After the trial at Lancaster, the story of the witches was indeed made more famous by books including Harrison Ainsworth's The Lancashire Witches (1845) and Robert Neill's Mist Over Pendle (1951).

Both were novelisations, but have attached themselves to the public imagination, turning this shameful episode into well-loved myth. You can see why Pendle captures the imagination, though. It stands stark and alone, dominating the surrounding countryside.

Edgar Peel and Pat Southern, who wrote The Trials of the Lancashire Witches, as an attempt to redress the balance, note in their book that Neill's novel at least gave a more realistic picture of the events.

Peel says in his preface that they hope to correct some of the misconceptions. He adds: "Many of these notions, based as they are on fiction, legend and occasional articles in the papers, are so vague and inaccurate as to make a serious student wince. Nowhere, we regretfully found, are they more firmly held than among those who live within the shadow of Pendle Hill."

Still, if you fancy some plastic witches, then Chipping, Clitheroe, and the other towns and villages around are your place. And I can heartily recommend a pint of Pendle Witches Brew, by the Burnley brewery Moorhouses - strong, dark and tasty, and available on draught in the Pendle Inn, right at the foot of the hill in the village of Barley.

Further to Paul Burke's point about the name meaing "Hill Hill Hill": You can see the hill from Ribchester, if you go down in Stoneygate Lane. Or "Lane Lane Lane".

And finally, the song about the witches (If I remember it rightly) goes:
(chorus):
Old Pendle, Old Pendle, thou standest alone
'Twixt Burnley and Clitheroe, Whalley and Colne,
Where Hodder and Ribble's fair waters do meet,
with Barley and Downham content at thy feet.

Where witches do fly on a cold winter's night,
We'll not tell a soul, for we'll farther go quiet,
We'll sit by the fire and keep ourselves warm
Until one again we can walk in your awn.

chorus

Old Pendle, Old Pendle, by moorland and fell,
In glory and loveliness ever to dwell.
Through life's weary journey, where e'er we may be,
We'll pause in our labours and oft think of thee.

chorus