5 June 2016 - Old Farm, Poulner, near Ringwood, Hampshire

We left our camp near Arundel about nine yesterday morning after a super efficient pack up of our camp, and exited the same way we had arrived. Fortunately the camping directory offers the simplist of entry routes to each camp, which is not necessarily the shortest way in, but avoids the worst of the tight corners, leaning out houses and hedges, and narrowest of roads. We have remarked more than once when we are off tikki touring guided by our navigational device that we are glad we are not towing. For these same reasons we have chosen our camping spots as near to A-roads wherever possible, however some of the A-roads are no better than country lanes. Oh, what a joy it is to drive these crowded narrow roads of England!

Our next destination was a mere fifty eight miles from the last, some of it on roads we had travelled over the past couple of days. We took a punt on pulling into a Service Centre on the M27 just north west of Southhampton, and were pleased to find that it accomodated vehicles and rigs of all sizes, in fact the Rownhams Service Centre is excellent and we would be delighted if all were the same.

We arrived at our camp here on the outskirts of Ringwood soon after midday. The last part of the route had taken us across the New Forest National Park, an area we were keen to explore in more detail. We soon found out from our fellow campers that our hosts were away for the weekend, the last weekend of the mid-term break, and we would need to catch up with them on their return.

“Old Farm” may once have been a farm, or part thereof, but now it is just a lovely two storey house with a small walled field behind the house which serves us well. Electricity, water and waste facilities are included, as well as the one outhouse that also serves as a little Information Centre, maps and brochures on the wall above the loo.  The charge for this camp is £15, on the higher end of acceptable for CLs, but we are fast becoming immune to these costs and soon we will not blink an eye as we peel off our notes to settle the tariff.

Our camp at Old Farm

Once set up, we set off up Cowpitts Lane just outside the gate, on foot, soon finding the road narrowed further and passed through dark woods. We took a side trail up through the undergrowth, startling squirrels and a variety of birds, passing a couple of locals exercising their dogs. Here the blackberry and nettles grow well, the mauve azaleas are in full bloom and it was good to be out amongst nature. We emerged from the walkway onto a busy but narrow village road, and followed it down to the Pub which had been one of the markers of our route into Old Farm. We checked out their menu and decided to book a table for the evening. This day marked twenty two years an item; we generally celebrate this anniversary, just as much as our wedding anniversary which is somewhat fewer years.

And so early in the evening, with the fine warm weather holding out, we walked back to The White Hart in our glad rags and enjoyed a lovely three course meal, the only folk in the restaurant. The other pub around the corner had a band entertaining the punters, probably taking most of the regular clientele away from this. We had deliberately avoided the extra activity; the older one gets the less one can cope with extraneous noise.

A celebratory dinner

This morning dawned fine and warm; we were keen to get out on the road, even with a very loose itinerary planned. We headed down to the coastal settlement of Poole on the A348, crossing the county boundary into Dorset and found a park in Lower High Street near the port.  Poole sits in an almost landlocked harbour to the north west of a wide bay of the same name. The town developed as a port in the 13^th century on one of the largest shallow water anchorages in Britain. It became a base for pirates, then fishermen, and in the 18^th and 19^th centuries for timber trading with Newfoundland. It is still used commercially, by coasters, but is primarily a centre for pleasure craft and more recently, by companies prospecting for oil in the shallow water.

Poole waterfront

We climbed up a rather ugly sculpture that doubles as a viewing platform, and looked down upon the cruise launches waiting for the crowds to arrive later in the day. The would-be passengers were gathering in the cafes and pubs all lining the waterfront, many old and ever so quaint; the buildings, that is, not the people.  Wandering down the seashore, we noticed several homeless folk roused from their overnight nests. A fisherman selling crabs showed us his wares, the brown crabs crawling around in the large plastic bins. Alas visibility was poor, a low haze obscured views of the Isle of Wight, which should have been easy to see. We walked up the High Street, more homeless drifting about, plenty of charity shops closed for the day and the other shops not yet open; it was still too early.

Pub in Poole

Bournemouth is only five miles to the east as the crow flies, although the traffic even this early in the day made for a long journey. We were lucky enough to find a park on the street, adjacent to the Pavilion, advertising “The Sound of Music” and several other coming shows. This, the pavilion, was opened in 1929, relatively recently in British terms, and includes a 1,600 seat theatre, ballroom and restaurant with terraces overlooking gardens. 

Bournemouth is not much older than the Pavilion. The town dates only from 1811, when a local squire, Louis Tregonwell, built a summerhouse on the wild unpopulated heathland that once occupied this stretch of the coast, and planted the first of the pine trees that now characterise the area.  By the end of the century Bournemouth’s mild climate, sheltered site and long sandy beaches had attracted nearly sixty thousand inhabitants. These days, Bournemouth has a population of about 191,400, but today there were a whole lot more than that. The Bournemouth Wheels Festival was on over this weekend, and today the beach, the pier, the streets and pavements were packed with people, some who had come to enjoy this annual festival and some, like us, who just happened upon it all.

Down along the esplanade, there were side shows and stalls, exhibitions of 4 wheel driving by Jeep, monster truck demonstrations and races, and hair raising extreme cycling and skating on a specially manufactured “tube” for the occasion. And this was just a small part of what was going on. We walked a long distance along the seashore stopping from time to time to observe and enjoy the carryings on, and then decided that we had had enough of the crowds and noise. We retreated to the Pavilion garden and ate our lunch beside the fountain, before heading further east again.

Bournemouth Pavilion

We had thought we might spend the rest of the afternoon at Beaulieu (pronounced “Bewlee” rather than the correct “Bo-lyer” as it is correctly called in the south of France). The site of one of England’s most influential monasteries, the property is now in private ownership but open to the public for a feast of entertainment, including the famous Motor Museum. I found that there were charming walks to be had on the property that would have suited me well while Chris whiled away hours in the museum, but when we discovered the entry fee, we decided that it would warrant a full day, and we simply did not have the time available. So instead we decided to head on to Christchurch and Lymington, the first which we just drove through and the second where we were directed by our Tomtom by a very round about scenic route to the old port. 

Bournemouth Pier

Lymington is yet another access point for the Isle of Wight, but more than anything an incredibly busy leisure harbour; there are three marinas here. The historical wealth of Lymington was based on salt and smuggling, which were at their height in the 18^th century. Much of the architecture today reflects this period.

Until the end of the 18^th century, the area from Lymington to Hurst Spit was the site of the biggest sea salt industry in the country. By 1865 cheaper mined salt from Cheshire finally forced the closure of the last saltern.

Smuggling became an important part of economic life in Lymington toward the end of the 17^th century and it received widespread support from the local community. Items smuggled included wine, brandy, silks, coffee, tea and other durable items. There are stories of cellars and tunnels in the High Street. Goods were landed in creeks around Lymington and then taken inland as far as possible by teams of packhorses and cart. Some smuggled goods reached Lymington residents and were concealed within their houses.

Lymington has been building boats since medieval times. During the reign of Edward I (1272 – 1307) the Lymington shipyard supplied nine ships for the defence of the realm, more than Portsmouth.

Lymington's Old Port

Since the 19^th century, Lymington has become a major sailing centre, convenient for leisure cruising in the Solent and to the Isle of Wight, as well as a departure point for the English Channel and beyond. Visiting yachtsmen and locals alike benefit from Lymington’s two yacht clubs: the Royal Lymington Yacht Club and the Lymington Town Sailing Club.

We wandered along the wharf area, checking the catches of the many children fishing for crabs, and then walked up through the cobbled steep street up into High Street. The old area reminded me of the streets on Capri. We stepped into one of these quaint old shops for delicious ice-creams and then continued on up licking our decadent treats.

Near the top of the main street, beyond the open shops, we walked back through to the marinas, misjudging our direction but seeing the fine residences of this town before finally finding our way back to the car.

Back on the road, heading north we found our way to Lyndhurst where the New Forest Visitor Centre is situated. There we gathered together maps and information regarding the National Park, and discussed alternatives with the friendly assistant. She suggested we head back to Ringwood on a more obscure route, the Bolderwood Abboretum forest road through to the viewing platform over the deer sanctuary. We were amazed at the number of cars met on the extremely narrow road, narrow mainly for the sharp steep edges not easily pulled off over, and the huge numbers of folk out enjoying the fresh air of the park. We did see the deer, but these cannot be considered as proper sightings; they are gathered here below the platform in a sanctuary, and are fed at 2 pm each day. Hardly wildlife!

The New Forest is not so new, but was considered so by William the Conqueror in 1079 when he requisitioned about 220 square miles as a game reserve. These days the National Park, established only in 2005, apparently attracts 13.5 million day visits annually! Much of the land was cleared for agriculture and settlement long before the Normans arrived, and its poor sandy soils can now only support heather and gorse. We look forward to rambling through these weeds in a couple of days' time.

But today we drove on, emerging from the forest and on across the heath, wild ponies seen from time to time. We eventually emerged from another tree lined section of the road beside our camp; now we know where the road continues to. Our hosts had returned; we duly paid our dues and found ourselves the only campers left in this small field, which suits us very well.