Our last day in the New Forest
remained dry and much warmer than the day before. We were late setting off for
our drive, to explore part of the National Park which is detached from the
forest park, yet part of it in name and administration.
Our route took us south west to the
village of Sway, still well within the forest, then south through Hordle which
sits on the southern edge, on through the charming seaside village of
Milford-on-Sea to the smaller fishing hamlet of Keyhaven on the edge of the
Keyhaven Marshes, all sheltered by the two and a half long Hurst Spit.
Just south of Sway, we passed by an
amazing tower, with no obvious access to the casual public. We stopped and I
took a photo before googling “tower near
me” and learned that this was predictably called The Sway Tower. This Grade II structure stands sixty six metres
tall and was built by Andrew Thomas Turton Peterson, an Anglo-Indian barrister,
spiritualist, socialist and amateur architect, on his estate around 1880. It
was constructed entirely out of concrete made from Portland cement and designed
as a mausoleum. Nearby stands a smaller fifteen metre tower, the prototype for
the folly to follow.
In 1973 it was purchased by a
businessman, Paul Atlas, for £2,600; he and his family held it for forty five
years, and in 1995, after years of renovation, they moved into the tower. In
March this year it was offered as a raffle prize, at £10 a ticket. I have no
idea of the outcome of this interesting situation and who now resides in this
amazing folly.
We followed the Hurst Castle signs to Keyhaven
where we found that one could catch a little ferry out to the fortress at the
end of the spit. We were surprised, not realising that a boat trip was required
to visit the Castle, and since neither of us were keen to do this, we continued
on around the narrow road on the very edge of the marsh, soon finding ourselves
at the base of the spit where several cars were parked, some in a space that
could well be flooded at high tide and others at a higher level, with room for
us. We could see people walking out on the spit toward the lighthouse and a
great grey lump that we decided was the castle, so we decided to head off after
them and visit this historical structure for ourselves after all.
The Hurst Spit is a two and a half
kilometre long shingle spit which is slowly moving into the Solent, that
channel between the Isle of Wight and the mainland, over the saltmarsh it
shelters. It is a natural feature, formed from loose flint pebbles eroded from
the cliffs further to the west. Over the last century the spit itself has been
eroded away with storms and interference by the development of towns and
village along the coast of Christchurch Bay.
The most severe damage along the full
length of the Spit occurred in 1989 when the Spit was flattened along 800
metres of its length and so weakened that it was in danger of being breached.
Maintenance was carried out, gravel imported from nearby gravel pits, however
the Council decided to undertake research into a long term stabilization
programme.
A grand scheme of 1996, costing £5
million, was launched, funded largely by grant aid from government with smaller
contributions by the New Forest District Council and Hampshire County Council.
125,000 tonnes of rock, sourced and transported from Norway on massive barges
to moorings off the Isle of Wight, were required to construct the revetments
and breakwater. Obviously this was a massive project and provided long term
resolution. Alas major storms in 2013 and 2014 wrecked damage yet again to the
spit and there was another drive for funds for reparation work.
It was evident yesterday that this had
been done because the ridge, on which one must walk to access the castle, is a
great mountain of pebbles and flint rock, difficult to wade through, much like
trudging through snow or crossing sand dunes.
These days the spit looks more like a railway embankment than a natural
formation.
After making our way along the length
of the Spit, the distance seeming more like five miles than just over a mile,
we spent time in the castle, a rather ugly squat affair.
Hurst Castle was part of Henry VIII
string of fortresses along the south coast, and is considered one of the most
advanced artillery fortresses in England. This castle, completed in 1544, was
sited to cover the western approach to the Solent, while Calshot Castle, which
we visited in June, guarded the entrance to Southhampton Water.
The castle remained in use through the
centuries, through the Victorian years when there was a fear of Napoleon III
invading, and again in the two World Wars of the last century. It was prison to
Charles I, people convicted under the Act for the further preventing the Growth
of Popery. A priest named Atkinson was brought here in 1700 for this misdemeanour
and remained until his death in 1729.
In 1956 Hurst Castle was transferred
to the guardianship of the Ministry of Works, the in 1983 the newly formed
English Heritage took over. Since 1996 the Friends of Hurst Castle have managed
the castle although our entry was by our English Heritage membership yesterday
and the signage is all in standard EH style.
From the top of the keep we had
splendid views across the Solent to the Isle of Wight and Yarmouth castle, to
the Needles on the far western extent of the island and the many yachts moored
in the rivers running through the Keyhaven Marshes.
It was after 1 pm when we finally
arrived back at the car, having taken a path along the edge of the marsh rather
than struggle along the top of the spit, although this was little better, the
loose stones swept off the top of the spit sitting loosely on the edge of the
marsh.
After lunch we continued along the
coast, passing back through Milford-on-Sea, on to New Milton where we
discovered a Tesco Extra providing fuel and fresh provisions, then across the
county border to Dorset’s Christchurch. We had passed through Christchurch a
couple of years ago when we were drove from Poole through Bournemouth and back
to Ringwood where we stayed that first trip to the New Forest, however we had
barely given it a glance. Today we did little more, checking out the uninspirational
town and the car park above the beach. Instead we came away again without due
exploration, heading up the A35 through the New Forest to Lyndhurst, a most
scenic route, then turning south again toward Brockenhurst and home,
encountering a small herd of ponies en route who when approached by yours truly
on foot, were quite confrontational and reluctant to move off the road.
This morning dawned fine but the
positivity was limited to the weather and the deer out in the forest whom I
heard roaring, one little thrill before I rose and became embroiled in a mass
of communications from family members;
my father who has been terribly poorly for about ten days had taken a turn for
the worst, and specifics helped me make a decision that has been hovering about
for the past week. I would head back to New Zealand at once.
The ferry crossing to the Isle of
Wight was cancelled although the fare was non-refundable, quite understandably,
the booking for our four nights at the Caravan Club site at Sandown cancelled, Emirates
contacted to change my flight and bookings organised for us to hang out in
London while the rest of the arrangements were made. I also contacted my
internet provider, O2, to cancel my contract expecting to still be up for
another month, but they have waived that given the situation. So in fact while
chaos reigned in New Zealand and in my heart, everything fell into place quite
well.
Our trip up to London via the M27 and
M4, then onto the M25, went smoothly and we found our camp here at Denham Green
quite easily, also setting up without fuss. We then headed into Uxbridge to buy
a suitcase and the little bits that go with that, our own borrowed cases still
up in Suffolk with Chris’s sister.
Tomorrow I will pack, write lists for
Chris who will be left to wind up our affairs here in the United Kingdom; the
caravan and car to be sold and our books to be sent home. He will spend time
with his family, making special memories because we cannot know right now when
we will be next here, although I do know that I want to come back.
But another stage of my life will
start when I arrive in Auckland on Sunday; my sons, my grandchildren and my
parents especially, all deserve my attention and it is time I remembered that.
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