Secrets of the Hills: What Are the Fairy Coffins from Arthur's Seat?

Speaker A: 00:00:00

Welcome back to Bitesized Folklore, where we serve up strange tales in small portions, just enough to make your day a little weirder. I'm Jodie, and today's story takes us to Edinburgh, where the city's great hill watches over streets steeped in history and secrets.

coffins of Arthur's Seat. In: 1836

They walked along the rugged slopes of Arthur's Seat, the great volcanic hill that rises above Edinburgh like a sleeping giant. The day was bright, the grass dry. One boy scrambling up the northeast crags, noticed something awkward among the rocks.

A small opening half hidden by slate and heather. He peered inside and gasped. Inside the little rock, stacked neatly in three tiers, were 17 miniature coffins.

Each was carved from wood no more than 4 inches long. Inside each lay a tiny figure dressed in scraps of cloth, arms folded around the chest as though they'd been laid to rest.

The boys, thinking they'd found some strange treasure, pulled them out one by one. Some they opened, others they broke. By the time word reached any adult, only eight of those coffins survived.

Those eight coffins now rest in the National Museum of Scotland, carefully preserved behind glass, still holding all their secrets. But what were they? And where did they come from? No one knows who placed them there or why. There's a lot of theories, though.

Some people say the coffins were the work of witches performing dark rites in secret caves. Some thought they were toys. Perhaps a children's imaginative play turned macabre.

And some whispered that they were effigies, ritual burials for those who had died without a grave. Either seat has long been a place of stories.

Witches were said to meet there centuries before charms were buried in its soil and offerings left to unseen powers. It's not so strange to think that someone might choose that hill as a doorway between worlds, a place to rest the dead, real or imagined.

There was another, darker theory that was thrown into the mix. The murderers memorial theory.

In the: 1820

After Burke was caught and hanged, his name became a curse in the city. So when 17 tiny coffins were discovered on the hill, some people wondered, could These represent the 17 victims of Burke and Hare. It fit the timing.

The coffins were carved from wood, dating roughly to the same decade. Each figure lay as if repose, not mutilated or dissected, but pieces, peacefully buried, as though someone had tried to give them back their dignity.

If true, it would make the fairy coffins a secret act of atonement. A quiet memorial left by someone who could not bear the shame of the city's sins. Still, to this day, no one has ever claimed them.

No letters, no diary entries, no confession. Just 17 silent coffins in a stone crevice above the city.

And the mystery only deepened when conservators examined the coffins in modern times, they found each figure hand carved from pine or juniper, with tin or iron nails for eyes, and dressed in fragments of cotton and linen. The workmanship varied, some simple, others carefully stitched, as if different hands had made them.

Each coffin's lid was shaped and pinned shut, a deliberate, reverent gesture. And all of them had been placed with care, one atop another, like a tiny mausoleum. But there were 17.

Not 12 for the apostles, not 13 for witches covens. 17. A strange number that defies easy meaning. Over the years, people called them the fairy coffins.

Some said they were left for the wee folk, tiny gifts for spirits who guard the hill. Others believe they were placed by someone suffering grief, a person who lost many and built a small cemetery for ghosts that only they could see.

If you ever stood atop Arthur's Seat on a misty day, you'll understand why the legend stuck. The city sprawls below, alive and noisy. But up there, it feels ancient, otherworldly. The wind carries whispers, the rocks. They seem older than time.

In Celtic believe, there are thin plains, places, points for the veil between this world and the next is thin. Arthur's Seat has always been one of them, a hill of fire and shadow where saints once prayed and spirits still wander.

Perhaps those coffins were left there to honour that crossing, to remind the living that death, too, deserves its ritual, however small. Nearly two centuries later, the fairy coffins still rest quietly in the museum.

The colours have faded, the cloth has frayed, but their mystery endures. Scholars debate. Tourists stare.

And every so often, someone swears they've seen a new light flicker on the slopes of Arthur's Seat, as if something or someone is still at work there. Whether they were witchcraft, art or an act of compassion for the forgotten, the fairy coffins remind us that grief is creative.

When we can't make sense of death, we build stories. And sometimes those stories take the shape of tiny coffins hidden in stone. A handmade attempt to bind sorrow with ritual.

That's all for this week's episode. Thank you so much for listening to bitesized folklore.

If you enjoyed today's tale, share it with someone who loves a good mystery or who believes that small, small things can hold big secrets. Until next time, keep your eyes on the hillside, your heart on the threshold. And remember, even the tiniest graves can tell the biggest stories.