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oaks and underwood we saw no sign of human
occupancy, and heard nothing but the woodland birds. We heard, and
then saw, the cuckoo for the first time that season, though it was but
April the fourth. But the cuckoo was early that spring and had been
heard by some from the middle of March. At length, about half-past ten
o'clock, we caught sight of a number of people walking in a kind of
straggling procession by a path which crossed ours at right angles,
headed by a stout old man in a black smock frock and brown leggings,
who carried a big book in one hand. One of the processionists we spoke
to told us they came from a hamlet a mile away on the borders of the
wood and were on their way to church. We elected to follow them,

thinking that the church was at some neighbouring village; to our
surprise we found it was in the wood, with no other building in sight --a
small ancient-looking church built on a raised mound, surrounded by a
wide shallow grass-grown trench, on the border of a marshy stream.
The people went in and took their seats, while we remained standing
just by the door. Then the priest came from the vestry, and seizing the
rope vigorously, pulled at it for five minutes, after which he showed us
where to sit and the service began. It was very pleasant there, with the
door open to the sunlit forest and the little green churchyard without,
with a willow wren, the first I had heard, singing his delicate little
strain at intervals.
The service over, we rambled an hour longer in the wood, then returned
to our village, which had a church of its own, and our landlady, hearing
where we had been, told us the story, or tradition, of the little church in
the wood. Its origin goes very far back to early Norman times, when all
the land in this part was owned by one of William's followers on whom
it had been bestowed. He built himself a house or castle on the edge of
the forest, where he lived with his wife and two little daughters who
were his chief delight. It happened that one day when he was absent the
two little girls with their female attendant went into the wood in search
of flowers, and that meeting a wild boar they turned and fled,
screaming for help. The savage beast pursued, and, quickly overtaking
them, attacked the hindermost, the youngest of the two little girls, anal
killed her, the others escaping in the meantime. On the following day
the father returned, and was mad with grief and rage on hearing of the
tragedy, and in his madness resolved to go alone on foot to the forest
and search for the beast and taste no food or drink until he had slain it.
Accordingly to the forest he went, and roamed through it by day and
night, and towards the end of the following day he actually found and
roused the dreadful animal, and although weakened by his long fast and
fatigue, his fury gave him force to fight and conquer it, or else the
powers above came to his aid; for when he stood spear in hand to wait
the charge of the furious beast he vowed that if he overcame it on that
spot he would build a chapel, where God would be worshipped for ever.
And there it was raised and has stood to this day, its doors open every
Sunday to worshippers, with but one break, some time in the sixteenth

century to the third year of Elizabeth, since when there has been no
suspension of the weekly service.
That the tradition is not true no one can say. We know that the memory
of an action or tragedy of a character to stir the feelings and impress the
imagination may live unrecorded in any locality for long centuries. And
more, we know or suppose, from at least one quite familiar instance
from Flintshire, that a tradition may even take us back to prehistoric
times and find corroboration in our own day.
But of this story what corroboration is there, and what do the books say?
I have consulted the county history, and no mention is made of such a
tradition, and can only assume that the author had never heard it--that
he had not the curious Aubrey mind. He only says that it is a very early
church --how early he does not know--and adds that it was built "for
the convenience of the inhabitants of the place." An odd statement,
seeing that the place has every appearance of having always been what
it is, a forest, and that the inhabitants thereof are weasels,