The oldest church in the New Forest. There it is. Worth looking for, if just for that, but thee’s more…
On an ancient mud mound, predating the arrival of Christianity to this part of southern England, in a freeze frame when what was known as Engla-land or Engla-lond - the territory of the Angles - attempting to find a name that stuck. What did those who dwelled in the forest call it? Albion…perhaps?
I could hear the birdsong in this place, a sense of calm away from the roaring ‘A’ road, a perfect rest stop, tranquil escape. The modern village of Brockenhurst has crept away, retreating, to huddle now beside Victorian railway tracks, leaving St. Nicholas’ to sit quietly and contemplate the future.