THE GIPSY AND THE WEST-SAXON.
[Illustration: 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.
The kingly title formerly held by the Stanleys is now in the possession
of the Lees. They all still, to a certain extent, keep up their old
dignity, and must by no means be confounded with the strolling outcasts
and itinerant beggars who also dwell in the Forest. Their marriages,
too, are still observed with strictness, and any man or woman who
marries out of the caste, as recently in the case of one of the Lees,
who wedded a blacksmith, is instantly disowned. The proverb, too, of
honour among thieves is also still kept, and formal meetings are every
now and then convened to expel any member who is guilty of cheating his
kinsman.
Since the deer have been destroyed in the Forest, life is not to them
what it was. They are now content to live upon a stray fowl, or
hedgehog, or squirrel, baked whole in a coat of clay, and to gain a
livelihood by weaving the heather into mats, and brooms, and beehives.
They are, however, mere wanderers, and have nothing to do with the soil.
It is with the West-Saxon that we are most concerned. And in the New
Forest he will be found just such another man as his forefather in the
days of William the Red, putting the same faith in visions and omens
which made the King exclaim, on the morning of his death, upon the news
of the monk of Gloucester’s dream, “Do you take me for an Englishman?”
believing firmly in groaning ash-trees, and oaks which bud on
Christmas-eve, and witches who can turn themselves into hares, and that
the marl which he digs is still red with the blood of his ancient foes
the Danes.[199]
Here, as we have seen in Hampshire, at Calshot, on the borders of the
Forest, Cerdic landed. Here he defeated the Britons, and established the
kingdom of the West-Saxons. Here the West-Saxon Alfred rallied his
countrymen and crowned defeat with victory. Here, too, stood the capital
of Wessex, Winchester, in whose cathedral lie the old West-Saxon kings.
Here, then, if anywhere, we should expect to find West-Saxon
characteristics and a West-Saxon population.
As is well known, after the battle of Hastings, the West-Saxons, with
one or two exceptions, succumbed willingly enough to the Conqueror, who
lived amongst them; whilst the Northmen across the Humber bid him
defiance. Every one must to this day notice the extreme deference,
almost amounting to a painful obsequiousness, of the lower classes in
the southern, compared with their independent manner in the northern,
parts of England. We find, too, mingled, however, with characteristics
from other sources, the West-Saxon element not only in the appearance of
the long-limbed Forest peasantry, with their narrow head and shoulders,
and loose, shambling gait, but also in their slowness of perception.
They betray, too, to this hour that worst Teutonic trait of fatalism,
observable in all their epitaphs, and in their daily expression, “It was
not to be,” applied to anything which does not take place.
Notwithstanding, too, their apparent servility, an amount of cunningness
and craft peeps out, which in a different age compelled the Conqueror to
make special laws against assassination.[200]
Much must be set against these drawbacks. Enslaved to an extent which no
modern historian has dared to reveal, and can only be fully conceived by
the dreadful story of _The Chronicle_,—treated as beasts rather than
even slaves,—the West-Saxons showed, under the Normans, a spirit of
obedience and an adaptability to changed circumstances which are above
praise. Let us give the West-Saxon labourer credit for it both then and
to this day, that though the most ill-paid and ill-fed in England, he
bears his heavy yoke of poverty without a murmur.
Turning to another side of his character, we find him loving the same
old sports as in the days of Alfred. He still follows the hounds on
foot, and when there were deer in the Forest, naturally killed them.
Wrestling and cudgel-playing have been continued till the last few years
close to the northern boundaries of the Forest. The old Hock-tide games
were till a late period kept up in the northern parts, and “Hock-tide
money” was not so very long ago paid as an acknowledgment for certain
Forest privileges. Heartiness and roughness still go hand in hand with
him as with his forefathers. But a heaviness of intellect is always
visible, and, as with all his race, a sadness oppresses his mirth. His
dress to this day, too, bespeaks his nationality. He still wears what is
locally called the “smicket,” and sometimes the “surplice,” the
Old-English _smoc_, named also the _tunece_. It is still, too, as
formerly, tied round the waist with a leathern band. His legs are still
cased, as we see the Old-English in their drawings, with gaiters, known
as “vamplets,” or “strogs,” equivalent to the “cockers” of the Midland
Counties, which do not reach quite so high as the former, and “mokins,”
which are merely made of coarse sacking.
And now let us see how far he has made his presence felt on the district
and in the language. But we must beware of overstraining our theory. No
portion of our history is, in its details, so difficult as the English
Conquest. None, to any statement which may be made, requires so many
qualifications. The first faint flow of the Teutonic immigration was
felt long prior to Cæsar’s invasion—centuries before the main wave burst
over the country. We must, too, carefully bear in mind that in Wessex,
more than in any other part, the conquerors and conquered were blended
together.[201] They mixed, however, everywhere far more than is commonly
allowed. Our language bears testimony to the general fact. The many
Keltic household words in daily use are the best evidence.
Here in the New Forest I may mention that the form “plock” is used
instead of the common block (_bloc_), and that we have, as, perhaps,
throughout the West of England, “hob,” in the sense of potato-hob—a
place where potatoes are covered over, instead of “hog” (_hwg_), noticed
by Mr. Davies in his list of Keltic words in Lancashire. Further, we
find the terms “more” (_maur_), for a root, “mulloch,” for dirt, and
“bower-stone,” for a boundary-stone.[202] Here, too, as in other places,
the Britons have left the traces of their rule on the broader natural
features of the country—on the rivers, as the Exe (_y_ [_g_] _wysg_, the
current), and Avon (_Afon_, the river), and Avon Water, near Setthorns,
and Boldre (_y Byldwr_, the full stream), and Stour ([_G_]_wys-dwr_, the
deep water), and in the district itself, in the now almost forgotten
name of Ytene. We find their influence, too, perhaps, in such local
names of villages and fields as Penerley, Denny, Fritham, Cocketts,
Cammel Green, and Flasket’s Lane. As might be expected, the traces of
the Danes are very much less; and I hardly like even to venture on the
conjecture that the various “Nashes” along the coast are corruptions of
_næs_. Here, in the Forest, we have no Danish “thorpes” or “bys.” There
are no Carlbys, as in Lincolnshire and Yorkshire, but plenty of
Old-English Charltons, and Charlmoors, and Charlmeads. No Norse “forces”
run here, as in the north of England, but only “rides.” No “denes” open
out to the sea, as in Durham, but only “chines” and “bunnies.” No Jutish
“ings” are dwelt in, as in Kent, but only “tons” and “leys.” Here, in
fact, the people of Cerdic have identified themselves with the land, and
have left their impress, now unchanged for more than thirteen centuries,
on all the towns, and hamlets, and homesteads.
Thus we find on the eastern side of the Forest, formerly in it, Eling,
the Mark of the Ealingas, Totton, the Mark of the Totingas; on the
south, Lymington and Pennington, the Marks of the Limingas and
Penningas; and on the west, Fordingbridge, the Mark of the Fordingas,
and Ellingham, that is, Adeling’s Hamlet, Adelingeham, in _Domesday_,
where some of the neighbouring woods are to this hour called Adlem’s
Plantations.
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.
In the New Forest itself, till within the last thirty years, smuggling
was a recognized calling. Lawlessness was the rule during the last
century. Warner says that he had then seen twenty or thirty waggons
laden with kegs, guarded by two or three hundred horsemen, each bearing
two or three “tubs,” coming over Hengistbury Head, making their way, in
the open day, past Christchurch to the Forest. At Lymington, a troop of
bandits took possession of the well-known Ambrose Cave, on the borders
of the Forest, and carried on, not only smuggling, but wholesale
burglary. The whole country was plundered. The soldiers were at last
called out, the men tracked, and the cave entered. Booty to an enormous
extent was found. The captain turned King’s evidence, and confessed that
he had murdered upwards of thirty people, whose bodies had been thrown
down a well, where they were found.[210]
Such was the state of the New Forest in the last century. But as
recently as thirty or forty years ago every labourer was either a
poacher or a smuggler, very often a combination of the two. Boats were
built from the Forest timber in many a barn; and to this day various
fields far inland are still called “the dock-yard mead.” Crews of
Foresters, armed with “swingels,” such as the West-Saxons of Somerset
fought with in the battle of Sedgemoor, defied the coastguard. The
principal “runs” were made at Beckton and Chewton Bunnies, and the
Gangway. Often as many as a hundred “tubs,” each containing four
gallons, and worth two or three guineas, or even more, would be run in a
night. Each man would carry two or three of these kegs, one slung in
front and two behind; or if the cliff was very steep, a chain of men was
formed, and the tubs passed from hand to hand.
All this has been done within the memory of people not so very old. Men
were killed at Milton. Old Becton Bunny House was burnt to the ground. A
keg was carelessly broached, and the spirit caught fire from the spark
of a pipe. Every person was in fact engaged in smuggling:—some for
profit, many merely from a love of adventure. Everywhere was understood
the smuggler’s local proverb, “Keystone under the hearth, keystone under
the horse’s belly.”[211]
Now nothing either in smuggling or poaching is to any extent attempted.
In the one case the crime is unprofitable, in the other the temptation
is withdrawn. Labour, too, is more plentiful, and the Government works
of draining and planting in the Forest employ most of the Foresters.
Many a man, however, can still tell how he has baited a hook, tied to a
bough, with apples to snare the deer; how he has pared the faun’s hoof
to keep the doe in one place, till he wanted to kill her. But now the
deer are all gone, except a few, only seen now and then, wandering about
in the wildest and loneliest parts. As to re-stocking the Forest, we can
only say, with good Bishop Hoadley, respecting Waltham Chace,—“the deer
have already done enough mischief.”
[Illustration: The King’s Gairn Brook.]