Act Two

FLETCHER INVESTIGATES

Although Act Two proved deceptively simple, in that I could accomplish the performance within walking distance of my residence, it struck me initially as fiendishly complicated, and I spent a couple of highly involved hours researching the details of this upcoming challenge. The answer, of course, lay in the dramaturge's careful and considered use of words, which eventually led me through teeming rain to the hallowed portal of the Hartley Library. Here, I was able to use my academic identification to persuade my way past security, and then it was in the lift up to the fifth floor where, amid silent and deserted racks, I searched for what I believed was the Library of Congress designation PR2509.W5. I was delighted not only to find the appropriate shelf, but also to discover that it was on one of these track systems which mean that they have to wheeled apart. Having done that, I arrived in

front of the desired tome - A Critical Edition of John Fletcher's The Wild Goose Chase - at 19.36 on Saturday 11th July 2009, there to garner an eagerly awaited and most exciting reward. It seems, then, that Act Three is to take place in fair London Town, an experience which I keenly anticipate. So pleased was I with my evening's performance that I decided to treat myself with a post-performance libation in a local hostelry - a large and fragrant Laphraoig which completed an excellent undertaking.

Act One

FLETCHER FETCHES FLETCHERS
IN THE FOREST

So, Act One saw me making a journey, first of all, to Fletcher Close in Dibden, where I arrived at 13.42 on Thursday 9th July 2009. It was rather a surprise to find this little cul-de-sac nestling in the heart of what are locally known as the 'C' roads, since they all begin with the letter C. I should know, since I lived in Cygnus Gardens - just a few streets away - for two years from 1993 to 1995. There was, then, something a little nostalgic about this visit, and I took the opportunity to take a look at the old place before making my way to Fletcher Close. It's an odd area because there are so few people around during the day. It's like a dormitory town (and renowned for its wife-swapping!). I was hoping to get someone to photograph me, but had to make do with a rather awkward self-portrait.

Anyway, from here I had to drive to my next destination, pausing briefly in Beaulieu to photograph some classic cars before heading on through Brockenhurst to Ober Corner, where I parked up beside a rather lovely campsite (although it doesn't take tents unless you bring your own chemical toilet!). I changed into walking boots and made my way through the campsite and out into open gorse and heather heathland, searching for Fletcher's Green. Now this was going to prove more difficult to locate than my previous goal, since there were no signs to indicate exactly where I should be looking. Luckily, I had been given a nicely detailed map to guide me, and so could orientate from a dry stream bed and a boggy depression which, in wetter weather, probably resembles a pond. Interestingly, I had also visited this part of the New Forest before, and had a strong and clear recollection of a raised hide, accessed by a wooden ladder, which I had discovered and climbed perhaps ten years ago. Unfortunately, this hide was nowhere to be seen, so I contented myself with locating the 'Green' in amongst the other scrub at 15.02 and pausing briefly to rest and record the location before moving on.

My path, then, lay away from the heathland and towards a more wooded area where I was hoping to locate what the map referred to as Fletchers Thorns. This was not too difficult as I shortly found myself beating my way through ferns and thorny stunted trees. Were these blackthorns? I have no idea. Suffice it to say that the prevalence of them led me to believe that I was in the right location. I forced myself carefully into the heart of the thicket, arriving at 15.20, and found

myself surrounded on all sides by thorns and completely secluded. Furthermore, the sun had decided to appear from behind the clouds and suddenly it was warm and rather lovely. Amongst the trees was a fern-filled clearing where I decided to repose and sun-bathe for a while. I beat the ferns down to make a soft surface and relaxed in the warmth of the sun's rays.

But I couldn't rest for long. I still had two locations to find. So I carefully extricated myself from the thorns and continued my journey, the terrain changing again to tussocked grassland as I searched for and located a thin ribbon of silver called Fletchers Water. This I followed until it opened up a little and presented a more delighful aspect - at 15.58. The stones on the stream's banks were stained with the darkness of the brackish water. No wonder, then, that this is called Black Water upstream. I decided not to follow my first inclination to bathe my feet in the cooling rill. Instead, I found a ford in which I could stand with my boots still on. The weather by now was glorious and, away from the roads, there was a sense of utter peace and quiet about the scene, the only noise the gentle hum of flies busying themselves over the water. And I was quite alone. I hadn't seen another soul in over an hour - just horses and rabbits!


My final location was a little distance away, along a broad track which led away from the ford and into dark evergreen woodland. The needle-straight trees rose high above me now, and I was gratified to see that the path was inexorably rising towards what the map called Fletchers Hill. I was hoping for some clear and well defined hilltop at the end of this walk, but what I actually reached, at 16.22, just before the first road I had seen since I parked my van, was a subtle levelling out beside what looked like a denser clump of pines. This, I calculated, was the top of the hill, and here I paused once more, pleased to have completed Act One of my performance, and musing upon who this Fletcher might have been to put his or her name to such a large swathe of this New Forest landscape. Perhaps they had something to do with Rhinefield House, which lay so close by that I could hear them playing tennis in the grounds.

As a postscript, I should just mention that, as I made my way back across Ober Heath towards my van, what should I come across but the hide that I had sought earlier in my journey. To be honest, I am not convinced that it was the same one that I had climbed all those years ago, but that did not stop me ignoring the "For Official Use Only" signs and ascending for a fine view over this beautiful Fletcher territory. What an excellent way to conclude Act One!