THIS weeks’ Diary comes from Dorset, where I undertook a short visit to spend time with my family as I researched the locality for future novels and articles, as well as being a guest author at the Venus Business Women’s Awards in the New Forest.

This is an annual presentation to women who have proved themselves exceptional in business enterprises, especially new ventures, and although it is a national event it is currently awarded to women who live and work in the South-West of England, this being only its second year.

The awards have quickly spread to other areas in the South-West and are likely to expand further.

One reason for my presence was that one of my daughters, Tricia Walker, won the top national award for outstanding achievement.

This was for not only publishing her novel Benedict’s Brother, but also for her work as a film producer in adapting the book for the big screen. Try Amazon for a Kindle ebook version if you’re interested.

I had no idea there was such a vast amount of work in producing a film for the big screen, covering everything from commissioning the cast and crew to securing the right music and preparing the script.

Much of that has already been done and it is now anticipated that filming will begin in York next October, followed by further filming in Thailand.

Some of the people involved have worked on well-known projects such as The King’s Speech and the Harry Potter films and books.

Presentations of the awards were in the magnificent Rhinefield Hotel which is tucked away deep within the New Forest, not far from a deer sanctuary and the New Forest Museum. Its formal address is Brockenhurst in Hampshire.

The New Forest is now a national park with public access in most areas. It is one of the largest areas of open land in the south of England and dates from the time when forests of this kind were hunting grounds for our monarchs.

The New Forest is perhaps a misnomer because it is very ancient, dating earlier than the Norman times of the 11th century. It earned the title “New” when William the Conqueror cleared away much of the ancient forest, destroying 22 Saxon villages in the process, to declare in 1079 that the New Forest should be a royal hunting preserve.

One of the tourist sights is the Rufus Stone. This is a memorial to King William II, known as Rufus due to the colour of his hair and face.

He was killed by an arrow in 1100 while hunting in the forest.

A highly unpleasant and unpopular man, there were suggestions he had been murdered but the official version is that his death was an accident. The arrow had been fired by his best archer, Sir Walter Tyrrell, and is said to have glanced off a tree to strike the king in the chest.

Tyrrell fled to France for fear of being arrested for murdering the king, even having his horse shod with its shoes back-to-front to give the impression he had gone in a different direction.

But there was no man-hunt – it seems everyone was glad to see the end of Rufus and there was not even an attempt to recover his body.

That was left to a forest worker who took it away for burial in a local cathedral.

The drive through the forest was spectacular with the immense stretch of woodland, a mixture of deciduous trees and conifers, being dressed in its autumn colours. I gained the impression that its deciduous trees retain their leaves much later than those in the North of England and we noticed also that trees alongside the motorways and main roads in that area were also still in leaf, and looking beautiful.

Our base was Swanage in Dorset, one of England’s most southerly towns, where we hired a nice house with a well-worn badger path through the garden.

Although it was November, our visit was blessed with mild weather, long days of sunshine with blue skies and calm seas.

In the short time we were there – two full days with a further two travelling 660 miles there and back – we explored the coastline around Swanage where I felt I should base one of my crime novels.

The coast thereabouts is dramatic and beautiful with dangerous caves and rocky beaches. One of the best known caves, Tilly Whim, is a former limestone quarry that leads out to sea, and it was the recent focus of a rescue attempt that failed.

A young woman had been “coasteering” with her brother when she descended into the cave via its roof, but then could not get out. The rising tide sealed her inside, and none of the rescue efforts were successful, either from land or sea. She spoke to the rescue team for about an hour but sadly died.

When we were there only days later, her remains had not been found. It was a dramatic and sad finale to a busy few days.

No badgers

With reference to the badger path through the garden of the house we used during this visit, we never saw any sign of these nocturnal creatures, except for a vehicular casualty on one of the New Forest roads.

I am told, however, that they regularly use that path and it is widely acknowledged that badgers always use the same route to wherever they are going.

In this case, I have no idea of their destination because the path led through the garden gate and onto a quiet road. Unless they went down to the beach for a midnight swim or paddle?

For our visits to Bournemouth, we made use of the ferry that crosses the narrow sea gap near Sandbanks but did not have time to visit Brownsea Island in Poole Harbour which is known for its colony of red squirrels.

Because this is an island it has avoided the presence of grey squirrels, and so the reds thrive in this lovely place.

What we did see while awaiting one of the ferries was a shag, a strange- looking bird that is a smaller version of a cormorant and which is rarely seen inland.

It favours the coastline and in some areas is plentiful.

As we watched it fly across the water, we noticed on the beach below, a pair of oyster catchers who were conspicuous in their black and white plumage, long heavy orange beaks and long legs.

Perhaps of more interest was a small flock of about 20 mallard-sized water fowl that we spotted in Durlston Bay below the castle.

At first, I could not identify the species and initially thought they were ducks of some kind. They had distinctive black heads and necks, greyish-brown upper parts and very prominent white patches beneath their tails.

It did not take long to realise they were Brent geese, winter visitors from the Arctic regions, and our smallest goose, only about the size of a mallard.

They can be easily mistaken for ducks especially as they bob their heads beneath the water to seek food as they flash their white sterns like miniature beacons.

Then it was time to return to the North.