The New Forest: Its History and Its Scenery

by John R. Wise

And here let me notice the tenacity with which the greater-spotted woodpecker, whose nesting habits are not elsewhere in England so well observable, clings to its breeding-place; for I have known it, when its eggs have been taken, to lay again in the same hole, the eggs being, however, smaller. Mr. Farren tells me that he has observed the same fact, which is curious, as its ally, the green woodpecker, is so easily driven away, by even a common starling.

The presence of the great black woodpecker (Picus martius) has long been suspected, especially since a specimen has been killed in the Isle of Wight, and a pair have been seen near Christchurch.[289] Mr. Farren, in 1862, was fortunate enough not only to see the bird, but to discover its nest. On the ninth of June, whilst in Pignel Wood, near Brockenhurst, he observed the hen bird fly out of a hole placed about six feet high in a small oak, from which he had earlier in the season taken a green woodpecker’s nest. Hiding himself in the bushwood, he saw, after waiting about half an hour, the hen return, and had no doubts as to its identity. An endeavour, however, to secure her in the hole, with the butterfly-net which he had with him, was unsuccessful. He was afraid to leave the eggs, as some woodmen were working close by, and so lost any other opportunity of making the capture. The eggs, now in my collection, were four in number, one being slightly addled, and are the only specimens ever taken in England. They were laid on the bare rotten wood, the bird finding the hole sufficiently large, as Mr. Farren had widened it when taking the previous eggs. It is, however, remarkable that such a shy bird should have built in such a scattered and thin wood as Pignel, close to a public thoroughfare, and where the woodmen had for some time past been constantly felling timber.

But what gives the Forest so much of its character is the number of herons who have lately established themselves in various parts. You can scarcely go along a stream-side without surprising some one or two, which, as you approach, flap their large slate-coloured wings, and fly off with a rolling, heavy motion, circling in the air as they go. Down at Exbury, at the mouth of the Beaulieu river, they may be seen in companies of threes and fours, wading in the shallows, probing their long bills into the mud and sand; and then, as the tide comes up, making off to the freshwater ponds. They are, however, I am afraid, rather persecuted, as they never long here remain at one breeding station. They first took up their abode in Old Burley Wood, and then removed to Wood Fidley, and subsequently to Denney, and finally to Vinney Ridge. In 1861, fifty pairs, at least, must have built in its tall beeches. On a fine early spring morning, a long grey line of them would perch on the neighbouring green of Dame Slough, picking up the twigs of heather and flying off with them to line their great platforms of nests; and then sailing down to the Blackwater stream, in the “bottom” close by, to fish. In the morning and evening, and, in fact, all through the day, one incessant clamour was going on, and under the trees lay great eels, which had fallen from their nests.

Last year the numbers were greatly decreased, the birds having been, perhaps, driven away by the woodcutters and charcoal-burners employed to cut down the surrounding timber. The sketch which stands at the head of this chapter was taken in June—too late in the year to show any of the nests, but several young birds were still hovering round who had not even then quite quitted. A small colony has, too, established itself at Boldrewood, where I trust it will be protected; for few birds possess so much character, and give so much beauty to the landscape.

Before we conclude, let us glance at some other peculiarities of the Forest district, and its effects on its birds. It is not too far westward for the east winds to bring the hoopoe, so common in Sussex. Throughout the summer of 1861, a pair were constantly flying about and hopping on the “Lawn” near Wilverley Forest Lodge. The black redstart (Sylvia tithys) and the fire-crest (Regulus ignicapillus) just skim its borders in their westerly winter migrations. Small flocks of dotterel make it their halting spot for a few days in spring, on their way to their northern breeding-places. In the winter, its mildness brings numbers of siskins, some few bramblings, and the common and even the parrot crossbill, escaping from the frosts of the north.

Other things may be mentioned. The hawfinches do not stay all the year round, as might be expected, or, at least, only one or two pairs, simply because there are no hornbeams in the Forest, nor gardens to tempt them with their fruits. The chough, too, is seldom seen, its eggs and young being plundered in the Isle of Wight cliffs and the Lulworth rocks. It is now extinct in Sussex, and will soon be in the New Forest. Yet these birds were once so numerous in England, not only damaging the crops, but unthatching the barns and houses, that a special Act of Parliament was passed against them.[290] Twopence for a dozen heads were given. People were, under various penalties, bound to destroy them, and parishes were ordered to keep chough and crow nets in repair.

There is, unfortunately, no other forest in England by which we can make comparisons with the ornithology of the New Forest. In Churchill Babington’s excellent synopsis of the birds of Charnwood Forest, we find only one hundred and twenty-five species, but little more than one-half of those in the New Forest. Out of the three hundred and fifty-four British birds the New Forest possesses seventy-two residents, whilst it has had no less than two hundred and thirty killed or observed within its boundaries.[291] With this we must end. I am afraid it is too late to protest against the slaughter of our few remaining birds of prey. The eagle and kite are, to all purpose, extinct, in England, and the peregrine and honey-buzzard will soon share their fate. The sight of a large bird now calls out all the raffish guns of a country-side. Ornithologists have, however, themselves to thank. With some honourable exceptions, I know no one so greedy as a true ornithologist. The botanist does not uproot every new flower which he discovers, but—for he loves them too well—carefully spares some plants to grow and increase; whilst few ornithologists rest content till they see the specimen safe in their cabinets. This, I suppose, must be, from the nature of the study, the case. Still, however, the love for Nature, and the enthusiasm which it gives, must be regarded as a far greater offset. And here let me, for the last time, say that I feel sure that nobody knows anything of the true charms of the country who is ignorant of natural history. With the slightest love and knowledge of it, then every leaf is full of meaning, every pebble a history, every torn branch, gilded with lichens, and silvered with mosses, has its wonders to tell; and you will find life in the dust, and beauty in the commonest weed.

View in Buckhill Wood.