Just minutes from the M27, the motorway gives way to moorland, drivers reduce speed in homage to the grazing gardeners of the New Forest – the wild ponies – and time slows down in step with the traffic. Cue deep exhalation of city congestion and, ventilated by heather-perfumed air, one remarkably swift passage into the wilderness.
Such accessibility from the conurbations of southern England earns the location big accolades. Still, don’t expect to hurry through William the Conqueror’s former hunting ground; wild horses may have dragged you here, but they’re unlikely to budge from the road till they’ve had their fill.
Tom Charman’s grandmother bequeathed her family the pottery and farmhouse adjoining the field. For years, campers would turn up requesting a pitch, encouraging Tom and his cousins to run an honesty site: a sign at the gate would welcome arrivals and contributions were collected each morning.
Tom’s Field now has around 40 plots, managed by Tom and his wife Tina. Numbered pitches run parallel to the road, opposite another line of tents that overlook the moors. Here, parents sit outside their ever-expanding canvas constructions looking almost stunned by the sudden onset of relaxation. At the far end, beside a clutch of woody pitches, is The Copse, a favourite with couples.
You can walk for miles on the moors and explore villages by bike or on horseback. At night, campers laze around, barbecuing food. ‘Or the more adventurous,’ laughs Tina, ‘make the half-a-mile pilgrimage to the pub’.