Vincent's Holly and Sometimes a Puma?

“Grandfather, I’m curious about the annual train journeys my great Uncle Vincent took. Apparently every Christmas he would accompany the first lot of holly branches up to London to sell. Sitting with Gran yesterday, she confirmed that early last century, he was allotted a plot of land in the New Forest. Not unusual. She also explained that he managed poultry and pigs. Did both these activities occur within the forest?  

   “Yes Fran, he did a grand job.  He used the territory efficiently for both his animals and his holly section.  We might be able to find his old plots?”

My grandparents Sam and Sarah were helping me to fill in my ancestry gaps. I hope you don’t mind, dear reader going for a wander with us as we touch the surface. Call it ‘tribal jig-sawing’ as we glimpse the fertile wealth inside the jaw of wise old forest governance. A time consuming system back then. 

   Sam goes on to say,” As locals we can all share the profile; ‘forest keepers’. The area profited with old Jack Humby’s ‘hand on the tiller’. But he’s getting on now. In fact they’ve all done a grand job, including efforts maintaining the water ways. (And hopefully still do).”

       Sam Witt, my maternal grandfather was one of eleven children born in 1882.  His parents John and Jane Witt were 36 years old when he was born. Hampshire was our home county in south west England. There are several different villages in  *Fordingbridge; named in the Domesday Book as Forde. This Book was drawn up by the King in 1085 in order to survey and assess the wealth across the country.

  The local River Avon’s seven arched bridge. 

My maternal ancestors surname was De Witt. They’d previously journeyed across from Holland, hundreds of years ago! My Grandpa Sam’s parents ran a farm. Their mill accessed by local villagers. 

Water driven mills were a major feature of early Victorian countryside. Farmers carted grain to the mills in sack loads, to be ground before on-selling, as well as product from those who worked/gleaned in the nearby fields. Agricultural processes vital to village economy.

Rich history I had been unaware of. I was on a working holiday back in the late 60’s briefly foraging.

   “Would you explain Gramps, exactly where Vincent sold the branches every Christmas.”

    “After my rest Fran dear, then I’ll have a cuppa and be as right as rain again.  I enjoyed our summer walk this morning, aren’t the weathers favouring us?”

    “Woops, asking you too many questions gramps. Yes loved our stroll and the moist scents from the flow of pasture from woodland to water. Many well rooted tales straining in the bark, no doubt. One can sense the quest of others long gone! I must get it down on paper. Love your jaunty little bow ties granddad! Time for a cuppa gran?”

   There in readiness in the cosy kitchen, her loyal long spouted obedient well-polished kettle, sporting a forever grin. And lounging in attendance like an old married couple, a large china teapot, wearing a colourful hand knitted tea-cosy from Granny Sarah’s fair and honest hand. She was very busy in the shop for years too, enjoying chats with the variety of customers I dare say. She was a Dunn, from Lincoln originally, found work locally for the doctor, probably through the newspaper. They made home visits then!

 Our family loved to visit areas, as in the illustration. Dad a Londoner, met Mum during the war, was more than happy to play hide and seek at picnic time too with bro. and I.

  This big space became a National Park in 2005. It spans an area today of about 560 sq.km or 220 sq. miles, inside South West Hampshire. It’s one of Europe’s most important locations for nature and conservation and heralds a unique mix of landscapes, including ancient woodlands, wetlands, bogs and wildlife. Occasionally big cats such as lynx, leopards and sometimes a puma have been sighted, believe it or not!

   Other animals such as ponies range freely. Pigs are used to eradicate the green acorns which are poisonous to the ponies. Also cattle, donkeys and sheep roam. I’m disheartened when I hear of ponies being knocked down from time to time on the inner forest roads. Apparently the public refuse to slow down in the forest vicinity as repeatedly requested through generous road signage.

   I love it that in 1215 a law within the Magna Carta, supported the poorest people in the surrounding areas by providing them land within the forest, allowing them a source of wood for fuel and pastures. 

   “Can I pass you a doughnut gramps?  Just joking. Yours were the best I’ve ever had, I recall!”

   We were sitting in the lounge together late in the afternoon, chatting. Mum back home in N.Z. I told them she used to refer to Sam her fathers’  bread and cakes. So delicious. She was a clever student. Left school when fourteen and worked in the business. I treasure her school exercise books.

    Those were the days when dough for breads and some cakes sat ‘maturing’ on benches for ages, (unusual today, no doubt time the factor.) These delicious products graced the shop windows, first thing. Some inside beautiful strong hand-made cane baskets, proudly inviting a sale, unless it was a Sunday. 

    My grandparents lived until their nineties, residing with their eldest daughter; my Aunt Norah and her husband back in the sixties in Salisbury when I visited.

    Sam Witt my maternal grandfather was a self-taught, Master Baker. A patient, quietly spoken, good natured man.  One of eleven children, who received early education from within a ‘Dame School’. This was a system of learning usually run by a retired woman in her home for a fee. She basically taught reading and writing.   

   Returning to Jack Humby, an excellent ‘forest voice’. His story relays the pairing up between care and control. His administration has been recorded in small book form in the 90’s, by a professional researcher. Jack was a so-called ‘forest keeper’ as was his father. His cottage door was never locked. He ran an open door policy. Working foresters would visit and pay their ‘fee’ and enjoy a glass of cider with his cheery authentic self.

   I noted in Jacks stories confirmation of people mixing freely, regardless of their so called ‘place’ in society. Knowledge bounced back and forth, like a carefree child on a for-ever swing. Weather and soil conditions for starters no doubt. 

   “Right Fran, let’s get down to business. Let’s have a closer look at Vincent.   I distinctly remember when he was a young man involved in cutting Holly in the forest. He was supported by several of his sons and a couple of friends. They’d arrive with their horse and carts. The short winter days meant they needed to come fairly early in the day.

   The group would begin cutting on or about the 15th November. They would then bundle up the branches and store them until about the first week of December. Then they’d pack the neat well fastened ‘arms’ of Holly on to the nearby train at our local Village Railway Station. 

   (As a child, I could see the now dismantled station from my home and would often bike to it. Wide pavements.) It would then travel straight up to Nine Elms Yard, (visited 2018.) near Covent Garden Market in London. Vince accompanied the product and stayed nearby to promote and sell his holly, whilst the team back home continued to cut and dispatch the Christmas fare in a tidy fashion safely up to the London base.

   Jack Humby finished by saying, ‘Vince would return home by Christmas Eve and come with a bottle of whiskey and settle up with me by Boxing Day. Some years there was an over- loaded market. However, always within a fortnight he would arrive at my door step wearing a happy–face. 

“Grandad the old forest system has changed dramatically hasn’t it?”           

 “Nature lives on doesn’t it Fran? Nature lives on.”