AN ENGLISH WILD

Otago Daily Times, Issue 14245, 20 June 1908, Page 7

AN ENGLISH WILD

By. Frank Hvdsox,

THE "NEW" FOREST.

The bizarre idea that England is a squalid fog-shrouded mass of mean streets and chimney stacks is happily dissipated by a glimpse of that old wonderland of woods and heather called the New Forest. Bomidcd by the twentieth century it lies asleep, with its old traditions and gnarled tree trunks; its dense coppices wherein the wind whispers old legends; its miles and miles of fern and bracken; its undulating immensities of yellow gorse; its vast carpets of moss, of primroses, and of bluebells; its armies of foxgloves trailing their brilliance up the hillsides; it's swamp, the haunts of snipe and tealand its nut-brown streams that ripple like hair down the back of a goddess. This "New" Forest, being at least SOO years old, makes one wonder what England's idea of an old forest must be like. The original forest existed in the days ot Canute, but with the advent of William the Conqueror it was found too small for the Norman sportsman, so that amiable monarch devastated all villages, churches, and farmlands on its outskirts, established its borders, and christened it the New Forest; and with true British

conservatism it has remained New in name ever since. In those days Winchester was England's capital," and so the King and his Court had only a short ride through the Hampshire lanes before they crossed the boundaries,- and startled the deer. The confines of the forest were, roughly speaking, Dorsetshire on the west, the .Southampton Water on the east, and the Cliannel to the south, and it comprised 143,000 acres of heath, • and unsown, implanted trees. Special laws of dire severity were framed to govern this part of England and the hamlets that lay, and still lie, like islands in a ben of woods. It was one enormous preserve for game, and woe betide the luckless wight, be lie church or layman, who should be found tampering with the King's deer. The extent of the forest

has been somewhat lessened by grants to royal favourites and by encroachments during civil wars—which aflorded people ■nice little opportunities for getting some of their own back; but the forest area proper, still in its natural state even now, measures over 90,000 acres. For the rest, it is unchanged. The old Roman road still runs straight as an arrow from Hythe to Beaulieu. Hythe, by your leave, is the place we have just left with our motor. It is an ancient scrambling village which, facing Net ley across the Southampton Water, has gradually won farms and fields for itself back into the forest. One could

easily write a book about Hythe, which, though small, is crammed with characters, and which is by no means to be confused with tho Hythe in Kent. We cross tho forest boundaries with a rush, heath stretching far on either side. To the left are the dim blue hills of the Isle of Wight, and to the right is an expanse of purple heather and yellow gorse, with nodes and coppices, rolling away to the sylvan kingdoms of the greenwood tree. Thero are rabbits in abundance, and you may start a hare or put up a brace of partridges. Those ponds are grand places for wild duck on a winter's night; pheasant and blackcock scratch among the undergrowth; but the shooting is nothing to what it used to bo. Nothing ever is, by the way. Four miles of this Roman road bring us to the turnpike at Hilltop, and here is one of those old inns which are only read about .in books. Overhanging eaves, little latticed windows, and a great porch with honeysuckle creeper framing mine hoot, a jolly personage smoking a churchwarden. From here the ground slopes steeply down to Beaulieu. Round about us is a grove of giant firs, surrounded with silvery birches, hawthorn trees and holly. The slope is a mass of gorse alive with linnets; and solemn yews, 6edato Scotch fire, ash, oak, beech, and elm mingle their foliage in sweet companionship.

Beaulieu is now an estate belonging to Lord Montague, and i 6 surronnded by the forest .except where it is -washed by the eea. It lies in the deep-wooded valley of a tidal river, and has been outride the Forest Law since the days of King John. Here are the remains of that wonderful old abbey which figures fio prominently in "The White Company." The venerable Gatehouse and tho rooms of the Prince Abbot form part of the Montagues' residence, and the ancient Refectory is still in good preservation, and is used as a church. Another building still standing is the Strangere' Hall, where travellers were entertained. There was a good deal of "sundownlng" done in those days, and many a footsore 6erf, jaded squire, and travel-stained knight, lias received food and lodging at hospitable Beaulieu. There were also outlaws then; merry men in green, cunning with the bow and quarter-staff, and many a stout merchant, robbed of his purse and palfrey has had his hurt 6 tended in tins hall by the skilful monks. This building, like the others, has immensely thick walls, but the strangest ' .part is the roof supported by an enormous ■"girder-work of oak, the delight and the despair of modern architects. These

monks made their own wine and cultitheir own vineyard, mid beneath the Strangers' Hall are vast cellars. None of the. wine is left. The monks' corn land is still spoken of with respect, end three miles off are the remains' of their

barn, 250 ft long by 70ft wide. The ruins "\of the Chapter House are very fine, i,nd ''consist of great Gothic arches aud ponderous cloisters half hidden by ivy. Not far off is a huge dam made by the monks to drive the abbey mill, and for a f/sh preserve. The original mill was finally demolished in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, when the present picturesque building, with its tall gables and projecting ■windows, was built on the old tions. The Elizabethan styto predominates in the architecture of the little ullage, which is very, very old. By lung disuse of the Norman tongue the locals Hiave grown accustomed to 'pronouncing the name as " Bewley," and if you spoke to them of Beaulieu they would scarcely understand,

A hill climb, and we are in the forest again, and the long Roman road lies white to the horizon through' a wilderness of purple, gold, and green. This goes to Lyiuington, the forest seaport, where the yacht of the Norman and Angevin kings waited always in readiness, to take these restless monarchs to tlie coast of France. We take a side road, and race across the heath with the wind blowing pure and fresh !ji our faces, and droning along the telegraph wire, the ]»sts of which go curtseying past. ■ For a good five miles there is not a human or a house in sight, and then we pass a keeper's cottage, lonely at the edge of the woods. These keepers, or rather their earliest ancestors, were appointed by the Chief Yerderer of William the Norman to stop poaching. The crossbow and leather jerkin have liecn replaced by a eliokebnrc and leggings, but the man is the same. He has on intimate acquaintance with the forest, knows the paths across the bogs and quaking swamps, can disappear into the woods ami emerge at the point lie wants to without going round .in the left-handed circle, the path of the lost-. For the Test, he is sure of a few substantial tips in the shooting and hunting seasons; he has his cottage with its fruit garden, a few cattle, and perhaps a forest pony or two. We have seen a good many of these last. In fact, there are very few places in the forest where they do not dot- the landscape. Tliey arc' of the most extraordinary colours, and, owing to their being wild and ungroomed, their shaggy winter coats, half shed, seem to garb them in tatters. They are, of course, unshed, and are nearly all the same size, but instead of being stumpy and "ponified," they am more like little Arab horses. No one knows, or pretends to know, how they came in the New Forest; but the supposed Arab strain is a matter of local history. It is said that after the battle of Culloden. the Duke of Cumberland was appointed Ranger of the New Forest, and at his death his Arab stallion was turned loose in tin- woods.

After this wt . ut it<> r where trees are left in' undisturbed enjoyment of their heritage—ancient birch trees widespread and veflerabje; tangled coverts, pf 6,aj>ljng6, ano*

sweet briar, open lawns where mighty oaks brood with wide-spread branches, and winding moss-grown paths among gnarled old poilards rising from a chaos of wild, rose. Here among these sylvan silences, amid the quiet iriendship of wise oid trees, we and our motor ear seem an impertinence, and it is w ; th hushed voices mid reduced speed that we glide by these majestic colonnades of tree boles.

This, in turn, is replaced by a larger open down of grass and fern, with dense trees in the background. Then oak trees, in groves and rings, with thick, warm moss at their feet; and wheeling to theleft across the most pellucid of streams, wo race 'Mo that charming little piece of the Middle Ages—Broekenhuist. Commend me to it, that forest hamlet, with its common' and flocks of geese, its archaic smithy, and cottages almost extinguished by their enormous roofs of thatch, through which peer attic windows, themselves pent-housed with the same material. And above them tower the great trees with branches drooped as in benediction. The noonday swoons on the broad while road. You can almost, "hear" the silence, and it speaks of peace. The inn stands back from the highway, and its newly-painted sign dangling from a kind of gallows proclaims it the "Rose and Crown.' Outside on rough benches sit hoary rustics arguing free trade and protection. One old man in a smock takes his nose from bis tankard and remarks oracularly, "A r ree draid, is it? Well, wot I says is, give 1 voir draid. Never mind, vreo draid; give I vair draid." He is very well satisfied with this chunk of wisdom, and looks round for contradiction. Finding none, he says it over again with evident relish, while the other ancients nod their heads, ■ evidently enjoying it too. They are still thiiety, and cheerfully acquiesce when asked to imbibe at your expense, and a j>lum»> landlady with real roses in her cheeks and ctunu ones on lier gown fills up the tankards at a cost of three ha'pence per pint.

The Church, like all others in the forest, is built on a mound, and its grey old steeple cau bo seen above the oaks that surround tlio churchyard. And what a churchyard! Tombstones green and cracked with age, leaning this way and that, and here are the remains of an immense oak with the stump of a. branch about Bft in diameter. Only the shell remains, but this j - 6 as tough as ever. It is of incredible age, and the branch must have rotted and broken when the yew tree close by was a sapling. This yw is known to be over 300 years old. The church itself .seems a monument to time. Hidden away in the heart of the forest, it has escaped the mutilation of the Reformation and the hand of the spoiler. It apparently has not even been restored, and inside,are the old wormeaten gallery, and the high, narrow pews with doors, all very picturesque, but horribly uncomfortable.,

Brockenhurst is one of those manor* granted oy a Normau king to one of his subjects, and few views can surpass ia peculiar beauty that to be obtained from the stately mansion on a hill belonging to the Alorant6, Lords of the Manor. The feudal system lingered for years in the village of Brockenhuist long after it had been obliterated elsewhere, and it was comparatively recently that the ancients received the shock that showed them what a change had occurred. The "reigning" Morant required a curate for his parish, and advertised in a Southampton paper, stipulating, for some occult reason, that applicants must be able to play the violincello. It follows, of course, that a place like the New Forest produces poets, and subsequently in another Southampton paper,_ Brockenhurst read with dismay the following skit on the squire's advertisement :

Hey diddle diddle, A priest who oan fiddle / Is wanted at Brookenhurat, Hants; So all you young fellows With violincellos, . Pray drop in at Johnny Morani's. " Johnny" was a cruel touch. The production was regarded as treason, if not sacrilege. The habitues of the .Rose and Crown cowered behind their tankards awaiting the avenging thunderbolt; but seeing that the sun rose as usual next morning, and that the poet (anonymous, by the way) was not dungeoned, or even sent to Lyndhurst to be whipped, they awoke with a start to the knowledge that they and manor lords were alike flesh and blood. This was some years ago. Now they are discussing the relative merits of "vair" trade and "vreo" trade. In another two centuries they may- have got to sociaJi&m.J

Four miles through wild woods, with an occasional enclosure (thrown open when the timber toughens), bring us to Lyndhurst, the forest capital. Urand old mansions fringe its outskirts, overlooking the forest that sweeps to the horizon. Here is Emery Down, a. famous natural lawn, and extensive heaths with noble clumps of oak, elm, beech, and alder. Here is the old Verderers' Hall, .where offenders against forest law have been tried for eight centuries. The dock is a kind of perch made of oaken cross pieces, with a back. It has been roughly hewn, and the axe marks are still apparent. The walls are adorned with the antlers of red. and fallow deer, and here folk accused of stealing timber or fern, or of setting fire to the goree, are hailed by the agisters, or keepers. In the musty old archives one reads that slaying a deer is punishable by death; that no tanner may dwell within the forest boundaries; that no man shall turn cattle out to graze before the King has turned his out; and that minor offences against forest law are met by hanging or scourging. Happily these laws only remain as curiosities," 40s or 14 days being now found to answer moat requirements. Among the notable houses is that of Mrs Maxwell (Miss Braddon, the novelist). The church is a new one on an ancient site, and contains a fresco by Leighton of the wise and foolish virgins, but in architectural interest it does not approach the wonderful Norman urcadmg at Christchui-ch Priory; or the triforium, Norman door, and outside crucifix at Romsey Abbey, both of which arc included among the forest churches. From Lyndlmrst we come to Minstead, a little "Norman hamlet crumbling with age. The church tower is blackened with time, but the rest of the church is probably not more than 500 years old. Therein' is a fine specimen of the 'three-decker' pulpit, and the roughly-hewn Information pews 6peak for themselves.

A little further a plume of blue smoke shows above a thicket, and on investigation we find a gipsy's camp. Two little shelters are extemporised from the cart, cover, and at the entrance to one of them sits a wrinkled old woman smoking a short black clay. Sprawling on the turf are sundry bare-legged, brown-skinned children, who only use water as a beverage, and to whom soap is as a fairy tale. An untidy young woman with raven hair stirs the' contents of a pot steaming, gipsy fashion, over a wood fire. Close by browses a Utile resigned-looking donkey with very abort legs and u very long coat. The New Forest shelters quite a tribe of these descendants of the Pharaohs who wander over the broad face of it in the summer, and depart to the smoky towns to hibernate. The forest dwellers have a certain superstitious feeling about these Egyptians, and there are uncomfortable stories in circulation of Ihe "evil eye" and other unpleasantnesses. But they seem harmless enough, aud even if there is a hare in that camp kettle, who is going lo say how it got there? The olil'vonum spies us, and hobbles forward to tell our fortunes. Wizened, bearded, bent, wrinkled, and very, very old, she only needs a black cat and 'a broomstick in make her a witch; so we cross her palm with a florin and depart, followed by a blessing (we hope it i 6 a blessing) in an outlandish tongue.

It will [jay you lo leavo the car and take the bridle path through the tre« clown to the glade yonder. Stand by that stone. So! And now you are on the exact spot where William "Riifus, the second Norman King, fell pierced with an arrow from the bow of Sir Walter Tyrrel more than 800 years ago. The scenery is the same, and the trees are the .sime kind of trees. This place is ft favourite track for the deer now. ami where this stone stands there 6tood the oak (Rufus's Oak) against which the Kin;; was leaning. The people .ire not prone to prattle.. The Xovmans had a way of doctoring over-energetic tongues with redhot and -ibf habit has etuej;.;

but if you spoke to them about an oak from whicli Tyrrcl's arrow glanced into the King's heart, they would look sorry for you. These are the fads as they know them; The attendants were beating up the deer away in the forest, and tlio King stood by the oak at one of tlio deer passes, and .Sir Walter 6tood at the other, facing him across the glade. That morning a mendicant friar had bade the King "beware," as he had just dreamt of his death, but Rufus jceringly told him to depart and dream of something better, and went forth to shoot. The two waited. Not a sound broke the stillness, and there stood the King in his hunting 6uit and long red hair against the grey trunk of the oak. What an opportunity to rid England of this Norman tyrant. Tyrrel's bow-string twanged, an 'arrow sped, and the knight, crashing through the brushwood, mounted his horse. Aloug that very road ho galloped, along Stoneycioss'Ridge, fording the river at a point still called Avon Tyrwl, ami so to France. Ru'us lay, as he bad fallen, all the afternoon, and no one moved his body till a charcoal-burner (the Game kind of ohm-coal-burner that works in the forest to-day) came along with his ponycart and took Rufus, arrow and all, all the way to Winchester. It is strange, that William the Conqueror "made" this forest, and that three of his sons should meet with violent deaths therein. One was killed by a stag, and another was caught from his saddle, like Absolom, by the branch of a tree.

The day wanes, and most of the forest is yet unvisited. Evening conies creeping up the swamps, tinging the mosses rose pink, apple green, and golden. The cotton grasses fly their white flags in the chilly breeze.' Birch and alder groves take dreadful shapes, and the elms whisper sadly together. The great trees seem to swoop wrathtiilly at us as we whiz past, high-geared, for the light of Southampton ; and night and tire forest are one.