As I drew nearer to
Brockenhurst, however, I came into the woods, and the sylvan beauty of
the vale, through which the Lymington River flows southward, was
delicious. Brockenhurst itself is charmingly embowered and is
surrounded by some of the loveliest of the woodlands. The church stands
high, perhaps as a guide, over a woodland churchyard, and is the
evident successor of a Norman building, as its south doorway and font
of Purbeck bear witness and the chancel arch too, unless indeed this be
earlier still. The chancel, however, dates from the fourteenth
century, a good example in its littleness of the Decorated style, but
it is half spoiled by the enormous pew which blocks the entrance. The
tower and spire and a good part of the nave are completely modern. The
great yew in the churchyard must date at least from Edward I.'s time,
and perhaps may have seen the day on which Red William fell.
From Brockenhurst, on the following morning, I set out again over the
open heath for Boldre southward. Many a fine view over the woods I had,
and once, as I came down Sandy Down, I caught sight of the Isle of
Wight.
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