We will not press, as a proof of descent, the number of Old-English surnames, which may easily be collected in the district. We must remember that they were not used, in our modern sense, till long after the Norman Conquest; and when adopted, people were more likely to choose them from English, than from Norman or other sources. Such evidence establishes nothing.
In other ways, however, do we find the Old-English nomenclature telling us the history of the people and the country;—in Hengistbury Head, on the south-west, reminding us of the white horse—the Hengest of the High-German,[203] and Calshot at the east, spelt as we know in Edward I.’s time, Kalkesore; on the north-west in Charford—the old Cerdices-ford of The Chronicle; on the south in Darrat (Danes-rout) and Danestream, whose waters, the peasant maintains, still run red with the blood of the conquered.
Everywhere we meet similar compounds,—in Needsore, which the Ordnance map spells Needs-oar, and thus loses the etymology, which, like the Needle Rocks, means simply the under (German nieder) shore; in the various Galley Hills, corrupted into Gallows Hills, which have nothing to do with the later, but the older instrument, which contained the signal-fires, and are connected with the words “galley,”[204] to frighten, and “galley-baggar,” a scarecrow, both still heard every day, from the Old-English gælan.
We find the same impress in Lyndhurst, Brockenhurst, Ashurst, and, as we have before said, in various other hursts,[205] in the different Holmsleys, Netleys,[206] Beckleys, Bentleys, Bratleys, Stockleys, all from the Old-English leag; in the various tons, as Wootton, Winkton, Everton, Burton, and Hinton; in Gore and Goreley, the muddy places; in Culverley, the dove lea; in the Roydons and Rowdouns, the rough places; in Rhinefield, the brook field; and in Brockis Hill, the badger’s hill.
Take only the very names of the fields and we shall meet the same element, as in the Wareham field, the fishing place field; Conygers and Coneygar,[207] the King’s ground, to be met in every village; in the linches, as Goreley Linch, that is, Goreley Headland, or literally, the dirty-field headland; in Hangerley, the corner meadow; Hayes, the enclosure, with all its compounds, as Westhayes, Powelhayes, Crithayes, and Felthayes; in such terms as Withy Eyot, that is, Withy Island; and the different Rodfords—“hryðeranford”—the cattleford, the Old-English equivalent to the Norman Bovreford.
We meet, too, in daily life, such words as hayward for the North-Country “pinder;” barton, literally the barley place, instead of the Keltic “crooyard;”—the same Old-English element in the names of the flowers, as bishop-wort (bisceop-wyrt), one of the mints, from which the peasant makes his “hum-water;” cassock (from cassuc), any kind of binding weed, and cammock (from cammec), any of the St. John’s worts, or ragworts; clivers (from clife, a bur), the heriff; and wythwind, by which name the convolvulus is still known, the Old-English “wið-winde.”
These words, however, belong more especially to the next chapter. To descend from generals to particulars, let us notice some of the verbal characteristics by which a West-Saxon population may be distinguished. As a rule it may be laid down that the West-Saxons give a soft, and the Anglians and Northmen a hard sound to all their words. Thus in the New Forest we find the West-Saxons saying burrow for barrow; haish for harsh; pleu for plough; heth for heath, instead of the “hawth” of the Eastern rapes of Sussex; mash for marsh; Gerge for George; slue for sloe, and again, for slough, the “slow” of the north; bin for been, and also being; justle for jostle, as in Nahum, ch. ii. v. 4; athert for athwart; wool for hole; ballat for ballad, or, as it is pronounced in the more northern counties, ballard; ell for eel; clot and clit for clod; stiffle for stifle; ruff for roof, and so on. Thus, too, we meet here not with Deepdene, but Dibden, spelt in Boazio’s map of 1591, Debden. No Chawton, but only Chewton occurs, no Farnham, but only Fernham and Fernhill.
The West-Saxons, too, have a peculiar drawl. So in the New Forest we may hear them saying pearts for parts; stwoane for stone; twereable for terrible; measter (mæster), instead of the Anglian “muster;” and yees instead of the Sussex “yus.” As others have also remarked, the West-Saxon substitutes a for o. So here we get lard for lord; nat for not; amang for among; knap for knop; shart for short; starm for storm; and Narmanton for Normanton. Not only this, but the West-Saxon in the New Forest substitutes a for e, as in agg for egg, and lag for leg. He not only retains the hard g, but gives a k when he can, as in kiver for cover, and aker for acorn, the “aitchorn” of the Anglian districts. Let us notice, too, that he always changes the f into a v, as vern for fern, vire for fire, evvets for effets, voam for foam, as written by Chaucer, vall for fall, and fitches for vetches, as we find it in Ezekiel, ch. iv. v. 9.
To go further into these distinctions is here impossible. As are the people so is the language. By an analysis of the published glossaries of Dorsetshire, Wiltshire, and Sussex, I find that the New Forest possesses above two-thirds of the two former, differing here and there only in pronunciation, whilst of the latter it scarcely possesses one-tenth, proving plainly that the people are West-Saxons rather than South, descendants of Cerdic more than of Ella.[208]
Turning from these minor characteristics, and looking at the people themselves as they once were, and as they now stand, much might be added as to the unequal race which the West-Saxon has run with the Anglian and the Northman, and its effect on his character. The most casual observer even, in going over so small a space as the New Forest, must have noticed how Nature has favoured the Northern and Midland counties in their sources of wealth and industry. The great home-trade of the Middle Ages has entirely deserted the South. Once, too, all our men-of-war sailed from what are now small ports on the south coast. Our fleets were manned by crews from the Isle of Wight, and Lymington, and Lyme, and the neighbouring harbours. The seamanship of the West-Country was England’s right arm.[209] But now the iron fields of Staffordshire have put out the furnaces. The coal mines of Durham have destroyed the charcoal trade, and taken away the seamanship. The brine-pits of Cheshire have dried up the salterns which covered the south-western shores. Of course, this loss of material prosperity has told on the intelligence and morals of the district.