The Curse of Dan Leno

A gypsy curse is a strange and powerful thing in the New Forest, especially when it doesn’t quite go to plan. And Tolly should know, he had several pronounced over him during his lifetime. He once maintained that he was under two curses at the same time, but he reckoned that was a lucky thing because they cancelled each other out.

Many gypsies lived in the forest in those days. They were long gone by the time I came onto the scene, but Tolly was forever convinced that they had left a stash of gold behind. Many’s the time we would be at Norley Wood at dusk or dawn digging away near the base of an old oak tree. No other tree would do, because in Tolly’s mind, a true gypsy would only bury gold under an old oak tree. If we’d found treasure under any other tree I’m convinced that Tolly would have thrown it away in disgust. We weren’t supposed to be digging of course, hence why we were out at such unsocial hours. When I asked Tolly about the legality of what we were doing he would just smile and tell me that we had the permission of the Crown. The New Forest is Crown land you see. Well, if the Queen said it was OK, then that was good enough. What I didn’t realise then, of course, was that we had the Queen’s permission because neither she nor any of her representatives knew what we were up to. As Tolly always said, “You’ve got permission to do whatever you want to do in this world, right up to the point that you get caught”.

Anyway, back to the curse. Dan Leno was a very old gypsy. He had one possession that he valued above all others, and this was his old bicycle. You could often find it parked outside the Turfcutters Arms in East Boldre. This was and still is, a real traditional New Forest pub. It’s named after the old forest tradition of cutting turf for winter fuel. This tradition has long passed now, but I remember my grannies cottage having the marks along its wall where turf had been stacked in the old days.

Talking of my granny, she wasn’t fond of the Turfcutters Arms, she thought it was a den of iniquity. And in the old days it probably was, most pubs in the forest were. We always used to have to cross to the other side of the lane when we were walking past it with her, such was her feelings for the place.

But I’m sure that on more than one occasion I could hear my grandfather’s raucous laugh coming from inside. Tolly purported to have the same feelings for the pub as his mother, but I noticed the landlord would often wave and call him by name when we passed.

But let’s get back to the story. Late one afternoon, Dan Leno had parked his bicycle up at the Turfcutters and gone inside to sell some pheasants to the landlord that he’d ‘found’ wandering and lost outside the Beaulieu Estate. Lardo Jenvey was just leaving, having popped in earlier on in the morning for a quick pint. Feeling tired from the effort of standing at the bar for most of the day, he wasn’t looking forward to the long walk home. Spying Dan’s bike he decided it was within his Forest Rights to commandeer it to ease the journey. And off he set, wobbling down the lane like a lumbering ox on three legs. Unfortunately for Lardo, Dan had spotted the unlicensed borrowing of his prized possession. Bellowing with rage he stormed outside, followed by a motley crew of regulars. Throwing some dirt onto the ground and spitting, he solemnly pronounced a terrible death curse over Lardo. My grandfather was a witness to this dread occasion. He had not long returned from army service in India and swore that some of the words that Dan spoke were in Punjabi. In the distance a donkey brayed, this seemed to satisfy Dan and he returned to the pub.

“Well, did he die?” I asked Tolly.

“Did who die?”

“Lardo Jenvey”, I shouted.

“He did, he certainly did. Almost thirty seven years to the day of the curse, give or take a month or two”.

Three things I learnt from that tale of Tolly’s:

1. Things in the forest move slowly but surely.

2. Never borrow a bicycle from outside a pub.

3. Make sure I get cursed by a forest Gypsy when I turn eighty.