Round Hill Gardens

Belton Close

Just a few photos from the Garden Gadabout held the last two weekends in aid of the Sussex Beacon - on the way back from a swim, I dropped in on a place recommended by friends in the road encircling Queen's Park. I asked the owner of a garden centred on a pond about her favourite things; a plantswoman, she singled out two plants, one of which was this erigeron, thriving in a sunny spot. A cultivated daisy, this one looked quite wild in its profusion and variety of delicate white, pink and mauve petals.

Afterwards, I headed for some gardens in the Round Hill area: a wildlife garden that several people had tipped. It was a densely planted and shady garden divided into several spaces leading along meandering paths to a vegetable plot with chickens and compost bins. There were numerous ponds and bird tables (as well as seventeen nest boxes, according to the guide sheet): this blackbird (left) seemed completely at ease less than a few feet away from me.
Also in Richmond Road, a garden on a steep slope constructed on three levels (right), and another where almost everything is grown in pots (below).






My final stop was for a cup of tea in a garden belonging to friends, in Belton Close - and delicious chocolate cake (their recommendation) .

They'd had a good day - it was about three o'clock (two hours to go) and they'd had nearly a hundred visitors. They are also opening
in the National Gardens Scheme in August, by which time their sunflower
hedge will be ready (just coming up on the right-hand side of the arch, beneath the sweetpeas). I sat in the shade of the shed (a table with an elegant parasol was taken) next to a fountain made up of cubes and relaxed in the cool, with the gentle sound of water in the background, looking out on to the drought-defying, lush lawn.

Walking in the Rain

Knowing my interest in wild orchids, a friend had booked us on an orchid-hunting walk on the Sussex Downs. Although I'd recently seen quite a few at Castle Hill Nature Reserve and hadn't thought about planning to see more quite so soon, I was drawn by the chance to discover more about the Downs; there was also an art installation, and I'd enjoyed Anish Kapoor's Sky Mirror, sited on a hill overlooking Brighton seafront, a couple of years ago.

The walk took us through one of the richest places for fauna and flora on the Downs, our guide, a National Trust warden, told us. He also mentioned that orchid theft still went on in the area, despite the fact that these plants are nearly impossible to grow on, and so this posting will be vague as to their whereabouts. Wild orchids only grow in the ultra stripped-down soil of chalk grassland. It took the National Trust about eight years to clear the area where we walked - cattle and, occasionally, sheep, were then brought in for grazing.

The atmosphere of secrecy, rarity and intensive preparation mean that catching sight of an especially beautiful wild orchid is like seeing a mythical creature. Above, a common spotted orchid (s0-named for the spots on its leaves) in a woodland area recently cleared and restored - click on the picture to see the delicate markings.

The subtle colours and dainty forms of some of the rarer flowers mean that they aren't easy to spot - we hunted high and low for a bee orchid but couldn't find one, though we found a spider orchid and a few tiny fly orchids.

Apart from the magnificent spotted orchid, highlights of our orchid hunt were this creamy white butterfly orchid, which is bioluminescent (glows after dark), and a fragrant orchid, a lovely light mauve, below (a blurry picture, taken in the rain). Our guide said that fragrant orchids tend only to release their scent towards nightfall and so most of my fellow walkers headed onwards. I stayed behind with a couple of others to admire it a little more, and then a lady knelt down and discovered that it really was fragrant, despite its being only midday. The scent was like honeysuckle.

By that time, the earlier shower had turned into a downpour - yet we followed our guide, who, minus hat and umbrella, seemed happily oblivious to the weather, up a hill in search of Bronze Age earthworks and man orchids. Not being hardcore naturalists like the rest of the group, we left when we'd reached the top, half-way through some intriguing information about the thousands of ant hills (the ants have a symbiotic relationship with the lovely adonis blue butterfly), and took the quickest route back, stopping for a half-pint before the drive home.

Not long after this walk, I was at Penshurst on one of the wettest days of the year - again, a trip booked in advance and so you just had to make the most of things. Yet it was still a pleasure to walk around the gardens - admittedly, it helps to have some Celtic blood - which have been transformed since my last visit a couple of years ago. Everything was thriving, no doubt thanks to the rain, after our drought.

The new herbaceous border was begun three years ago and is in the final stages of development - I made a mental note to return in July/August on a dry day. In the meantime, I went in search of the playful creations I'd seen before, the topiary bear (reached via the orchard) and heraldry garden.
There was a garden planted with symmetrical beds of white roses, which brought to mind an episode in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, in which the gardeners are painting a white rose-tree red (when Alice asks why, one of them replies: "this here ought to have been a red rose-tree, and we put a white one in by mistake").

Early Summer Colours

Nymans

Colour combinations in the wild and in cultivation have lit up some of the visits I’ve made to landscapes and gardens lately.


Earlier this month, I visited Castle Hill Nature Reserve to look for wild orchids – I was fortunate to be there with orchids expert Professor Mike Hutchings of Sussex University. As he mentioned, yellow and purple aren’t colours most people would combine in clothes yet they’re lovely in nature and best for pollinators. The photos above show mouse-eared hawkweed side by side with common spotted (purple) and fragrant (pink) orchids. The unseasonable weather meant that we came across quite a few of these orchids, which had only just emerged - the usual time is around mid-June. Some of the yellow wild flowers blending with the pink, purple and blue of orchids and milkwort were familiar, such as cowslips; others were less well-known (to me, at least) - bird's foot trefoil and yellow rattle.

The bold use of yellow as a foil for more delicate hues caught my attention in the following weeks at Nymans and then in a Brighton garden belonging to friends.

Palest mauve wisteria above a wide band of irises, with brilliant yellow Himalayan poppies in their midst, Nymans.


Irises and fennel, alliums and foxgloves, 1 Belton Close.


Although at the time I wasn't thinking about them directly, I realise that my fascination with these contrasting colours comes partly from looking again at Vincent Van Gogh’s iris paintings, and in particular, his "View of Arles with Irises in the Foreground", which he described to his brother Theo as composed of "enormously divergent complementary colours that are exalted by their oppositions".

Muted shades were identified as a trend at this year’s Chelsea flower show – as in the flowing dusky pinks and whites of Luciano Giubbilei’s garden for Laurent-Perrier, designed to evoke rosé champagne, offset by white-grey rocks in the pool. Yet, on what was mostly an overcast morning, I also enjoyed the bright yellows in Jim Fogarty’s garden for the Royal Botanic Gardens Melbourne and in Cleve West’s garden for the Daily
Telegraph, where, in the central circle, brilliant deep pink dianthus cruentus stood alone like a tiny fountain (below right).








Natural and ornamental colours were presented in sequence in Robert Myers's garden for Cancer Research UK. The soft pink, blue-green and white of beach wildflowers such as thrift and kale gave way to deeper colours and lush planting.

Colour can be like music – gentle shades calm; brilliant colours compel your attention like staccato notes.

Works in Progress

Lately, I've found that several of the gardens I've visited have something vital in common: the National Garden Scheme. All are quite private places which open to the public a few times a year. Preparations for these openings give a new rhythm to the gardening year.

A few photos of two of these gardens, both in Brighton, which will open in the Garden Gadabout and National Garden Scheme this summer: first, 1 Belton Close, part of the Round Hill Gardens, taken mid-March.

There was a sense of readiness in the garden, especially with the carefully wrapped-up banana tree and propagation modules in the greenhouse. Everywhere, new shoots were just appearing, after the long winter.

Next, the Garden House, just before and after the Mediterranean heatwave. First, a few tulips, early April:

Although some had already gone over, still an arresting combination of colours.

Below, species tulips, delicate and subtle colours.

Then, after the tropical weather:

Seeing gardens fast-forward into summer can be disorientating, though a sign of the times. With the unusual weather, gardeners have to be more flexible and inventive - and to work harder to realise their plans. Then, come what may, there will always be something to see.

The Garden Gadabout: Sundays 26 June and 3 July 12pm - 5pm

National Garden Scheme: the Garden House, Fri 17 June, 6 - 8.30pm
1 Belton Close: Sunday 31st July 2011, 11am-5pm (for details, see www.ngs.org.uk)

A Day at the London Orchid Show

Pressed for time, just wanted to put up a few pictures of the London Orchid Show, held at the RHS Horticultural Halls in Westminster last weekend. I was fortunate to be let in early, thanks to an exhibitor; had a quiet wander around and so could take in the diversity of flowers, which always amazes.

By the afternoon, the place was buzzing (anticipation building up to the 3.30pm sell-off, when there was a chance to buy plants from the exhibits), and the scent from so many orchids in one place was almost overpowering.

A diamond mine design to celebrate the diamond anniversary of the Orchid Society of Great Britain, awarded Most Innovative Display.

McBean's Orchids - an island of cymbidiums and odontoglossums crowned by a palm tree, gold medal winners.



A terrarium, so you can grow plants from all over the world, in an educational display by Helen and David Millner, awarded a gold medal.
Pleiones (bugle-like flowers at the front), by Maren Talbot of Heritage Orchids - there was also a sublime yellow and white one, Pleione Krakatoa (Wheatear), but it wasn't for sale, unfortunately. Still, I came away with a lovely miniature version, though this Himalayan plant needs cool, and so as to stand a chance on my balcony, I'm hoping to put together some sort of wind shield or mini beach hut, maybe.

Looking forward now to going to the spring show at the Glasshouse, Wisley, at the end of next month.

Wisley Wonders

Each month, Wisley is holding a plant specialist weekend - coming up are hellebores next month and auriculas at the end of April. A couple of weekends ago, I was there for a talk by Jim Durrant of McBean's Orchids and a tour of the orchid collection. I really enjoyed both.

If a pattern - or apparent obsession - seems to be emerging in these postings, just to mention that recently I've been researching orchids for a chapter on plants in a book-in-progress. Also, the Orchid Society of Great Britain is celebrating its diamond jubilee this year, and I've been following preparations for forthcoming shows (more on these in a future posting).

Just a few photos of the orchid house at Wisley for now:




Afterwards, there were the tropical butterflies in the glasshouse. An apt follow-up since orchids and butterflies seem to me to have a few things in common as specialist interests. Orchids are similarly delicate, mysterious creatures, though have obvious advantages as a hobby, not least on account of the element of cruelty in butterfly-collecting. This train of thought originates for me with Vladimir Nabokov's fascination with butterflies.
(A quick digression: while he was research fellow in entomology at Harvard, Nabokov and his wife spent their summers butterfly-hunting in North America and Europe. As a respected lepidopterist who wrote academic papers, he presents an unusual case of a writer who was also an expert in another, seemingly unrelated field. In an interview in 1971, however, Nabokov linked both expertises, saying that although he still continued to hunt butterflies, he no longer published academic papers since "the miniature hooks of a male butterfly are nothing in comparison to the eagle claws of literature which tear at me day and night".)

The most striking butterflies in the glasshouse were black with grey or blue markings. The first I saw seemed to have escaped from the exhibition area; I hadn't been prepared to see a creature about the size of my hand gliding in a slow zigzagging movement through the gallery, obviously a bit lost. When I reached the exhibition walkway, it was fascinating to see how they moved as if in slow motion. Like swallows in extremely leisurely flight. Occasionally, they fluttered out of harm's way.
I thought they were remarkably calm despite the visitor numbers - much calmer than most of the visitors. It was midday, and there were a few traffic jams on the stairs (best to go early, if you're going). There was a real excitement in the air: people stood still, gazing at butterflies and orchids, both strangely beautiful creatures. I heard later from a friend that one of the assistants had brought out a butterfly that had just hatched, holding it on a little stick.

Afterwards, I asked one of the RHS guides, Connor, also a tree expert, who was directing people traffic outside the glasshouse, what he would especially recommend seeing in the grounds. Armed with a couple of seasonal tips for a tour, I was about to set off when I came across a friend who had also been at the orchids event - she and her mother had just toured the glasshouse. We stopped for lunch, by which time the weather had picked up. The morning had started grey and rainy, not garden-visiting weather, though I'd reminded myself on the way up that I'd be inside most of the time, for the talk and tour - yet there we were in glorious sunshine, coats off.

We headed first for the lake bordered by willow and dogwood stems, silver-grey, red and golden: I'd wanted to see them because I'd recently seen photos of coloured tree barks in the winter garden of Anglesey Abbey (the Garden House in Brighton were organising a tour there). We had to search a bit to find his favourite planting. Following the path round, where we caught sight of swans, there they were: silver birch trees underplanted with winter aconites. For me, this cluster of golden flowers outshone everything else in the landscape. (I realise that the shot below can't do it justice, though - in any case, it's well worth seeing for yourself.)

Then we walked through a woodland area - the wild garden - towards the rock garden. You could almost be in real woods (just have to close your mind to the distant din of the A3). We had a relaxing time slowly ascending Battleston Hill, planted with gigantic snowdrops, some doubles, as well as a whole host of other bulbs, all of them out, and I forgot to look out for the plant of the month, Iris "Katherine Hodgkin". Maybe it was because I'd had my fill of irises already: there had been deep purple dwarf irises in the beds outside the Clore Centre; elsewhere, in the wild garden, there were statuesque mauve irises. It was also a little overwhelming to see so many brightly coloured flowers when, by comparison, Sussex gardens and parks were still barely struggling out of winter, with only snowdrops and a few crocii on show. A walk around Wisley was a kind of fast-forward into spring.

My friend spotted our iris, fortunately, since it had slipped my mind - surrounded by a small crowd. It was set amongst some rocks, beneath a bonsai'd larch tree near the top of the hill. The petals were a delightful grey-blue with delicate yellow and black markings. The flower seemed to emerge from the earth - its tiny stem hidden somewhere. We'd been admiring the flowers for a while when it dawned on us: Iris "Katherine Hodgkin", plant of the month.

Just out of curiosity, I looked for it in the plant shop. An assistant said she wasn't sure they had any left - checking the system, she saw there were two but that could mean they were sold-out. There were none to be seen in the racks outside, though I hadn't thought about buying in any case. (I've since heard that the plant centre has sold 500: sold out in just over a month. Although it's unlikely there will be any new stock in the near future, they will come in again in August, as a dry bulb.) Instead, I picked up two lovely winter aconites. Close-up, their glistening flowers were sunflower-bright as well as jewel-like - a powerful colour for such a tiny flower. Described as an "early flowering plant" (January), it was a good memento for a day spent in an early flowering garden.

Spring Thoughts

A few sunny spells are enough to bring spring to mind. I've started looking forward to seeing a few places that will come into their own before long: Gatton Park for snowdrops, Eltham Palace for its moat planted with spring flowers (as recommended by John Watkins, Head of Gardens and Landscapes at English Heritage) and Ightham Mote for bluebells.

This January has been darker than usual: since our unusual weather last year, I've become more interested in weather forecasts, and so far this month quite a few reports have remarked on dark skies in the mornings. There seems to have been a lot more cloud this year. In the first week of the year, at 7 it still felt like the middle of the night. Nature writer Paul Evans recently summed it up: 'January looked glum'.

But the god of January, Janus, looks forward as well as back, and those sunny spells point the way forward. I first came across Janus, the two-headed gateway god, in a medieval book on agriculture: each chapter began with a beautiful woodcut of a month. What impressed me about the woodcuts for the winter months was that there seemed to be more of an acceptance of the dark times of the years, an appreciation of the seasons. Janus had a particular vitality - the worst was over and a new year promised new opportunities.

As the gateway god, Janus might seem like a wintry god yet he holds the key to the future. The god in the above Roman image now used on an Australian coin, strikes me as steely and determined, rather than glum. In his prime, you could say. It's no accident that he sports a luxuriant beard since the first month of the year is traditionally associated with age (as with January, the old knight in Chaucer's The Merchant's Tale, although, admittedly, the story mocks foolish old age). On a less serious note, these days, post-Christmas, there's less heed paid to clean-shaven looks (less maintenance seems required in general, which comes as something of a relief to many).

A fortnight ago, I went to Gatton Park, in Surrey, where I heard that a return visit would be worthwhile for the snowdrops. I was there for a meeting of the Orchid Society of Great Britain; Gatton Park last belonged to Sir Jeremiah Colman, of Colman's Mustard fame, who was one of the country's first orchid growers. He started to hybridise plants in 1900; by 1905, he had twelve glasshouses, where thousands were hybridised.

Sir Jeremiah was a kind of orchid ambassador; he spread the word about orchid growing by sending plants around the world to encourage people. One plant sent to Honolulu was used in a beauty queen's crown.

The grounds of Gatton Park were laid out by Capability Brown - they had that indefinably dreamy look of a classic Brown landscape. A midnight blue lake in a haze surrounded by trees, viewed from a plateau of perfect lawn sloping down to it.

Gatton Park is part-managed by the National Trust and looked after entirely by volunteers. Recent initiatives include restoring vistas by removing trees. Wildlife is encouraged in every way: I heard that there were twenty-five pairs of herons - a major feature of Gatton Park, the original heronry on the lake was known as "the grand water menagerie". Other attractions include a Japanese garden recreated as part of Channel 4's Hidden Gardens series and a rock garden, where you'll find the snowdrops.

There was a fabulous display of orchids grown by members of OSGB in one of the greenhouses. Orchid names can be as colourful as the plants themselves, like the irresistible Paph Red Glory x Voodoo Magic (left).
These hothouse flowers also come into their own in the springtime, with forthcoming annual shows: the London Orchid Show, in March, and the RHS Chelsea Flower Show, in May.


- Gatton Park is open to the public on the first Sunday of each month, 1pm - 5pm (www.gattonpark.com).