Tobar Mhoire (Mary's Well) Traditional Cache

The name Tobermory is derived from the Gaelic Tobar Mhoire, meaning "The Well of Mary".

Mary's Well, a holy well dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and Mary's Chapel nearby, dated back to the Medieval period. The water from the well was said to possess therapeutic qualities. The remains of the old chapel can still be found in the graveyard, but the site of the well is now overgrown and no spring is visible. A granite cross and drinking fountain was erected to commemorate the coronation of King Edward VII in 1902, and is close to the original site of the well.

Even 180 years ago, Tait's Edinburgh Magazine (Volume 4, pub. 1837) lamented the neglected state of Mary's Well:

In the island of Mull not far from the village of Tobermory stood formerly half way down the hill a beautiful fountain of crystal water called St Mary's Well. Tradition reports that it was wont to be frequented by pilgrims from all parts of the West Highlands to drink of its waters and to consult the motions of its guardian spirit that in the shape of a little brown fly kept continually hovering above it and which pointed out with unerring certainty the events of their future lives. It is now sadly neglected and nearly concealed by weeds and rushes presenting a melancholy contrast to its former celebrity.

St Mary's Well now stands alone
Beside yon aged rock so hoary
And all its former fame is gone
Or only known in Highland story

St Mary's Well no more doth lie
Like some bright gem half down the mountain
With moss grown rock and tree and sky
Reflected from its crystal fountain

No more at night the pilgrim sees
The pale moon dancing on its waters
For down among yon withered trees
Is heard the wail of Albyn's daughters

Lamenting by the lonely stream
Their former days of love and glory
When every object formed a theme
For bardic and romantic story

St Mary's Well the tall rank grass
Grows by thy side where once together
The hunter and his dog would press
With nimble foot above the heather

St Mary's Well where once the deer
Surveyed his form within thy fountain
There now a sluggish rill we hear
Slow creeping down the rugged mountain

And where thy guardian spirit once
Stretch'd gaily out his little pinion
There viler forms are seen to dance
And claim a short usurped dominion

The lake lies sleeping down below
Reflecting rock and tree around it
So calm as if these trees did grow
From out the crystal waves that crown'd it

But as the spirit of the storm
Comes riding on the tempest thither
Each rock and tree and lovely form
Are mingled in one heap together

But on thy breast St Mary's Well
No form of rock or tree is blended
For now some night hag's withering spell
Has on thy glassy fount descended

No more shall maid with beating breast
Descend to drink thy healing waters
Or hoary pilgrim sink to lest
On the night heath with Albyn's daughters

For scarce the breeze that sweeps the lake
Can stir thy fount in stormy weather
So dark thou sleep st beneath the brake
Of twisted weeds that grow together

Yet time has been when on thy brink
Sauntered each gay romantic creature
Admiring as they kneel'd to drink
Each lovely form of limb aud feature

And time had been when pilgrims round
Have leant to hear some sybil's story
Reposing on the naked ground
With streaming locks all thin and hoary

But time shall never more return
When up that lonely mountain straining
The pious maiden's heart shall barn
To hear some ancient dame complaining

Of former days of love and song
When Albyn saw in every valley
Her plaided warriors troop along
Beside their native chiefs so gaily