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

Today was to be our last day in the New Forest region so we planned our schedule carefully, knowing that we would leave tomorrow having shortchanged ourselves, no matter what we should pack in today.

We headed off north on the road toward Salisbury, leaving Old Farm before 9 am, battling the traffic jams just outside our compound caused by the helicopter-parents who drive their children to school. 

The River Avon at Fordingbridge

Fordingbridge is less than ten miles north of Ringwood, sitting on the banks of the River Avon, that which flows through Salisbury, Ringrose and flows out to sea at Christchurch. 

The town is still a market place as it has been forever, the centre of an agricultural area, and while charming, it is really only its seven arch bridge across the river that causes the tourist to detour off the highway. We walked about for nearly an hour, up and down the streets already dressed with flags and streamers in readiness for Queen Elizabeth’s 90^th birthday being celebrated around the country in various fashion next Sunday. Unlike New Zealand, British folk don’t get a public holiday to do this. Given that New Zealanders don’t even bother with all the bunting paraphernalia, this does seem to be rather unjust. 

Donkeys rule!

Then we headed due east into the New Forest National Park, with an unplanned stop at Godshill, donkeys galore all over the road, and around the pub prescinct, all with no intention of moving. What a traffic jam that caused! Finally an elderly resident came out and waved his arms about and made it clear who was boss; the traffic moved on. We drove on across the heath to Fritham, where we parked and set off on a three mile walk through old forest; oak, holly, hawthorn, scampering squirrels, a meandering brook, ponies, birds, all in profusion and all such a joy.

Back up near the carpark, we sat on our deck chairs and enjoyed our picnic lunch, bothered only a little by curious and precocious New Forest ponies. Despite the fact it was Tuesday, and most folk were at work or back at school, there were still dozens upon dozens of cyclists and walkers who had decided to enjoy the air from this one little spot in the Park.

Walking in the New Forest

From here we drove south to Lyndhurst, visited two days ago, returning to the Park Headquarters and Museum. With free entry, there is no excuse for the visitor to the area not to pop in here for a quick overview. In our normal fashion, we spent more than a moment, finding so much to absorb. Most pertinent was the understanding of the legal status of the New Forest, that the animals who roam this vaste area, the ponies, donkeys, cattle, sheep and pigs, are all owned by the “commoners” who exercise their traditional “common rights”, that there are Verderers and Agisters who oversee and manage the land and the comings and goings, the health and welfare of the animals. I picked up pamphlets to read and try to understand the intricacies of this system more throughly. All the animals are branded, rounded up, treated by these “officials” and the owners of the animals all have to meet certain requirements of their own land holdings. But there is so much more, and this is not the place to attempt to further explain this fascinating subject.

Horses on the heath

We took the opportunity to walk up and down the main street here too, this one even more decorated than in Fordingbridge. Our hour long parking ticket was about to expire, so we left the town, this time heading south west to visit the Knightwood Oak , this tree recognised as being the oldest tree in the forest, twenty two feet in circumference, probably  aged somewhere between 300 and 600 years old. (This age is a bit loose, I have to say.) For those who have yet to visit the big old kauri trees in New Zealand’s north, this is probably quite special. However, it is a lovely spot in the forest to wander about and it was heartening to see a few  more recently and specially planted oaks, one in 1979 and another in 1988, the years I specifically noted as coinciding with my sons’ years of birth.  

  

Lyndhurst's bunting

From here we turned south and drove back in a rather round about way, skirting Brockenhurst, passing through Burley, famous for its equestian eventing, and then finding ourselves in a no exit situation on the southern side of the A31, back tracking to the east then on narrow roads across the moor, gorse, heather, ponies and cattle all about.

Back in Ringwood, we filled with fuel in readiness for our departure tomorrow. This will be one of the longest sections towing so far here in England. Our Tomtom advises that it will take us three hours to arrive at our next destination so you can be sure it will take a whole lot longer.