Island Escape

What is it about an island?

Islands have a magical pull over me. And I'm sure I'm not the only one. It's come as quite a surprise to me that it's taken this long for me to visit a relatively famous island that lies not too far from my door. Essentially, I've lived on the South coast of England my whole life (an educational respite at a Welsh university notwithstanding) and yet, I'd never been to Brownsea Island. This summer, I decided to remedy that.

Brownsea lies in the mouth of Poole Harbour. It's a National Trust run island now, but has a rich and varied history, much of which I learnt about on my guided tour. As I stepped off the boat (which was only a short trip from Sandbanks, but enough to give you a small, seafaring sense of adventure), I was informed that a guided tour would be starting shortly. I love a guided tour and when the lady at the desk said that this one was to be conducted by one of their most highly rated guides, I was ready to go. The elderly gentleman in question, with white hair and matching beard, guided us through a potted history of the island as we walked around the core sights. His Scottish accent (I'm not sure either) made the details of the battles and perils even more dramatic. He guided us around with his peaked train-drivers' cap at a jaunty angle and his hands either in his front pockets or arched in front of him like a wise professor. We lucky tour guidees were certainly educated as well as entertained.

The most interesting pearl of knowledge shed light on one of the former owners of Brownsea: Mary Bonham-Christie. The year was 1927 when she bought the island and from the outset, Mary was not out to make friends; she was, essentially, the modern fore bearer of the crazy cat lady. Mary didn't agree with the exploitation of animals and so proceeded to set free all the livestock on Brownsea. All the animals were free to roam and graze as they wished. She then evicted the few people living in the one village on the island, chased any visitors away and generally wanted the island all to herself. It was just her, the wild, former livestock and the native red squirrels.

I know it's not a very nice thing to do, but I do admire her for her stubborn indomitability. And if you see the island, I think you'd understand.

Brownsea is a breathtakingly beautiful sanctuary of the English countryside. At one point as I walked the paths, I glanced to my right and there was an explosion of purple, green and white heather next to lush, green grass. On my left, I peered through a tall canopy of trees to the clay cliffs and the shingle beach below which opened up onto the sparkling blue sea. A pure picture of the garden of heaven.

I took a path down to the beach and walked along the shingle as far as the tide would allow me. Once I had left behind the picnicking families, I found a warm spot and settled down to soak up the sun-drenched scenery. Like I said, I completely understand Mary's thinking, although maybe not her methods, in trying to preserve Brownsea's natural wonder. So I thank her for her efforts, and I thank the National Trust for their safe guardianship of such an unspoilt haven. Long may it continue to afford all of us the opportunity for an escape to secret island life for just a little while. Everyone needs that now and then.