The New Forest: Its History and Its Scenery

by John R. Wise

From the coins which have been dug up in the town, and the camp at Buckland Rings,[194] it was evidently well known to the Romans. In Domesday, the famous Roger de Yvery held one hyde here; but its woods were thrown into the Forest, and for this reason the manor was only rated at one half. No mention is made of its salt-works, though we know, from a grant of Richard de Redvers, in 1147, confirming his father’s bequest of the tithe of them to Quarr Abbey, that they were then probably in existence.[195] Larger than Portsmouth, in 1345, it contributed nearly double the number of ships and men to Edward III.’s fleet for the invasion of France. We must not, however, conclude that it has decreased.[196] Larger now than ever, like so many other old towns, it has not increased in a relative proportion with younger rivals favoured by the accidents of position or commerce. Like, too, all other similar ports, it has its tales to tell of French invasions, and, like similar boroughs, of the Civil War; but they are merely traditional, and, therefore, vague and unsatisfactory. Loyal from first to last, it is said to have at its own cost supplied with provisions the ships of Prince Charles, when he lay in the Yarmouth Roads, hoping to rescue his father from Carisbrook. In still later times, carried away by Protestant sympathies, it espoused the cause of the imbecile Monmouth, the mayor raising some hundred men to join his standard.[197]

Most of the places round Lymington, Buckland Rings, Boldre Church, Sway Common, with its barrows, we have already seen. A little, though, to the eastward, at Baddesley, near Sowley Pond, formerly stood a Preceptory of the Knights Templar, and afterwards of those of St. John of Jerusalem. At the Dissolution it was granted to Sir Thomas Seymour, and again by Edward VI. to Sir Nicholas Throckmorton, but subsequently, under Mary, restored to the Hospitallers. Nothing of it is now left.[198]

Here, then, at Lymington, we have been the whole circumference of the Forest. I do not know that I have omitted anything of real interest. Mere idle gossip, vague stories, I have left to those who care to write, and those who like to read such things. The geology, and botany, and folk-lore of the district, to which it was impossible to do more than to make general references, will be found in the succeeding chapters. As was before said, in the wild commons and woods themselves I have myself taken the greatest interest, and wished to impress their beauty on the reader, feeling that a love for Nature is the mainspring of all that is noble in life, and all that is precious in Art. I do not know either that I have anywhere exaggerated. On the contrary, no words can paint, much more exaggerate, the loveliness of the woods. And of all walks in the district, this over the Hordle and Barton Cliffs is by no means the least beautiful, though no longer in the Forest.

Hurst Castle.

CHAPTER XV.
THE GIPSY AND THE WEST-SAXON.

View in Mark Ash.

Many people have a vague notion that the gipsies constitute the most important element of the population of the New Forest, whereas, of course, they are mere cyphers. An amusing enough French author, in a work upon England, has devoted a special chapter to the New Forest, and there paid more attention to the gipsies than any one else, and entirely forgets the West-Saxon, whose impress is indelibly marked, not only in the language, but in the names of every town, village, and field.

As, however, every one takes a romantic interest in these nomads, we must not entirely pass over them. Here and there still linger a few in whose veins run Indian blood, against whom Henry VIII. made bad laws, and Skelton worse rhymes. The principal tribes round Lyndhurst are the Stanleys, the Lees, and Burtons; and near Fordingbridge, the Snells. They live chiefly in the various droves and rides of the Forest, driven from place to place by the policeman, for to this complexion have things come. One of their favourite halting-places is amongst the low woods near Wootton, where a dozen or more brown tents are always fluttering in the wind, and as the night comes on the camp-fires redden the dark fir-stems.