Leaving my job in education last year was a huge step but after a bit of bad luck health-wise, even my stubborn head had to agree it was time to give myself a break, a chance to recover. The first thing that hit me was the quiet. As any teacher will tell you, listening to twenty different conversations at once, and responding appropriately, quickly becomes second nature. And when you work with children with educational needs and challenging behaviour, those conversations tend to be more earnest, more animated, and demand more attention. And the children leave an imprint on your mind. I missed them. Feeling a little lost, I turned to my family for guidance. Their response was unanimous: “you’ve always wanted to be a writer - we think it’s time”.
Carina, our eldest, set me a challenge to write a two-page short story, with a theme of romance and betrayal. And so, the idea for
Cobbled Streets & Teenage Dreams was born. Using the New Forest village of Brockenhurst as my location was an instinctive one; I always associate Brockenhurst with my children, and Carina was the first one to go to college there. Heidi, being the youngest, is currently still studying there. It’s a bit of a trek from our home in Dorset on a daily basis but well worth it, for many reasons; Brock is a beacon status college, rated ‘outstanding’ by Ofsted, and has such a wide range of courses. It makes me want to be a student again but I think I’d be spoilt for choice on what to study. Education aside, the journey (by bus and train) gives a taste of independence and is a confidence builder, and the abundance of up-close encounters with the famous New Forest ponies and donkeys is an added bonus!
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| Brock College |
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| One of Brockenhurst's New Forest thatches |
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| New Forest ponies often stop traffic to say Hello! |
Brockenhurst is an ancient village in the heart of the New Forest, in Hampshire; Bronze Age burial mounds dating back 4,000 years give an indication of early habitation. The parish church of St Nicholas was the only New Forest church to be mentioned in the Domesday Book of 1086. The entry also recorded four Saxon manors, one being named Broceste – the earlier form of Brockenhurst. William the Conqueror created the New Forest - ‘Nova Foresta’ - seven years previously, in 1079, as a vast hunting ground, stretching far beyond its modern day boundaries. Villages and settlements were cleared and records show that several churches were demolished to make way for the king’s hunting ground. Under forest law, all fences were forbidden, to give deer and boar free access to roam and thrive. However, this made it almost impossible for the remaining families to grow any crops that weren’t eaten by the wild stock but the strict law had to be adhered to. All animals and vegetation became property of the king and therefore off-limits to villagers; even berry-picking was forbidden. Punishments were severe; death for poaching deer, mutilation by blinding for shooting at or disturbing deer, and loss of hands for taking wood from the forest.
Gradually, the law was relaxed and forest rights allowed cattle to graze and villagers to collect firewood, for personal use or to sell. The village continued to grow and by 1664, Forest Rights were made formal, some of which continue to this day. Ponies and cattle are free to graze all year round, and pigs are let out to graze for sixty days a year to clear the fallen acorns; toxic to equines but a wonderful treat for pigs. This continuous grazing has shaped the Forest over the years, and is vital for its preservation. Without it, the landscape would be completely different. There are over three thousand New Forest ponies and around a hundred donkeys; all wild animals in the sense that they are free to roam but all are owned by Forest Commoners. Commoners are residents of the Forest who own properties with grazing rights, known as Rights of Common. There are around 800 such properties throughout the New Forest. A team of Verderers are employed to ensure the Forest Rights are upheld, and they in turn have Agisters working for them to oversee the animals. Verderers have been around since the Middle Ages when they worked for the King to enforce the laws, although much has changed since then. As well as the New Forest, Verderers can still be found working in the Forest of Dean and Epping Forest.
The Commoners, Verderers and Agisters all work together to protect the welfare of the animals so vital to the Forest. Each year the equines are rounded up and receive a veterinary check and treatment such as worming. Any sick animals are temporarily removed from the Forest to the owners land for treatment and monitoring. Colts are taken from the packs to control breeding, and they are either returned at a later date or sold at the annual New Forest pony sale. Most of the ponies and donkeys wear reflective collars to help protect them on the roads but sadly, there are still too many fatalities each year despite the strict speed limits. When an animals is hit, it is the Agisters job to attend the incident and either take the injured animals for veterinary treatment or in the case of death, remove the body from the road. It is estimated that approximately a hundred ponies are killed each year on the road, and as they move in packs, there are sometimes multiple fatalities in one accident.
Along with the ponies, donkeys, cattle and pigs, the New Forest is home to five types of deer: Fallow, Muntjac, Red, Roe and Sika. More shy than the inquisitive ponies, they tend to stay within the woods rather than hug the roadside. I always find sightings of the deer far more rewarding for that reason.
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| Ponies are an important part of the village community |
Brockenhurst played a crucial role during the Great War, transforming some of the larger houses and hotels into hospitals to accommodate wounded soldiers shipped over from the Western Front. Many of the troops were from the British Empire, including India, Canada, Australia and New Zealand. The No.1 New Zealand Hospital opened in Brockenhurst in 1916, and by 1919 had treated 21,000 soldiers, 93 of which are buried in St. Nicholas’ churchyard. The Balmer Lawn Hotel, one of the hotels used as a hospital, also played a part in W.W.2 when it became a Divisional HQ; the location of many meetings between General Eisenhower and General Montgomery as they planned the D-Day landings. Careys Manor Hotel became the HQ for The 50th 'Northumbrian' Infantry Division as they prepared to storm Gold Beach during the same operation. Brockenhurst and the surrounding New Forest played a vital part, providing hastily constructed airfields, experimental bombing ranges and space for tank training. It also became the temporary home to thousands of allied troops as they prepared to cross over to Europe.
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| Commonwealth War Graves at St Nicholas church, Brockenhurst |
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| The information board in the churchyard |
Any tale of Brockenhurst wouldn’t be complete without a mention of the local ‘Tesco donkey’, so naturally I had to include him in my book. The first time I heard about him was ten years ago, when an excited Carina phoned me during one of her first lunch breaks at college.
“Mum, help! I’ve just walked down to the village with my friends and there’s a donkey, asleep, blocking the door at Tesco. What do I do?”
Surprised and amused, I suggested she wait until it moved. She phoned back a few minutes later.
“It’s okay, we just did what everybody else did and stepped over him. Apparently, he’s always in the doorway.”
And from that day on, I had numerous texts, phone calls and picture messages regarding said donkey, from all four children. Anton snapped a photo of him casually strolling through the shop, his swishing tail brushing against the shelves (and Anton) as he headed for the stockroom at the back. And not for the first time. On Damon’s induction day, he texted, ‘so I’ve met the donkey’, like it was some kind of rite of passage. Not a word about his lessons or new fellow students – just the all-important donkey. By the time Heid started at Brock college, the novelty of ‘Tesco donkey’ had worn off a little for her but she still sends equine related messages whenever she sees something that tickles her: a pony waiting outside the bank for it to open, or a group of donkeys standing patiently by the bus stop. Or just a photo with the caption, ‘eating lunch with these guys’. The charm of Brockenhurst never wanes.
When Heidi has a different free lesson from her friends, she tends to sit in the churchyard of St Saviour’s. It’s a perfect sun-trap and affords a picturesque view of the ford, known colloquially as the Watersplash, at the bottom end of Brookley Road. I’ve sat there myself on a few occasions, with my notebook in hand, creating the characters for my book.
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| The Watersplash |
Our first experience of St Saviour’s was a magical one. Carina had joined Brock college choir and rehearsals for their annual carol concert at the church started in earnest in September. I had long since become accustomed to hearing Christmas carols before the summer was officially over, as all four children loved being part of the school choirs and Christmas concerts were their favourite to practice for. Repeatedly. And loudly. As we slowly drove through Brockenhurst village one dark December evening, following Carina’s hastily scrawled directions to the church, it dawned on me how lax we had been at exploring further than the main street and the area immediately surrounding the college. The rest of the village was a mystery to us. Following the festive shop lights along Brookley Road, the ‘main street’, we came to a sudden stand-still. Three large, white ponies were gathered in the ford at the end of the road, taking their time to have a drink before moving to the side. The street lights were dim here and a ground mist swirled around them, creating an ethereal glow. Two horned cows emerged from behind a tree to join them, eyeing our car with an air of indifference before taking a drink. We were so engrossed in this splendid sight that it took a moment before we spotted the church behind the trees directly ahead. Amber lights cut through the mist to reveal a solid, grey, Gothic-style church, with soft lights shining out into the dark from its many leaded windows. More ponies crowded by the church gate, oblivious to us as we gingerly side-stepped around them. Inside the church, the smell of pine, fresh flowers and warm wax hit us before we could even take in the whole scene. Christmas decorations, floral displays, and highly polished brass instruments all glinted in the bright candle light; a sea of eager faces and excited chatter filled the church as families gathered together to celebrate the season. Christmas is always a magical season and our first experience of St. Saviour’s church and its festivities certainly didn’t disappoint. It’s a treasured memory – one of many.
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| St Saviour's Church, Brockenhurst |
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| St Saviour's church interior |
Churches always have a pull for me. Everything about them: the comforting smell, sense of familiarity and feeling at peace, and the beautiful architecture. Grand or primitive, I love them all. One of my uncles went through a phase of brass rubbing and he would take me along to numerous churches on the outskirts of London, kitting me out with paper and crayons to do my own juvenile attempts at his hobby. It made me see churches in a different light and appreciate an otherwise overlooked side to them and it is something that has stuck over the years. However, going to mass as a child was never a fun experience. My brothers and I regarded it as a punishment, a burden that stole our Sunday freedom. For us, daily prayers at school was enough. I always felt like a naughty child waiting to be told off; the constant reminders from our disgruntled, purple-faced priest that all children were full of sin and that we need to prove ourselves to God, didn’t endear Sunday mass to us. Confession was a mid-week affair, and was equally dreaded. My best friend and I would pace round the playground at lunch time, arm in arm, trying desperately to think of sins to confess. We knew if we went into the box empty-handed, the priest wouldn’t believe us; how could we possibly have nothing to confess! But they had to be acceptable sins, nothing too terrible that would warrant a hefty penance. Obviously our parents wouldn’t ask about our confession but they did mentally gauge the severity of our sin based on the number of 'Our Fathers' and 'Hail Marys' we had to do. We had long since worked out our priest’s ‘scoring’ system; two 'Our Fathers' and two 'Hail Marys' seemed to be his standard penance, and was acceptable to our parents. I did manage to stack up a whopping six 'Hail Marys' once, and I still remember the look of disbelief on my father’s face as I nervously twiddled my rosary while quickly reciting my prayers. It did teach me a valuable lesson - always keep confession concise and to the point, and don’t ever repeat to the priest the swear words your brother shouted at you because you kicked him in the face when he tried to pull you down from the tree.
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| St Nicholas church |
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| St Nicholas church today |
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| Brookley Road |
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| Brookley Road today |
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| The Watersplash |
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| The Watersplash |
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| The Watersplash today |
Falling in love with Brockenhurst was easy. It’s a lively, friendly village that hasn’t changed much over the years. Its history is clearly evident as is the pride that the locals have for their community. Sitting under a lofty oak tree in the cemetery, contemplating life and creating my story, I felt at peace; with my life and new career path. As I basked in the stillness of the sun-filled afternoon, twenty conversations filled my head. No longer children’s voices crowding my mind – they had been replaced by my new characters. Life in my bubble is good.
*****
Brockenhurst and its two churches, St Saviour's and St Nicholas, feature in my novel
'Cobbled Streets & Teenage Dreams'. As does the 'Tesco donkey'.
Check out my website
here
With thanks to Andrew Walmsley @
New Forest - Explorers Guide, for the use of the old images of St. Nicholas church, Brookley Road and the Watersplash.
