The Forest

by Edward Rutherfurd

  ‘I refer, of course,’ Albion went on, ‘to Mr Cumberbatch’s famous letter.’

  Famous. Infamous. It was perhaps unfair that this document – a private letter to his superiors pointing out the most advantageous position for them to take – should have been made public. But in 1854 it had been published in a report on the Forest and everyone had read it. The point that the young Deputy Surveyor made was clever and brutal. Since there was a good chance the Forest would end by being partitioned, he argued, the Office of Woods should make all its inclosures as fast as possible, on the best land. With that land, for all practical purposes, withdrawn from the equation, the commoners’ future share was bound to be worth far less.

  ‘Nothing in the last twenty years has caused such bad feeling,’ Albion pointed out. ‘The commoners have been told, without a doubt, that it is the intention of the Crown to destroy them. That, Your Lordships, is the politics of the Forest now.’

  Did they care? It was hard to know.

  ‘I come now to the material threat.’ He looked at them severely. ‘Your Lordships must understand the underlying problem. Trees grow best on the richest land and that’s where the best grazing is, too. So the tree-growers and the commoning farmers both want the same pieces of the Forest. Secondly, it is often supposed that once you inclose land for trees and let them grow to a certain height you can open the inclosure for grazing again. That’s not true. With today’s planting methods the trees are grown so close together that little ground cover grows underneath them. The new inclosures are lost to grazing for generations. Inevitably, therefore, the tree-grower seeks to deprive the farmer of his best land, for an indefinite period.’

  ‘You say “seek to deprive”, Colonel. Doesn’t that presume the Office of Woods to be aggressive in its claims?’

  ‘It is not presumption. I have absolute material proof that it is highly aggressive. That is my point. First, they have frequently said they will enclose their allotted acres, reopen the inclosures later – which I have just explained won’t work – and then enclose the same amount all over again. I don’t think the Act allows this, but if so, they will plainly end by taking most of the Forest.

  ‘More immediately, however, they have done something rather clever. They have said that there were still authorities to make inclosures, deriving from the ancient legislation of 1698, which had never been exercised. So they added those to the ten thousand acres allowed under the Act and came up with several thousand more.’ He gave their lordships a wry look.

  ‘Your lordships, it may be legal. But let me show you the deviousness of the thing. You will recall that under the Deer Removal Act it was agreed that no inclosure should be less than three hundred acres. That was precisely to stop the Office of Woods picking off little pieces of the best land all over the Forest. But by saying they were taking up their unused quota from the earlier legislation, they neatly evaded Parliament’s intention. Here is a list of the inclosures. I invite you to look at them.’

  He had done his work thoroughly. The list showed exactly what he said: a few score acres here, a hundred there, two hundred somewhere else – all on the best land.

  ‘Nor is that all,’ the Colonel went on. ‘We now come to the inclosures made under the Act. About four of the ten thousand acres have been taken up so far. Each individual inclosure must be a minimum of three hundred acres, you will remember. Did they obey the Act? Of course they did. And let me show you how. I have made some maps. It’s something we old soldiers learn to do,’ he added drily. ‘Perhaps you would kindly consider them?’

  As they looked at his maps even some of their lordships could not repress a smile. The new inclosures might be three hundred acres, but the shapes were fantastic. Here a long arm along a line of rich pasture; there a great curve to avoid a patch of poor soil. One of the inclosures was shaped like a huge ‘C’.

  ‘Your Lordships,’ the good Colonel said pleasantly, ‘we have all been taken for fools.’

  Year after year it had gone on. Cumberbatch and his men, under legal sanction, stealing the best of the common land, quietly but steadily. There had been nothing anyone could do. Until two years before.

  The meeting which had precipitated the crisis took place when the Commissioners, who had not met for some years, were suddenly called and told, without any consultation or warning, to approve inclosures taking up all the rest of the land allowed under the Act. Six thousand acres: the biggest land grab ever attempted. When they expressed their shock, Cumberbatch said he would have them thrown off the Commission.

  The time had come to fight. Within weeks the larger Forest landowners had met and formed a league – the New Forest Association. The Colonel had joined it, of course. So had one of the verderers, a Mr Eyre, whose family had extensive land in the northern Forest. Other families like the Drummonds, the Comptons of Minstead, and the lords of the old Bisterne estate were all ready to defend their heritage. Lord Henry, with the biggest estate of all, was a key member. There was also one most welcome addition to their number: a certain Mr Esdaile who had bought an estate at the dark old village of Burley some eighteen years before – a newcomer in Forest terms, therefore – but whose legal training made him invaluable. They had prepared a petition. The Office of Woods had been forced to pause. And now here they were, in the august setting of the House of Lords itself, fighting for the Forest.

  ‘Colonel Albion.’ Another peer, younger than the rest, addressed him now. ‘May I ask you whether your fellow Commissioners, other than the three from the Office of Woods, are equally opposed to these inclosures?’

  Albion stared at him gravely. He knew what this meant. Grockleton. Damn the man. Why the magistrate from Southampton should have decided to involve himself in Forest affairs he had never been sure, but some years ago he had purchased a hundred acres with commoning rights, and then got himself put on the Commission. He and the Deputy Surveyor seemed to agree about everything. As far as anyone could discover, Grockleton wanted to see the entire Forest as a huge commercial plantation without any humans in it at all.

  ‘I could not say,’ the Colonel answered calmly. ‘Most, I believe, do; but it is not my place to speak for them.’

  ‘I see. You make these complaints on behalf of the commoners in general, do you not? Of whom there are, in round terms, about a thousand?’

  ‘Commoning rights vary. I believe that there are well over a thousand households with rights of one kind or another.’

  ‘Yet,’ the young peer had a little glint of triumph in his eye now, ‘isn’t it the members of the New Forest Association, the main landowners like yourself, who have most to lose or gain in this?’

  That was it: the Colonel saw it clear as day. Cumberbatch and Grockleton had got at this young peer. For this was always the line taken by the Office of Woods: if you opposed them, you must be doing it out of self-interest. He smiled sweetly.

  ‘Quite the reverse, in fact.’ He saw the young peer frown. ‘You see,’ he went on blandly, ‘while it is true that I can rent out an acre with commoning rights for far more than one without those rights, this business isn’t going to ruin me. And if one day the Forest is broken up and partitioned – disafforested is the technical term, as you may know – we big landowners will probably receive fair compensation. But the little people, without the huge open Forest, will be ruined. And, speaking for myself, I don’t want to see such a thing happen.’ He paused. ‘Of course,’ he added, as though the thought had just struck him, ‘there may be landowners who feel otherwise. My fellow commissioner Mr Grockleton, for instance, has land and some tenants. Whether he cares about their fate I couldn’t say.’ That thrust went home. But the young peer wasn’t quite done yet.

  ‘The smallholders and tenants in the Forest, Colonel, are not a very settled population are they? I mean to say, you could hardly call them solid farmers or yeomen, could you?’

  He might have guessed that was coming. Sooner or later, whenever you talked to outsiders, it always did. The landed cla
sses have always had clear views about peasants. Good peasants lived on open lands and touched their forelock to you. Once you got into hilly country, watch out. And as for the dark forest, outlaws lived there; poachers; charcoal burners and tinkers. Who knew what sort of people these New Forest commoners descended from? Should the legitimate interests of the Crown really be held up for a population of shiftless vagabonds?

  And now Albion smiled. ‘I suggest that Your Lordship judge for yourself,’ he replied amiably. ‘For the next person you are to interview is one of them. My tenant, Mr Pride.’

  Outwardly the Colonel smiled; inwardly he said a prayer. Now he’d find out if he’d been right to take the risk. Just so long as he didn’t become abusive and weaken their case. God knows he’d spoken to him about it frankly enough, and Pride had promised to be circumspect.

  The other problem was young George, Pride’s son.

  Personally, Albion didn’t blame George Pride for taking a job with the Office of Woods. Others had done the same. A job was a job. George had a young family to think of. But Pride senior had felt otherwise. There had been a furious row. He’d vowed never to forgive him; and since George had started working for Cumberbatch, his father had not spoken to him. Family loyalty was close in the Forest and this rupture was a sad and serious matter.

  Whether Cumberbatch understood all this was another issue. As far as the Deputy Surveyor was concerned, the father of one of his employees was coming to testify against him, and he wouldn’t be best pleased. He couldn’t actually dismiss George because of it, but the young man would be under suspicion. Albion was sorry about that but if necessary, he had decided, he must sacrifice George Pride to the greater good. If Pride senior kept his head he was a powerful witness.

  Would he?

  They looked at Pride with interest as he stood, and was then gently induced to sit down before them. He sat bolt upright. Even the young peer couldn’t help noticing that Mr Pride looked very respectable. The Chairman addressed him kindly. ‘Whereabouts do you live?’

  ‘At Oakley.’

  ‘How long have you lived there?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘Always?’ The Chairman smiled. ‘You cannot always have been there, Mr Pride, but I take it you mean all your life?’

  ‘I meant my family was always there, Your Lordship. I mean,’ he frowned, ‘not always, but before King William.’

  ‘You mean King William IV, before our present queen, or King William III, perhaps?’

  ‘No, Sir. I meant King William the Conqueror, that made the Forest.’

  The Chairman looked somewhat astonished, glanced at Colonel Albion, who smiled and nodded.

  ‘You have a smallholding of how many acres?’

  ‘It was eight. Now I have twelve. The eight rented are off the Colonel, the four I bought freehold.’

  ‘You have a family?’

  ‘Twelve children, Sir. Praise God.’

  ‘You can support a family of twelve on these few acres?’

  ‘In the Forest, Sir, we usually reckon twelve acres a good size. It can be worked without the expense of hiring extra hands. I make a profit, depending on the year, of forty or fifty pounds.’ This was no fortune, but a decent living for a small farmer.

  ‘How do you go about it?’

  ‘The greatest part of my holding is pasture, on which I make hay. Then I have a strip where I grow cabbages, vegetables, roots …’

  ‘Turnips?’

  ‘Yes. Also oats.’

  ‘What livestock have you?’

  ‘I have five milking cows, two heifers, two yearlings. The milk and butter we sell at Lymington. As to pigs, I keep three brood sows. They produce two or three times a year. Then we have several ponies. The brood mares are run all year upon the Forest.’

  ‘The New Forest cow, I have heard, has special virtues. Would you describe them?’

  ‘Mostly brindled, in looks, your Lordship. Quite small but they are hardy. They can live on the heather and heath grass if they have to. They are good milkers. The farmers from the chalk downs of places like Sarum come down to Ringwood to buy our cattle. They cross them with their own and up on the richer pastures the crosses produce huge quantities of milk.’

  ‘You depasture your livestock on the Forest?’

  ‘I could not keep them otherwise. I should need many more acres.’

  ‘You could not support your family without your commoning rights?’

  ‘I could not. There is another thing besides. It is a question you see, Sir, of the children. I have two sons grown now. One of these lives with me and works as a labourer. But he also has two acres from which he turns out stock on to the Forest. That way he doubles his wages. In a few years this will allow him to start his own smallholding, and raise a family.’

  ‘You also have rights of turbary?’

  ‘Yes. That, and the wood from the Forest, is how I heat my cottage.’

  ‘Without those rights …?’

  ‘We should be cold.’

  ‘How have the commoners been affected by the Deer Removal Act?’

  ‘In several ways. Firstly, the absence of the deer itself has reduced the grazing for my livestock.’

  ‘How so? If the deer aren’t feeding, there must be more for the other animals.’

  ‘So I would have thought, Sir, but it turns out otherwise. The lawns, where the best grass is, are getting overgrown with scrub, which the deer used to eat up. I was surprised, but it is so.’

  ‘Otherwise?’

  ‘Though Mr Cumberbatch has said we may not turn out our stock in winter, which we used to do when the deer were there, this has only been partly enforced. If it is, I don’t know how I shall manage.’

  ‘And the inclosures?’

  ‘Some commoners now have to drive their cattle for miles to find grazing. The best pasture is being taken. The inclosures, when reopened, provide little for the cattle to eat and the drains made for the plantations are a hazard to the livestock.’

  ‘So you fear for your future?’

  ‘I do.’

  The Committee was silent. The smallholder had impressed them. This was no furtive forest scavenger, but a free farmer of a kind, they dimly realized, which went back in their island history to ancient days, before even the feudal lords ruled the land. Only the young peer seemed ready to test Pride any further. Cumberbatch had just passed him a note.

  ‘Mr Pride,’ he gazed at the forest man thoughtfully, ‘I understand that there has been bad feeling towards the inclosures. Indeed, the fences of some have been torn down. Others have been set on fire. Is it not so?’

  ‘I’ve heard about that, yes.’

  ‘I suppose, until now, that is the only way the commoners could make their feelings felt. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  It was a trap. Colonel Albion looked at Pride sharply, trying to catch his eye. Pride stared fixedly at the wall behind the Committee.

  ‘I couldn’t say, your Lordship.’

  ‘You feel some sympathy for them, I dare say?’

  ‘I’d be sorry for any man that had his livelihood taken away, I suppose,’ said Pride calmly. ‘But of course they shouldn’t break the law. I don’t hold with that.’

  ‘You wouldn’t do such a thing yourself, then?’

  Pride looked at the young peer dispassionately. If he felt anger, or contempt, there was not a sign of it on his face.

  ‘I have never broken the law in my life,’ he said, gravely.

  Well done, man, thought Albion. He watched the young peer, to see if he had finished. Not yet, it seemed.

  ‘Mr Pride, you seem much opposed to the Office of Woods. Yet you have an eldest son do you not? One George Pride. Would you please tell us by whom he is employed?’

  ‘Yes, Sir. He is employed by Mr Cumberbatch.’

  ‘By the Office of Woods, then?’ The young peer looked triumphant. He’d caught this peasant out. ‘If the Office of Woods is such a monster, why does your son work there? Or is he consorting with the ene
my?’

  Albion held his breath. He had foreseen most things but not this. He hadn’t imagined that, in such a setting, anyone would stoop to baiting the smallholder about his son. Quite possibly the young peer didn’t understand the question he had been told to ask. Albion glanced across at Cumberbatch. The swine.

  He saw the hair bristle on the back of Pride’s neck. Dear God, this was the lighted match that was going to set off the powder keg. He tensed, bit his lip.

  Pride gave a quiet laugh, and shook his head. ‘Well, well. I reckon a young man gets a job where he can, Your Lordship. Don’t you? As for Mr Cumberbatch, he isn’t any enemy of mine.’ He turned his head round to look at the Deputy Surveyor and gave him a forester’s smile. ‘Not at present he isn’t, anyway. Of course,’ he turned back to the young peer, ‘if Mr Cumberbatch makes so many inclosures that he ruins me, and my children go to the poor house, you might say he makes himself my enemy whether I like it or not. I only came here, Your Lordship, hoping you could help, so that Mr Cumberbatch and me could stay friends.’

  Even the Chairman smiled broadly now, and the young peer gracefully indicated defeat.

  ‘I think,’ said the Chairman, ‘we have met the Pride of the Forest. Perhaps this would be a good moment to adjourn.’

  The white-haired woman waited nervously in the big empty church on the hilltop. She had not told her husband about her rendezvous.

  When Mr Arthur West had married Louisa Totton they had produced two sons and four daughters; the sons had been brought up to make their way in the world, the daughters to obey – first their parents and then their husbands. When Mary West had married Godwin Albion it had been on the clear understanding that she would obey him, and so she always had. It was no small thing for her, therefore, to be having a secret assignation in Lyndhurst church; and especially when the man she was meeting had such a dangerous reputation as Mr Minimus Furzey.