The New Forest: its history and its scenery/Chapter 8

by John Richard de Capel Wise

 

CHAPTER VIII.

THE CENTRAL PART—LYNDHURST.

As we leave Brockenhurst we find ourselves more and more in the Forest. The road to Lyndhurst is one long avenue of trees—beeches with their smooth trunks, oaks growing in groups, with here and there long lawns stretching far away into distant woods. Most beautiful is this road in the spring. Stand on the top of Clay Hill, about the beginning or end of May, and you shall see wood after wood, masses of colour, the birches hung with the softest green, and the oak boughs breaking into amber and olive, made doubly bright by the dark gloom of firs, the blackthorn giving place to the sweeter may, and the marigold on the stream to the brighter lily.

On our left lies New Park, now turned into a farm, where in 1670 Charles II. kept a herd of red deer, brought from France, but previously used as a pound for stray cattle. Passing on by a roadside inn with the strange sign of the "Crown and Stirrup," referring to a pseudo-relic of Rufus's, preserved at the King's House, but which is nothing more than a stirrup-iron of the sixteenth century, we reach Lyndhurst—the lime wood,^[1] the capital of the Forest, the Linhest of Domesday.

William the Conqueror at one time held the place, which was once dependent on the royal manor of Amesbury. Here, after the afforestation, Herbert the Forester held one yardland, on which only two borderers lived, the rest of the manor, which was only two hydes, being thrown into the Forest.^[2] Here, also, as at Brockenhurst, was another of the old feudal tenures; for, in the time of Edward I., William-le-Moyne held probably these same two hydes of land, which had been disafforested, by the sergeantry of keeping the door of the King's larder.^[3]

In the village stands the Queen's House, built in Charles II.'s time, and adjoining it is the Hall where the Courts of Attachment, or Woodmote, the last remnant of the terrible Forest Laws, are regularly held by the verderers, to try all cases of stealing fern and timber.

Close by is the new, half-finished, church, standing in the old churchyard made famous by Mr. Kingsley's ballad. It is not fair at present to pass a final judgment. When the tower is added, and time shall have touched the walls with a soberer tone, its two great defects will have disappeared, though nothing can remedy the heavy and poverty-stricken window of the north transept with its flattened mullions, and a wretched chimney near the choir utterly spoiling the effect of the beautiful chancel windows.

Inside, the red brick pillars of the arches of the aisles are clustered with black slate shafts, and banded with scroll-work of white Caen stone, the capitals carved with lilies, and primroses, and violets.^[4] And above hangs a Perpendicular timbered roof, resting on the corbel heads of the martyrs and reformers of the Church—of Melancthon and Cranmer, and Luther and Latimer,—and the carved emblems of the Evangelists at the four corners.

In the choir and chancel the wall-colouring is more harmonious than in the nave, where there is a certain coldness and hardness, whilst the shafts are here wrought of rich Cornish marble. Over the communion-table is Mr. Leighton's fresco, a small piece of it now only completed—an angel standing with outstretched hands, keeping back those virgins who have come too late to the bridegroom's feast, the despair and anguish of their faces further typified by the rent wall, and the melancholy dreariness of the owl.^[5]

That there are defects in the church its greatest admirers would admit—the poorness of the roof, the harshness produced by the introduction of so much white, as also the bad colour of the bricks, and a heaviness which hangs over the clerestory windows of the nave. But, on the whole, it stands as a proof of the great advance during the last ten years of Art, as a cheering sign, too, that, amidst all the failures of Government, some taste and zeal are to be found amongst private persons.

There is nothing else of interest in the village. Once here busy scenes must have taken place, when the King came to hunt with his retinue of nobles; when down the street poured the train of bow-bearers, and foresters, and keepers, clad in doublets of Lincoln green, holding the dogs in leash. Then the woods rang with the notes of the bugle, and the twang of the bow-string sounded as the bolt, or the good English yard-shaft, brought down the quarry. Here, too, in the Civil War, were quartered grim Puritan soldiers, and prayers took the place of feasts.^[6] Now, all is quiet. Nothing is to be seen but the Forest inviting us into its green glades.

The people of Lyndhurst ought, I always think, to be the happiest and most contented in England, for they possess a wider park and nobler trees than even Royalty. You cannot leave the place in any direction without going through the Forest. To the east lie the great woods of Denny and Ashurst; and to the north rise Cutwalk and Emery Down, looking across the vale to Minestead, and below them Kitt's Hill, and the woods stretching away towards Alum Green. On the extreme west Mark Ash, and Gibb's Hill, and Boldrewood, rise towering one after the other; whilst to the south stretch Gretnam and the Great and Little Huntley Woods, which the Millaford Brook skirts, here and there flowing out from the darkness of the trees into the sunshine, the banks scooped into holes, and held together only by the rope-work of roots.

These woods are always beautiful. Of their loveliness in spring we have spoken; and if you come to them in summer, then the first purple of the heather flaunts on every bank, and edges the sides of the gravel-pits with a crimson fringe; and the streams now idle, suffer themselves to be stopped up with water-lilies and white crowfoot, whilst the mock-myrtle dips itself far into the water. Then is it you may know something of the sweetness and the solitude of the woods, and wandering on, giving the day up to profitable idleness, can attain to that mood of which Wordsworth constantly sings, as teaching more than all books or years of study.

Footnotes

1. An objection, that the lime-tree was not known so early in England, has been taken to this derivation. This is certainly a mistake. In that fine song of the Battle of Brunanburh, we find—

   "Bordweal clufan·
   Heowan heaþolinde·
   Hamora lafan."
   (The Chronicle. Ed. Thorpe, Vol i. p. 200.)

   The "geolwe lind" was sung of in many a battle-piece. Again, as Kemble notices (The Saxons in England, vol. i., Appendix A, p. 480), we read in the Cod. Dip., No. 1317, of a marked linden-tree. (See, also, same volume, book i., chap, ii., p. 53, foot-note.) Then, too, we have the Old-English word lindecole, the tree being noted for making good charcoal, as both it and the dog-wood are to this day. Any "Anglo-Saxon" dictionary will correct this notion, and names of places, similarly compounded, are common throughout England.

2. The entry in Domesday (facsimile of the part relating to Hampshire, photo-zincographed at the Ordnance Survey, 1861, p. iv. a) is as follows:—"In Bovere Hundredo. Ipse Rex tenet Linhest. Jacuit in Ambresberie de firma Regis. Tunc, se defendebat pro ij hidis. Modo, Herbertus forestarius ex his ij hidis unam virgatam (tenet), et pro tanto geldat; aliæ sunt in foresta. Ibi modo nichil, nisi ij bordarii. Valet x solidos. Tempore Regis Edwardi valuit vi. libras." It is worth noticing that Lyndhurst is here put by itself, and not with Brockenhurst and Minestead, and other neighbouring places under "In Nova Foresta et circa eam;" a clear proof, which might be gathered from other entries, that the survey was not completed.
3. Blount's Fragmenta Antiquitatis. Ed. Beckwith, p. 183. 1815. Here the place is called Lindeshull.
4. Let me especially call attention to the exquisite carving of some thorns and convolvuluses in the chancel. It is a sad pity that this part of the church should be disfigured by glaring theatrical candlesticks and coarse gaudy Birmingham candelabra.
5. I have only seen but the slightest portion of this fresco, so that it is impossible to properly judge of even the merits of this part. No criticism is true which does not consider a work of Art as a whole. At present, the angel with outstretched hands, full of nervous power and feeling, seems to me very admirable, though the position and meaning of the cloaked and clinging figure below is, at the first glance, difficult to make out; but this will doubtless, as the picture proceeds, become clear. The richness, however, of the colouring can even now be seen under the enormous disadvantage of being placed beneath the strong white glare of light which pours in from the east window. Further, Mr. Leighton must be praised for his boldness in breaking through the old conventionalities of Art, and giving us here the owl as a symbol of sloth, and the wretchedness it produces.
6. Herbert's Memoirs of Charles I., p. 95.