There are some places that stay with you, no matter how long you’ve been away.

For me, the New Forest is one of them.

So when Kerry and Trev suggested a day walking in the Forest, accompanied by Sienna, their lovely black Labrador-cross, I was delighted.

The Fit Family were taking me out again.

I had a feeling there would be quite a bit of walking involved.

Possibly several thousand miles.

But I was really looking forward to it.

A Forest That Isn’t Actually New

For anyone unfamiliar with the New Forest, it is one of the most beautiful areas of southern England.

And despite the name, there’s nothing particularly new about it.

In around 1079, William the Conqueror established the area as a royal hunting forest.

Essentially, he decided that he wanted an enormous playground in which to hunt deer, and the local population had to adjust accordingly.

The Forest became subject to special laws protecting the king’s hunting interests.

Nearly a thousand years later, it’s still here, although thankfully the kings have stopped galloping about shooting things.

These days it’s a National Park, with ancient woodland, enormous oak and beech trees, heathland, open grassland, streams, little villages and some of the most wonderful wildlife.

And, of course, the famous New Forest ponies.

They’re everywhere.

Wandering across the open heath, grazing beside the roads and occasionally standing in the middle of the road as though they’re waiting for somebody to explain why you’ve brought a car into their field.

They have absolutely no interest in your travel arrangements.

Unfortunately, not every driver seems to appreciate that these animals have the right of way, or indeed that slowing down might be a sensible idea.

There are also cattle, donkeys, deer and, at certain times of year, pigs.

The pigs are turned out in autumn to eat fallen acorns and other nuts, a centuries-old tradition known as pannage.

Apparently, acorns can be poisonous to ponies and cattle, so the pigs are performing a useful public service.

Very considerate of them.

The whole place is quite extraordinary. 

The Road to Emery Down

Our original plan was to visit Emery Down.

This wasn’t just somewhere I fancied going for a walk.

It was somewhere very personal.

In 1988, I took my brother Simon’s ashes into the Forest.

I didn’t scatter them.

I found a place, dug a hole and buried them.

Then I carved his initials, SAG, into the tree closest to where I’d put him.

That was 38 years ago.

I’d wanted to go back and see the place again.

To see whether the tree was still there.

Whether I could find those initials.

And perhaps just to stand there for a little while.

As we drove towards the Forest, we passed so many places that brought back memories.

Roads I remembered.

Villages I’d driven through years ago.

Familiar names appearing on signposts.

It’s a strange experience returning to somewhere after so long. You find yourself looking out of the window and suddenly remembering things you haven’t thought about in decades.

We drove through Ashurst and Lyndhurst, and I was also keeping an eye out for something considerably less emotional.

Chocolate-box cottages.

Remember those enormous old-fashioned boxes of chocolates?

The ones with a beautiful thatched English cottage on the lid?

You don’t seem to see them much these days.

Well, I was determined to find the real thing, once again.

And we did!

Gorgeous little cottages with their thick thatched roofs, looking as though somebody had lifted them straight off a chocolate box and planted them beside the road.

Some appeared to have been recently rethatched.

Absolutely beautiful.

Although I couldn’t help wondering what the insurance premiums must be.

And the maintenance.

I suspect living in one is considerably more expensive than buying the chocolates.

Unfortunately, when we reached the turning for Emery Down, the road was closed.

Oh, bugger.

After coming all this way, I wasn’t going to be able to get to the place I’d wanted to see.

It was disappointing.

But there was nothing we could do about it.

So we changed plans and headed somewhere nearby.

Boldrewood and the Fit Family

We decided on Boldrewood.

Now, the New Forest has hundreds of walking routes, and I suspect you could spend years exploring them without ever doing the same one twice.

Naturally, Kerry and Trev studied the available options.

I had a horrible suspicion they were considering doing all of them.

Possibly before lunch.

Fortunately, we settled on the longest of the marked routes available to us.

Of course we did.

But before setting off, we discovered something very important in the car park.

A mobile café.

Well!

It would have been positively rude not to support a local business.

So we stopped for coffee.

Sienna waited patiently while the humans attended to their caffeine requirements.

And then we were off.

The Smell of the Forest

Oh, how I’d missed this.

There is something about walking through the New Forest that I find difficult to explain.

It’s the smell, for a start.

That wonderful earthy smell of damp leaves, moss, wood and soil.

The sort of smell that immediately takes me back to another time in my life.

Autumn leaves were scattered across the paths.

Some still golden, some turning brown, others already softening into the earth.

There were enormous trees everywhere.

Oaks with huge trunks and twisting branches.

Beeches stretching upwards.

Trees that had been standing there long before any of us were born and will hopefully still be standing long after we’re gone.

I love those old trees.

The shapes of them.

The bark.

The way their branches spread out above you.

And the light coming through the leaves.

Sometimes we walked through more open areas, then back into the shelter of the woodland.

There was that lovely quiet you get in a forest.

Not complete silence.

Birds calling.

Leaves rustling.

The occasional sound of something moving in the undergrowth.

And the footsteps of four walkers.

Well, three walkers and Sienna, who was conducting her own investigation of every interesting smell along the route.

I don’t think dogs actually go for walks.

They go out to read the local newspaper.

Every tree, bush and patch of grass contains some vital piece of information.

Sienna was clearly keeping herself fully informed.

It was beautiful.

And I realised just how much I’d missed walking somewhere like this.

I’ve enjoyed so many lovely places during my time back in Britain, but the New Forest is different for me.

It’s familiar in a way that goes beyond recognising a place.

It feels like part of my history.

We walked and talked and enjoyed the surroundings.

And, rather reluctantly, eventually found ourselves back at the car park.

I could quite happily have stayed longer.

Although the Fit Family probably would have suggested another circuit.

A Pub Lunch and a Mystery

By this point, lunch was sounding like an excellent idea.

So we headed to Minstead, another gorgeous little New Forest village.

We found a lovely old pub and settled down for a very enjoyable lunch.

After all that walking, I felt we’d earned it.

Although I suspect Kerry and Trev would have considered the walk merely an appetiser.

After lunch, we wandered up to the local churchyard.

Because buried beneath a large tree at All Saints’ Church is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes.

And what a fascinating little place to visit.

Conan Doyle had strong connections with the New Forest and owned a country home nearby. He and his wife were eventually laid to rest here.

We found his grave and noticed that visitors had left small stones on it.

Some appeared to have 22LB written on them.

Now, this immediately presented us with a mystery.

What did 22LB mean?

It certainly wasn’t his weight.

And I couldn’t remember it being the title of a Sherlock Holmes story.

Then I had a thought.

221B Baker Street!

Sherlock Holmes’s famous fictional address.

Elementary, my dear Watson!

Well, actually, I don’t think Holmes ever said that exact phrase in the original stories, but never mind.

I was rather pleased with myself.

We had successfully solved the mystery of the stones.

Although, given that we were standing at the grave of the man who created the world’s most famous detective, it would have been a bit embarrassing if we’d had to Google it.

Another Story in the Churchyard

Not far away, we came across another gravestone.

This one was much sadder.

It appeared to commemorate two children who had been lost at sea.

The inscription included the words:

“Together in nature forever.”

We stood looking at it.

I found it very moving.

You wander into an old churchyard expecting to find the grave of a famous author, and instead you also discover fragments of other people’s lives.

People you’ve never known.

Families whose stories are almost completely lost to time.

And sometimes just a few words on a stone are enough to make you stop and think.

You never really know what life has in store.

That thought stayed with me as we left.

The Strange Fireplace in the Woods

But our day wasn’t quite finished.

Trev had heard about a rather unusual memorial hidden in the Forest.

A fireplace.

Yes, an actual fireplace.

Standing on its own in the woods.

He thought it had something to do with the Second World War.

Naturally, we decided to investigate.

And there it was.

A rather strange-looking brick fireplace, standing in the middle of the Forest with no house attached.

It looked as though somebody had demolished an entire building and forgotten to remove the chimney.

After a little research, we discovered its story.

It’s known as the Portuguese Fireplace.

And it actually dates back to the First World War.

During the war, there was a shortage of local labour because so many men had been called away for military service.

Timber was desperately needed for the war effort, so a Portuguese army unit helped with forestry work alongside the Canadian Forestry Corps.

The men lived in a camp in the Forest.

And the fireplace is what remains of their cookhouse.

It was preserved as a memorial to the men who lived and worked there. 

Isn’t that fascinating?

There we were, standing beside what initially looked like a random old fireplace, discovering another little piece of history.

I wondered about the men who had gathered around it.

Cooking meals.

Talking about home.

Working in a foreign country during a terrible war.

And now, more than a century later, people like us were standing there learning about them.

I do love stumbling across things like that.

The Forest and Me

By the time we headed home, I felt we’d packed an extraordinary amount into one day.

Beautiful villages.

Chocolate-box cottages.

Ancient trees.

Autumn woodland.

A wonderful walk.

A lovely pub lunch.

Sherlock Holmes.

A mysterious gravestone.

And a fireplace with a wartime story.

All accompanied by Kerry, Trev and Sienna, who were, as always, wonderful company.

But there was another part to the day.

The part that had originally brought me towards Emery Down.

Simon.

I didn’t get to visit the place where I buried his ashes.

I didn’t get to look for the tree with his initials carved into it.

And I was disappointed about that.

I wonder whether it’s still there.

Whether the tree has grown around the letters.

Whether anyone walking past would even notice them now.

SAG.

Three little letters I carved into a tree 38 years ago.

Somewhere in that beautiful Forest is a place that means an enormous amount to me.

And although I couldn’t get there this time, I was glad to be back.

To smell the woodland again.

To walk beneath those huge old oaks.

To remember.

I don’t know whether I’ll ever visit the New Forest again.

I hope I will.

But if I don’t, I’m so glad I had this day.

And perhaps that’s enough for now.

A beautiful autumn walk, lovely friends, a very happy dog and a forest full of memories.

Some places you leave behind, but they never really leave you.