This month's caravanners
Nigel and Helen Donnelly
Outfit used
1987 Avondale Wren
2006 Kia Cee'd
When you have only a few days to spend in the caravan, it's hard to find a destination that warrants a return visit, but doesn't involve an epic drive. The New Forest attracts eight million visitors a year, and generally two of them are my wife and me. Our previous visits have involved trips to such headline-grabbing attractions as Paultons Park, Beaulieu's huge car museum, the splendid site at Sandy Balls and the undoubted charm of Buckler's Hard. But neither of us could summon up enthusiasm for any of that. We decided that we would head back, determined to avoid the déjà vu that had accompanied our most recent visits.
The first decision to be made was where we were going to stay. I'm in the habit of choosing posh sites these days, but when Helen was
a nipper, her family used to stay at Forestry Commission sites and spent their time walking and cycling. I liked the sound of that, apart from the cycling and walking. So we hooked up our Avondale Wren and two hours later rolled into the Forest Holidays site at Holmsley, south of Burley, close to the A35.
I was pretty underwhelmed by my first look at Holmsley, but a quick chat with site warden Christine explained why this national park campsite wasn't festooned in foliage. Holmsley was previously known as Holmsley South Airfield and played a major part in the defence of the English Channel in World War II. With U-boats decimating the Merchant Navy fleet, our forces bombed the German submarines and reinstated supply lines in and out of the UK.
The New Forest was home to nine airfields, and the one which best stands exploration is the one at Holmsley. From the ground, it's hard to understand the scale of it, but aerial photos show what an enormous installation it was. Immediately opposite the caravan site, you come to a huge swathe of flat ground which was one of the runways. Follow this to the south-west corner, cross the road and, on the other side of the fenced area, you'll reach the 2002 memorial commemorating those who served at the New Forest airfields.
After getting the Wren settled in, we wandered about. You can spot the changes in landscape, trace the routes of the old runways and, if your wife is out of earshot, throw your arms out, make engine noises and talk to the 'control tower' in a funny voice about how you were hit bad, and were coming in hot. Just don't get caught. I spent most of that first evening convincing Helen I was trying to swat a wasp.
Our first morning brought overcast skies and autumnal temperatures, so we focussed on indoor attractions. First stop: the farm shop at nearby Setley Ridge Vineyard. There are vineyard tours, too, but my interest in wine stretches about as far as the distance between
a glass and my mouth, so sampling was a much more appealing prospect. We made a beeline for the tasting counter. Helen liked the rosé and
I favoured the red, so we picked up a bottle of each, plus a second red. Just in case.
Even if wine isn't your thing, Setley's shop is worth visiting for its wide selection of local fruit and veg, some grown on site. I get a sense of well-being after eating local, seasonal meat and vegetables. Particularly once the second bottle of wine is opened.
A meal with this finery was a long way off, though, so Helen suggested we see the renowned Sammy Miller Motorcycle Museum. Actually, that's not quite how it happened, but we've both visited the huge car museum at Beaulieu and were after something different. The bike museum is certainly that. Specialist museums often start as somebody's personal passion, but this started almost by accident. Miller, a motorcycle racer and trial rider of international repute, started a motorcycle repair business in New Milton in the mid-1960s, leaving many of his racing bikes propped up in the corner. These created so much interest, they were put on display and more were added. Today, there are some 300 bikes, many of which were restored in the on-site workshop. Most are in running condition, and septuagenarian Sammy is very much part of the display. He still rides exhibits at events around the country. When we visited, he was talking visitors through the finer points of the collection with the sort of enthusiasm he had once exhibited on the track.
Helen's enthusiasm was on the wane as we neared the end of our tour, but the sight of the splendid teashop revived her spirits. We discussed what we'd seen over tea and apple cake before heading to the Wren for a feast of local fare and a cider night cap, which ensured we didn't stir until the sun was in the sky.
The crisp night brightened into a stunning morning, so we opted for the ornamental drives that run east and west from the A35, south of Lyndhurst. Both are Forestry Commission-administered and provide nothing more clever than a lovely drive through the forest. The Bolderford Arboretum drive, on the left as you head toward Lyndhurst, was our choice, because it has more to see along the way. The first car park on the left is for the Knightwood Oak.
A short signposted path leads to this most famous of New Forest trees.
Helen, who used to work for
a conservation charity, explained as we walked toward 'the Queen of the Forest' that this mighty oak had been pollarded when it was young. Not wanting to appear ignorant,
I nodded vigourously before sneaking over to the information boards to find out what she was talking about. I read that pollarding is taking the top off a tree in order to gather wood without felling it. I went back to Helen, and told her everything I had learnt. She was impressed until she noticed that I'd just read it. Later, as we stood at the deer-viewing platform, I told her we couldn't see anything because it was rutting season. She knew. She'd read the same information board in the car park.
By this stage, we had the need to feed and it was with a tinge of disappointment that we rolled the Kia into Minstead to be greeted by a large pub and a small shop. It was too early to hail the ale, so we ventured into the pretty village store and were surprised to find a splendid selection of pies, cheese and other savoury bits.
Suitably stocked for a picnic, we walked along the tree-shaded road to the church for a little sleuthing. Our guidebook informed us that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes, was laid to rest in this tranquil corner of Hampshire. Helen and I set off separately to find his final resting place and, after 20 minutes, we converged on the far side of the churchyard and simultaneously stumbled (not literally) upon the author's headstone. It's a popular spot; visitors had left keepsakes, including a handsome pipe.
Extract
|
