor’s chagrin. “Why didn’t you move the cow’s!” he blustered – “I’m not moving 30 fucking cows, Trev,” I replied.
Back on the road, Trevor was driving to Just for a pint, so I accepted his offer of a lift with appreciation & we departed from each others’ company as firm new friends – him to the pub, & me to the co-op, for wine & smokes – it was time to realx & have a bit of holiday-time. This energy led me later in the evening to the star inn & its singalonga crowd – whiping up a hootenenay like any good pub on the celtic fringes.
Walking home, tipsy as a toad, I thought to myself it had been a very fine day indeed!
Moring came, tent was pack’d & I was ready for a day walking between Penwith’s ancient sites in seach of the ‘spherical temple’ of the hyperboreans. As soon as I reach’d Caer Bran, I knew I’d found it. This was a large, round, rais’d embankment of a place, whose welcome board read as follows;
Dynnargh dhe ger Bran
About 4000 years ago, in the Bronze Age, people built three mysterious stone rings (called cairns) at teh top of the hill & surrounded them with a circular stone bank. They may have carried out rituals & ceremonies here.
Standing at Caer Bran, i fell in love with the sweeping 360 degree panoramal circuit, which attested to it being a site of some importance. It made sense this was the ‘Spherical Temple’ & not the smalle stone circles of the area. There was also a very easy to spot philochisp.
Hyper B o re an
B ra n
Likewise, the neighbouring hamlet was Brane, while spire-topped St Buryans lay to the south like a village on an 18th century Europen battlefield.
As I was sat on Caer Bran, with some serendipity I receiv’d a messenger pink from Palden, who had sent me a pdf of a small paper he had written only the previous year about Caer Bran itself. Here follows the main takeaways as regards to my own investogation.
About Caer Brân
A Bronze Age gathering place
in West Penwith, Cornwall
Palden Jenkins, June 2025
Recently I was at Caer Brân (pronounced Ker Brayne) on a Belerion Project field trip. Nowadayspartially disabled, I hadn’t been there for years, even though, when I look out of my window from my desk, it’s on the ridge over the valley, less than a mile away. So I gaze at it a lot.
In former years I had come to the idea that, in the Mid-Bronze Age, Caer Brân served as a kind of parliament site for the whole of Penwith. This came to me after news came out some years ago about a circular enclosure, found using LIDAR scanning, on the cliffs at Pordenack Point, just south of Land’s End. This revealed something: Pordenack, Caer Brân and Castle an Dinas, three circular enclosures, were built in a straight line, oriented to the summer solstice sunrise. This suddenly gave these three sites a lot more significance than had been seen previously.
It seems that the landscape positioning of Caer Brân matters more: there’s a strong visual connection with other key sites in Penwith and beyond, including Scilly, the Lizard and Carn Brea near Redruth. It has a wide, thirty-mile panorama.
Very noticeable are the sightlines from Caer Brân to Neolithic sites which, at the time of Caer Brân’s building, would themselves have been regarded as ancient – about 1,800 years older than Caer Brân.
All of Penwith’s Neolithic sites are visible except Trencrom Hill. Carn Kenidjack and Carn Galva poke above the horizon as if placed there by an enormous geological chess-player’s hand; Carn Brea is distant yet prominent; St Michael’s Mount sits resplendently down in Mount’s Bay. The Isles of Scilly hover in the gap between Chapel Carn Brea and Bartinney Castle. So visual connectedness with other sites was clearly important. Caer Brân is not prominently visible from these sites – it’s a one-way visibility.
The enclosure uphill on Bartinney Castle was clearly ceremonial and magical, but I believe Caer Brân was mainly social in character and purpose. These two adjacent sites, hardly a mile apart, formed a pair – Bartinney more spiritual and Caer Brân more worldly. During their moots, people assembled at Caer Brân probably trooped up to Bartinney for the spiritual high point of their gatherings, or to seal the deal.
Sancreed Beacon, Caer Brân and Bartinney, arrayed along a ridge, were part of a local landscape temple also comprising Botrea Hill,
Chapel Carn Brea and Boscawen-ûn. This ridge seems to act as a kind of fulcrum for the whole of Penwith, and Chapel Carn Brea, Botrea Hill and Boscawen-ûn anchor and stabilise it on either side. This is all about a geomantic quality we could call ‘perceptual centrality’ – the feeling that you’re standing at the centre of everything. This is common at many ancient sites: a subtle sense of emphasised hereness and nowness that is one of their key psycho-spiritual effects.
So this has been a study of a site that is, I believe, underestimated in its significance and importance. It is very central in Penwith, and its main remains are simply a circular embankment in a prominent hilltop place. But I suggest that it was the place where people periodically assembled to discuss and sort out tribal matters concerning the whole of Penwith. And if not this, then what?
My answer to Palden’s closing question would be, of course, it was the spherical temple of the Hyperboreans. Contuining my own investigation, then, I dropp’d from Caer Bran & cross-countried myself thro’ field & farm to nearby caer euny, a spectaculur Iron Age roundhouse settlement of about a dozen interconnected dwellings. In the middle of it all was the first actual fogou I could explore, a weird twisting tunnel of a thing that could well be connected to the worship of a wind deity. Fogous often have a cool draft or airflow, which is naturally noticeable in underground passages, as if the wind itself was breathing thro’ the tunnels.
A little way from Euny & Bran, on a height above the area, is Bartinney castle. On the hilltop are the remains of a circular bank, about 250 feet across, and an encircling ditch. According to some interente researc, there are suggestions the site could have been a sacred enclosure or Plen an Gwarry, which was a type of amphitheatre with rows of stone seats where feast days or fire festivals were held.
Bar ti nny
Bor ae dea
There is a proper babelwood thriving in this area, with the Boreans & the Borudea ‘trees’ growing a stone’s throw apart. It is natiral, then, to imagine Bartinney as the sacred city of the Hyperboreans, as stated by Hecateus;
A city is there which is sacred to {Apollo}, and the majority of its inhabitants are players on the cithara; and these continually play on this instrument in the temple and sing hymns of praise to the god, glorifying his deeds… And the kings of this city and the supervisors of the sacred precinct are called Boreadae, since they are descendants of Boreas, and the succession to these positions is always kept in their family
The kingly Boreadae present us with another solid link to the Picts, whom as we have seen we ruled post Trojan conquest by 28 Brudes. That these were either a name, or a name prefix’d by ‘gur’, which means ‘son of,’ connects Hecateus of abdera’s ‘succession to these positions is always kept in their family.’
As the god Apollo was the worshipp’d Hyperboreans of Britain, the same god was also held in the highest veneration by the Trojans. In the 13th century BC Hattusa letters I show’d elsewhere in this book, in which appear the Iliadic Trojans, Priam & Alexandros, there is a treaty between the Hittites & Troy guaranteed by a god named Apaliunas, ie Apollo. Elsewhere, & in the Iliad itself, the Trojan princess Cassandra is a prophetess dedicated to Apollo, while the God himself is depicted as siding with the Trojans, & even sends plagues to weaken the Greek army.
For me, it certainly feels that after conquering Britain, it is the Trojans who introduc’d an Apollo-based system of worship to the Hyperboreans. As the centuries progress’d, the notion is well illustrated via the Hecateus of Abdera’s account of the British Hyperboreans. Then, in the wake of the Celtic invasions of Britain, the Hyperboreans were push’d north, taking their religion, & leadership with them.
Back in Cornwall, 2026, I left Caer Euny in the direction of St Buryans, pausing my pedestrian yomp for a while at Boscawen-un’s circle of standing stones, with its interesting leaning central quartz stone, as oppos’d to the other 18 granite stones. Its position in the southwest may indicate the likely direction of the sun as it moves south after All Souls’ Day – November 1st. This date is more or less that of when the Pleiades first become visible in the night skies of the Northern Hemisphere, matching Hecateus’s ‘from the vernal equinox until the rising of the Pleiades.’
Of the circle’s national & cultural importance, William Bottrell
records, in 1873;
The circle at Boscawen On, in the higher side of the parish, is invested with a peculiar interest, from the fact of the opinion held by Dr. Borlase that these circles were places of council of judgment, has been confirmed by an old Welsh triad, which makes this place still more remarkable by naming it as one of the three Gorsedds, or places of judgment for poetry and bardic minstrelsy. This valuable relict of Welsh poetry, as translated by the eminent Welsh scholar, the late Rev. Thomas Price, is in English:— “The three Gorsedds of Poetry of the Island of Britain; the Gorsedd of Boscawen Damnonium; (Damnonium included Cornwall and great part of Devon;) the Gorsedd of Salisbury, in England; and the Gorsedd of Bryn Gwyddon in Wales
It was now time for a pint, & I finally made my way into the largeish village of St Buryans, an experience of which I reported to the locals via their facebook group.
April 10th, 2026
Thats me just about to leave your area – having a coffee at Lamorna Pottery. I had a nice warm hour at St Buryan Inn with a pint, resting my feet listening quite intensely to the local gossip – quite a village you have here – a pub, a post office, a coffee shop, & a cake shop – “how many other villages can say that”! Also took a book from your book exchange, which is perfect for my ongoing studies – thanks for that
Anyway – this is what I’ve realised by walking the landscape. Caer Bran, Brane, & St Buryan are all based on the Borean phonetic – the city & sacred precinct mention’d by Hecateus of Abdera would be in that area. There’s evidence of timber houses pre-dating the stone ones at Carn Euny, for example – who knows how extensive that area really was, the post holes will be deep.
Hecateus of Abdera mentioned that the Hyperboreans were administer’d by priests call’d Borudae, whose etymology is found at Bartinney Hill, right by Caer Bran, etc.
Bor u dae
Bar ti nney
Now, to your village, St Buryan. I don’t think it’s named after the Irish saint, Buriana. There is a clear phonetical match here to the ‘descendants of Boreas’ – ie boreans – who ran the sacred complex, & the matter of the village being named after a saint is easily explain’d by the fact that Buriana actually means ‘woman from Buryan.’
Thank’s for having us !
JW
I read your previous posts and immediately thought of Caer Bran and Grumbla Cromlech (not sure if that’s how you spell it) on the lower edge. I believe it’s thought to be extremely ancient. It’s all so fascinating, thank you!
Me
Judith Walker you’re welcome- im as fascinated as you – Penwith holds the key to some wider understanding of Bronze/Iron Age migrations, religions, all sorts
KG
Thanks for sharing.
Buying the nights supplies from the village shop, I march’d south a little more to the Merry Maidens, the second stone circle I would be spleeping in within 3 my nights traipse about Penwith. I ritually counted the stones again, another ‘Year of the Meton’ 19 of course. The Merry Maidens are also called Dawn’s Men, which is likely to be a corruption of the Cornish ‘Dans Maen,’ or Stone Dance. The local myth about the creation of the stones suggests that nineteen maidens were turned into stone as punishment for dancing on a Sunday, but I’d say the legend instead woudl hace come from a folk memory of the dancing Hyperboreans. In West Penwith there are another four stone circles, such as the one at Tregeseal, whose Cornish name, Meyn an Dons, means the ‘Stones of the Dance.’ All of these circles have, or had, nineteen stones, reaffirming the metonic nature of the area’s ancient modes of worship.
Near to the the Merry Maidens are two 3-metre-high standing stones call’d, ‘The Pipers,’ the largest surviving standing stones in Cornwall. That they have something to do with the festive celebrations of the Hyperboreans led, I suggest, to the modern legend that the two stones are the petrified remains of musicians who play’d for the dancers at the stone circles.
That night I again slept soundly in the ambience of my dreams, & the next morning my living dreams were to be fulfill’d. I was only a mile or so away from the Boleigh fogou, but awoken well before my 10 AM appointment time. It also began to rain heavily, but I managed to fnd a scruffy farm outhouse building & kept dry in there, flicking through farming machinery magazines from the 1970s & 1980s, which kept me surprisingly entertain’d.
At 10 AM I was met for my appointment by a lovely woman, who showd me the fogou in the gardens of Rosemerryn, which lies in the middle of an ancient settlement of huts that once covered 3 acres and was surrounded by a defensive ring. At the west jamb of the entrance to the fogou, there is a a really faded image of the man which had been so clear on the internet. In 2026, the image is barely visible, but once you know what to look for, it is easy to spot. my host told me it is thought that the image was situated elsewhere previously, & moved to Boleigh at some point – with its weathering indicating a great antiquity.
“That feels like 350 BC,” I replied.
With that, my Hyperborean case was ready to be closed shut. I concluded safelt that the god of the wind was once worshipp’d here, remember’d long into modernity via the bucca of nearby Newlyn & Mousehole, while the sphercial temple would have been Caer Bran. My mission had been a complete success, & walking in the direction of Penzance, just as it was beginning to chuck it down with rain, a black mini pull’d up right beside me, contianing three bonnie lassies fresh from a sauna somewhere in Penwith. making room for me & my bags we were soon zooming off to Penzance, ‘the best place in the world’, they told me, & with having drawn such a satisfactory conclusion in the case – I couldn’t help but agree.
The Hyperborean Diaspora
The Hyperboreans also have a language, we informed, which is peculiar to them, and are most friendly disposed towards the Greeks, and especially towards the Athenians and the Delians, who have inherited this good-will from most ancient times.
Hecateus of Abdera is here describes what should be the Proto-Uralic language of the Picto-Saami. The following shows how the Hyperboreans first came to Britain
(i) The Followers of Nemed
It is within the pages of the medieval Irish histories that the British people are provided with the earliest account of any foreign settlement of their islands. According to the Lebor Gabala Eren, the ‘Book of Invasions’, a Bronze Age migration group, led by a figure call’d Nemed, left Central Asia by crossing the Caspian Sea, & would eventually find a new home in far-away Ireland.
Now Ireland was waste thereafter, for a space of thirty years after Partholon, till Nemed son of Agnomain of the Greeks of Scythia came thither, with his four chieftains; [they were the four sons of Nemed]. Forty-four ships had he on the Caspian Sea for a year and a half, but his ship alone reached Ireland. These are the four chieftains, Starn, Iarbonel the Soothsayer, Annind, and Fergus Red-Side: they were the four sons of Nemed
The Book of Invasions tells us that, after several battles in Ireland against a tribal group known as the Formorians, ‘Nemed’s people were killed in warfare and disaster’. Following this defeat, the remnants of Nemed’s forces retreated from Ireland, & scatter’d in several directions, among which refugees we observe;
As for Fergus Red-Side and his son, Britain Mael of whom are all the Britons in the world, they took Moin Conain {Anglesey} and filled with their progeny the great island, Britannia Insula
Matach and Erglan and Iartach, the three sons of Beoan, went to Dobar and Iardobar in the north of Alba Ibath and his son Baath went into the north of the world
Dating these events to approximately 1500 BC, we can say that a migration group from the Caspian area have now officially enter’d Britain – some landing in Anglesey, & others in the ‘north of Alba’, ‘Dobar and Iardobar’ – probably the outher hebrides islands
A related group went even further, settling towards the Arctic;
With Nemed, etc, heralding from the Caspian area, then there is a good chance they were speaking an early version of ProtoUralic, named this after the Ural mountain range, not too far from the Caspian Sea itself.
(ii) Hyperboreans & the Uralic Language
By modernity, the Uralic family of languages has become spread mainly across North-western Eurasia, with a separate, & long detach’d, pocket down in Hungary. Those regions are as follows;
Sámi
Hungarian
Finnish
Estonian
Erzya, Moksha, Mari, Udmurt, Karelian and Komi (European
parts of the Russian Federation)
Livonian (northern Latvia)
Mansi and Khanty (Western Siberia)
In each of the regions where Uralic is spoken today, Classical historians generally plac’d a tribal group known as the Hyperboreans. According to Diodorus Siculus (quoting Hecateus of Abdera), these peoples spoke ‘a language, we are informed, which is peculiar to them.’ This ‘peculiar’ nature of the Hyperborean language should be attributed to the fact that the Uralic family of languages are, in nature, quite distinct from Indo-Aryan, a language family which makes up the lion’s share of the western Eurasian languages.
We get an idea of the size & span of the Hyperborean territories in Classical times from Solinus, whose, ‘Polyhistor’, situated in both central Asia & Europe.
Some consider them to reside in Asia rather than in Europe, and believe that they occupy the space midway between the setting of the Antipodean sun and the rising of our sun. Logic refutes this theory, as there is such a vast sea surging between the two worlds. The Hyperboreans, therefore, are to be placed in Europe
With a wider diaspora in mind, let us now look at the areas
where Uralic is spoken today, & see how they correlate to the
statements of classical historians as to the regions in which the
Hyperboreans once dwelt.
Just to the south of Lithuania (Livonian)
Lytarmis, a promontory of Celtica (Pliny)
The place-name ‘Lytarmis’ transchispers to Lithuania, in which
case the ‘promontory of Celtica’ would be Courland.
North of Thrace (Hungarian)
{the wild olive} is said to have been introduced into Greece
by Heracles from the land of the Hyperboreans, men living
beyond the home of the North Wind (Pausanius)
When Pausanius describes, ‘the land of the Hyperboreans,
men living beyond the home of Boreas’, he is describing a
place somewhere to the north of Thrace, for this was the
region in which numerous classical authors plac’d Boreas, the
God of the North wind, as in;
Even as two winds stir up the teeming deep, the North
Wind and the West Wind that blow from Thrace
(Homer)
Headwaters of the Danube River (Hungarian)
The olive which once the son of Amphitryon brought from
the shady springs of the Danube, to be the most beautiful
memorial of the Olympian contests, when he had
persuaded the Hyperborean people, the servants of Apollo,
with speech
(Pindar)
The ‘shady springs’ of the Danube lead us to that river’s source
at Donaueschingen, in Germany’s Black Forest, near the Swiss
Border. From these headwaters the great River flows thro’
the heartlands of the Uralic speaking Hungarians.
This image was found on a vase dated to 5000 BC, & shoudl, of course, be the God of the Wind himself;
Central Asia (Mansi, Khanty)
Hyperboreans, Massagetae, and the uncanny Half-Dogs
(Simmias of Rhodes)
Here the Hyperboreans are associated geographically with the
Massagetae, also known as Sakā Tigraxaudā, an ancient
Eastern Iranian Saka people who inhabited the steppes of
Central
Scandinavia (Saami, Estonian, Finnish)
The people who dwelt in the extreme north, were styled
Hyperboreans
(Strabo)
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