16 March 2017
Flowering Nicely
The National Gardens Scheme.
By J.R.Thomas
As regular readers may have worked out, this column has a soft spot for gardens; especially for the sort that flourishes so well on these shores. From now on until late autumn your correspondent will be seizing every opportunity to escape to rural England – and occasionally suburbia and even central London – in the search for that sense of both serenity and inspiration that a well-tempered garden can bring. That phrase, and the book which it led to, The Well-Tempered Garden, was coined by the fertile and brilliant mind of Christopher Lloyd, one of England’s greatest garden thinkers (and doers) who lived at Great Dixter in Sussex and subverted a traditional English garden into something exotic and strange and beautiful. Lloyd was also very exotic and somewhat strange (not beautiful perhaps) and had a radical and original mind. The gardens of Great Dixter are that originality writ in flowers and boscage, now preserved but, at his instructions, not pickled, by a trust which he endowed before his death in 2006.
Not all gardens are so lucky. They are taken in hand by inventive designers or brilliant plants people, they thrive, they flourish, they decay just as their owners do. If they are lucky they may be reborn through a new generation or at the hands of new owners. Many of the most fascinating and interesting British gardens are after all, not the great set pieces which are so well known – the Hidcotes and Inverewes and St Paul’s Waldens and Newbys, but those which remain the mostly private preserves of their owners. But, thank goodness, most inspired gardeners have something in their genes which makes them want to show off – or, to be more kindly, makes them want to share. And long ago, the perfect vehicle for sharing was set up, The National Gardens Scheme, a voluntary organisation run by gardeners which helps garden owners throw open their gates to the public, often just on a day or two a year, with a charge to the joyfully snooping populace which goes to charity – a range of nursing charities being the main beneficiaries – to the tune of over £2 million a year.
This year the National Gardens Scheme is celebrating its 90th anniversary, with around 4,000 gardens opening to the public, and more in a separate scheme in Scotland (and yet more in a similar but complementary scheme run by the Red Cross). All this activity is set out on the website of the NGS, or through its handbook of gardens which open during the year, the famous, or infamous, Yellow Book.
Over the summer this column hopes to bring you, as a change from book, film, concert, and theatre reviews, a few garden reviews. Gardens are often just as fascinating as any other act of creation, can be equally calming or disturbing, conservative or radical, miniature or expansive, and will leave you seeing the world from a slightly different perspective – or sometimes with a totally refreshed eye. As much as symphony or a poem, a well-tempered garden will share the genius of its creator with the thoughtful observer-visitor. But what work of art varies with the weather; with the season, the skill and taste and work of the creator, giving something which is the same yet totally different on successive visits. There is no greater treat than a great Cornish garden on a lush spring day, emptied of the public by heavy rain, but sensually overwhelming as the borders close up with the weight of rain drops, the wet perfumes and damp scents swirl dizzyingly around, and the colours are toned and blended by damp and mist. Ignore the teashop; run naked, if you dare, through the sheltering exotica; it will change your life! Especially, we should warn by way of disclaimer, if you get caught.
This column has an extra justification for garden visiting this year, for snooping and sneaking ideas (and cream teas) for a few pound coins. It has just acquired a piece of land – part of a tiny former market garden with good soil and a perfect south west orientation, but totally, it seemed, without any floral heritage and only two trees (one sadly deceased). The spring has proven that the former market gardener – famous locally for claiming that flowers were a waste of time and space – had a soft heart; his hedges have sprung to life successively with crocuses, snowdrops, and now daffodils. If the editor permits we might even sneak in a dispatch or two to review how that venture is going. Though it may be a while before it troubles the pages of the Yellow Book.
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