A visit to Ninfa was high on my garden visit wish list. Anticipation was high as Ninfa, nestling dreamily at the foot of the Lepini mountains in Lazio (Italy), embraced by the hauntingly beautiful ruins of a medieval village, has been called the most romantic garden in the world. I arrived at Ninfa during a perfectly idyllic afternoon - golden sunshine caressing the ancient stones, a gentle breeze whispering through the trees, hang gliders soaring against the majestic mountain backdrop, and a lone bird of prey circling elegantly in the blue sky above. The setting was spectacular, and as I meandered through the garden behind my knowledgeable guide, I was thankful for the rare privilege of experiencing this exquisite, centuries old sanctuary full of stunning roses and profound history. Our visit was in early May, that magical window when the roses unveil themselves in their full splendour and their petals are unfurled in perfect bloom. As a complete rose novice, I found myself captivated by this living gallery - each variety revealing its unique character through delicate hue, architectural form or intoxicating fragrance. I wandered the paths with purpose, mentally cataloguing inspirations that might transform the modest borders of my own garden at home. The roses were cascading dramatically from ancient, ruined towers and gnarled trees, scrambling along crumbling archways and dangling precariously over crystal clear waters in which their silhouettes were perfectly reflected.   The structure, form and planting of the garden functioned in perfect harmony, and according to our guide, botanical principles and historical considerations govern every aspect of the gardens’ arrangement. Ninfa is named after a temple dedicated to sacred nymphs in the first century, the foundations of which have been discovered beneath the waters of Ninfa's man-made lake, creating a mystical connection between the past and present in this dreamy landscape. After experiencing a tumultuous past, Ninfa was ultimately deserted following its pillage and devastation in 1382. Never completely restored, the site was finally abandoned by its last residents because of expanding wetlands and disease. For centuries, Ninfa remained dormant and forgotten. The Caetani family, who owned the land, eventually began restoring the area in the late 19th century, focusing on creating the Giardino di Ninfa, which stands as an amazing testament to their vision and dedication.     In 1921 Ninfa passed into the hands of Prince Gelasio Caetani, who applied his engineering expertise to revitalize the estate. He meticulously restored and cleared the ancient walls, stabilized the riverbanks, and enhanced the lake and water systems throughout the grounds. Though horticulture was not his principal interest, Prince Caetani highly valued seclusion, which led him to establish many of the magnificent trees that now define the landscape. However it was the "Ladies of Ninfa" who planted the roses - Ada, Marguerite and Leila - grandmother, mother and daughter. Roses were first introduced to Ninfa by Prince Gelasio's English mother, Ada Constance Bootle-Wilbraham, who recognized that the rich soils would nurture these elegant blooms. She cultivated primarily Teas and Noisettes, but also strategically positioned roses against the ancient walls where they could intertwine with the ivy, their vibrant petals creating a stunning contrast against the lush evergreen backdrop. Ada planted Rosa moschata , ‘Alister Stella Grey’, ‘Madame Alfred Carriere’, ‘Marechal Niel’ and ‘General Schiablikine’.  She carefully transplanted cuttings from the rose bushes flourishing in her other garden at Fogliana, with historical records suggesting these elegant varieties were initially imported from England. After Gelasio’s death, his sister-in-law, Marguerite, Duchess of Sermoneta continued planting roses at Ninfa.  Marguerite planted ‘Mermaid’, ‘Reve d’Or’, ’Allen Chandler’, Rosa x anemonoides , ‘Francois Juranvile’, ‘Madame Laurette Messimy’, ‘Cramoisi Superieur’, ‘Zephirine Droubhin’, Rosa odorata , Rosa cooperi , ‘Fortune’s Double Yellow’, Rosa roxburghii ‘Plena’ and Rosa chinensis  ‘Mutabilis’. In around 1950 Marguerite’s daughter, Princess Leila an artist and plant lover continued the traditions of planting roses in the garden. Leila chose ‘Buff Beauty’, ‘Cornelia’, ‘Vanity’, ‘Moonlight’, ‘La Follette’, ‘Belle of Portugal’, ‘Ramona’, Rosa laevigata , Rosa bracteata , ‘Canary Bird’, ‘Hamburger’, ‘Phoenix’, ‘Kassel’ and ‘Nymphenburg’ There are over 200 varieties of Rose at Ninfa but the one which captivated me was Rosa  ‘Agripinna’ a stunning cherry red rose with a mild raspberry fragrance, which was gracefully climbing a tree beside the lake, its vibrant colour creating a striking contrast against the tranquil water. Via some research, I discovered that this particular rose was introduced in France by Jean-Baptiste Paillet in 1834 under the name 'Cramoisi Superieur'. It was among the roses Marguerite had brought to the garden. I felt a thrill at establishing this connection to the past, though I'll defer to the experts for confirmation of my identification. My visit to Ninfa followed a predetermined route, with our attentive guide ensuring we remained on the designated pathways, limiting opportunities for independent exploration. Nevertheless, I felt a sense of exclusivity as we appeared to be the sole visitors that afternoon, affording us precious moments to linger, immerse ourselves in the enchanting atmosphere, and capture stunning photographs. Ninfa has cast its spell on me, and already I find myself wanting to return someday. For those interested in exploring Ninfa in greater depth, its rich history, fascinating people, notable connections, diverse plant life and of course, the roses, I recommend reading the following books. “The Garden of Ninfa” – by Marella Caracciolo and Giuppi Piertromarchi “Ninfa – The Most Romantic Garden in the World” – by Charles Quest-Ritson Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

Step into the world of "Wonderlands - British Garden Designers at Home", a captivating new book written by Clare Coulson and brought to life through Eva Nemeth's stunning photography. This book visits the private gardens of eighteen top British garden designers, not the gardens they create for clients, but the ones they build for themselves. It’s full of personal stories, reflections, and plenty of inspiring ideas, all brought to life through stunning photography. What really drew me into Clare’s book was how it uses colour, especially the darker shades, to bring the land to life in a thoughtful, understated way. The deep forest green cover isn’t just there to look good; it sets the tone. Instead of relying on bold, flashy images, the book opts for shadowy hues with the occasional burst of colour. That quiet, intentional style mirrors the designers' philosophy perfectly. It gives you a sense of how they engage with the land, working with it rather than over it, and subtly shaping it to reflect their own sense of place. Professional designers often work within constraints, tight deadlines, client demands, and prescribed aesthetics. These limitations can restrict creative freedom and dilute personal vision. In contrast, their private gardens offer complete autonomy. Free from external pressure, designers can explore ideas at their own pace, experiment boldly, and adapt organically. These spaces become pure expressions of their artistic identity, unfiltered reflections of their design philosophy and creative spirit, unlike anything shaped by client expectations. Rather than reading the book cover to cover, I was instinctively drawn to the chapters on designers whose work has long captivated me - Butter Wakefield, Sarah Price, Arabella Lennox-Boyd, and Arne Maynard. Their gardens have always resonated deeply, continuing to spark my imagination and broaden my sense of what a garden can be. Once I’d explored those familiar voices, I turned to the designers I knew less about, and was pleasantly surprised. Their stories offered fresh ideas and unexpected perspectives, a rewarding reminder of the endless creativity and innovation in garden design. Butter Wakefield is a gardener and designer I’ve admired for years, thanks to her gift for crafting small gardens that feel both personal and universally inviting. At the heart of her design lies a wildflower meadow, gently flowing through the garden with a natural, effortless charm. Eager to discover more, I turned to the book, which offered a wonderful glimpse into Butter’s experience nurturing this special space. The meadow bursts with life, from Narcissi and Cowslips to Geranium phaeum and the striking Allium ‘Purple Sensation'. But it’s the steel water bowl at the center that truly invites you in, a peaceful, meditative feature that welcomes birds, insects, and visitors alike to share in the garden’s quiet magic. My admiration for Sarah Price runs deep, especially after her stunning success at the 2024 Chelsea Flower Show and her key role in restoring Cedric Morris’s former home, Benton End, through the Garden Museum’s inspiring project. But what really draws me in, and what the book beautifully highlights—is how she cares for what used to be her grandparents’ garden in the idyllic Monmouthshire countryside. This garden, steeped in family history, offers a heartfelt connection to her past, a living bridge between generations. It’s this rare blend of personal memory and historic restoration that gives Sarah’s gardens a special sense of purpose and authenticity. Her gift for weaving together past and present makes her work not only inspiring but deeply moving. I was especially excited to see Arabella Lennox-Boyd featured in the book. Her work has been a lasting source of admiration for me, and my visit to Gresgarth Hall, along with her insightful talk on ‘Gardens of My Life’ at the Geographical Society, only deepened my respect for her vision. Arabella’s name is synonymous with excellence in landscape design, having created stunning gardens for clients like Sting and the Duke of Westminster. What makes her story truly remarkable, though, is her journey, from a single mother in London studying Landscape Architecture to building a celebrated career through skill and quiet resilience. Her path is a powerful reminder of the dedication behind every beautiful garden she’s designed. Arne Maynard holds a special place in my heart as my all-time favourite garden designer. His book, "The Gardens of Arne Maynard", was a turning point for me,transforming a casual interest into a deep passion. Some time ago, I was lucky enough to stay at Allt y Bela, his home nestled in the rolling Monmouthshire countryside. The experience was truly transformative. Bertie Bainbridge, the Head Gardener at the time, gave me a personal tour that went far beyond the usual, it felt like stepping into a living story, where every corner of the garden reflected Arne’s unique vision. That day, the connection between designer and landscape, artistry and nature, came alive for me in a powerful way. So, I was genuinely thrilled to see him featured in Clare’s book. The chapter on Arne Maynard is truly captivating. It reveals not only his deep understanding of how a garden can enhance and blend seamlessly with its surroundings, but also how the landscape itself holds meaning. What stands out most is Arne’s view of himself as a gardener first, rather than a traditional designer, a refreshing perspective that roots his work in the living, breathing world of nature instead of just aesthetics. His garden is always evolving, a dynamic space where editing and refining are part of the creative journey. One especially intriguing detail is his ‘cabinet of curiosities’,a private, almost secret spot by his house where he gathers inspiration and reflects. This glimpse into his ongoing creative process offers a fascinating look at a designer whose work goes beyond design, embracing personal expression and thoughtful exploration. I found myself naturally drawn to the chapters featuring my favourite designers, those whose work truly speaks to my sensibilities and style. But what really stands out in this book is how Clare Coulson has beautifully woven together a rich tapestry of diverse voices and approaches, making sure there’s something to resonate with every reader, no matter their background or taste. It’s a rare gift to see such a wide range of design philosophies brought together in one place. This book is not just a source of inspiration but a valuable resource for anyone interested in gardening and design. Whether you’re a seasoned gardener or an aspiring designer, I can’t recommend it highly enough. Garden Writer | Guineveres Garden

There are places that feel quietly removed from the hurry of the world, where the days seem to unfold more slowly. Fittleworth House, nestled in the folds of the Sussex countryside, is one of those places. I was recently invited to wander its gardens, not alone, but in the company of the head gardener, who has tended this land for nearly three decades. His knowledge ran deep, and as we set off along the drive, it felt less like a tour and more like stepping into someone else’s well-loved story. The path curved gently alongside the house, leading us toward an extraordinary Holm Oak, a towering, timeworn sentinel that loomed protectively above the house and the shaded border below. Its sheer height was surprising, its wide canopy arching with age and elegance, as if it had been quietly watching over the garden for centuries. Beneath it, the air was hushed and steeped in the gentle authority that old trees so often possess. We passed through the garden gate and stepped onto a wide grass terrace that ran the length of the house like a green ribbon. It sloped gently downward, drawing the eye toward the walled gardens that lay below, hidden slightly as though keeping their secrets for those who cared to wander closer. The house itself wore its history gracefully. Wisteria clung to its walls draping the façade and fluttering faintly in the breeze. At its feet, a delicate border of herbaceous plants mingled with perennial sweet peas, their tendrils curling gently. But it was the roses that held the gaze, a full, fragrant row stretching the entire length of the terrace, their heads lifted toward the sun as if in quiet pride. They were both elegant and unapologetically romantic, their colours glowing against the green. It was a place that seemed designed for pausing, to breathe, to reflect, to simply be. The only sound was birdsong, that light and lyrical chorus of a garden fully alive and, in one tender moment, we caught sight of a fledgling robin, perched delicately on the back of a weathered garden chair. As if he, too, had stopped to admire the view. This is a garden that leans into simplicity, where nature is given space to breathe, and design is thoughtful but never overworked. It’s the kind of landscape where everything feels intentional, yet nothing feels forced. From the house, there are uninterrupted sightlines that draw the eye outwards, guiding your gaze through the garden and into the open countryside beyond. It’s a quiet choreography of structure and space, where alignment matters, not for symmetry’s sake, but for the feeling it creates. To the side of the house, a pair of French doors opens directly onto a broad lawn. From here, your view stretches across to a ha-ha, that timeless landscape feature that gently dissolves the boundary between garden and field. Beyond the drop, estate railings mark the edge of the property, broken only by a single, beautifully placed statue. It stands not as decoration, but as a deliberate focal point, drawing the eye, anchoring the scene, and adding a moment of pause to the sweep of green. At this end of the garden, the mood shifts slightly, more shaded, more introspective. An enormous Cedar of Lebanon rises from the slope, its vast trunk and weathered limbs a reminder of just how long it has stood watch here. Some of its branches, lost over time, still rest where they fell, not cleared away, but left in place, as if honouring the tree’s long history. A narrow, man-made stream weaves its way down the incline, adding movement and sound to the stillness. The upper reaches are thickly planted, ferns, grasses, and low shrubs creating a dense, almost woodland feel. But further down, the planting gives way to a wilder, looser look. The lines blur. Nature takes the lead. Tucked into this more untamed corner is a piece of sculpture, striking in form, yet perfectly at home in its surroundings. It hasn’t been placed to impress, but to be discovered. And when you do come upon it, it feels as if it’s always been there, waiting quietly in the landscape, part of the story, not the centre of it. From there, we crossed the lawn and moved into a more formal part of the garden, again, carefully aligned with the house, this time with its front entrance. The symmetry was quiet but deliberate, anchoring this space with a sense of intention. A short flight of stone steps led us down to a circular pond at the heart of the setting. At its heart, a sculpture stood poised above the water, its presence calm and composed, reflecting softly on the surface below. Around it, the design was more structured, neat lawns edged with herbaceous borders, their colours carefully balanced, their shapes echoing the garden’s geometry. Just beyond the pond stood a towering yew hedge, dense, dark, and impeccably clipped. Into it, a small arched opening had been cut. It was both framing and inviting, a moment of mystery in a space defined by order. You couldn’t help but be drawn to it. Beyond the arch, the garden seemed to shift again, offering the promise of something less formal, perhaps more secret. It was one of those beautifully considered transitions that makes you want to keep walking, just to see what lies ahead. Beyond the yew hedge lay a vegetable garden that spoke of careful hands and disciplined attention. It was immaculate, not a weed to be found. Rows of vegetables stretched out in tidy lines, their neatness almost sculptural against the walls to the side and beyond. Nearby, a large fruit cage stood guard over its treasures, while borders of dahlias had been planted to add vibrant colour and texture. A wide grass walkway ran straight through the centre, inviting slow, deliberate steps and the chance to take in the quiet perfection of the space. But for me, the most special corner of Fittleworth was the gardener’s own private retreat, tucked discreetly to the side of the walled vegetable garden. It felt like the very heart of the place, a space where the garden’s magic was quietly born. Here stood a charming potting shed, arranged with meticulous care. A sturdy potting bench bore the marks of countless seasons, while terracotta pots were stacked neatly, like silent promises of growth to come. Seed trays were laid out with precision, each one waiting patiently for its turn. The order of this small sanctuary explained everything about the garden itself: its calm, its balance, its effortless perfection. It was a reminder that behind every sweeping vista and every delicate bloom, there is always quiet, steadfast dedication. Beside the potting shed, a neat row of cold frames stood ready for the changing seasons, while a large greenhouse brimmed with tomatoes and other tender plants. Everything here was laid out with the same meticulous care, immaculate, purposeful, and thriving. Among the greenery, a Pelargonium ‘Pink Rapsail’ caught my eye. Its delicate pink flowers seemed almost translucent in the soft light, standing tall and proud above me. It was clear this plant was thriving, perfectly placed in a spot where it could flourish, a quiet testament to the gardener’s thoughtful hand. To the side of the greenhouse stood a simple wooden table accompanied by two chairs, a quiet refuge where the gardeners could pause, rest, and take a well earned break. At the centre of the table was an unusual bonsai-style sycamore, its gnarled roots twisting gracefully beneath a canopy of fresh green leaves. It caught the eye effortlessly, a small sculpture of nature’s patience and artistry, quietly anchoring the space. It had been a quietly magical afternoon, the kind that lingers in the mind long after you’ve left. As I prepared to go, I thanked the gardener for so generously sharing a glimpse of this remarkable place. Before stepping away, I paused to sign the visitors’ book, and found myself thinking about that beautiful bonsai-style sycamore. I knew that once I returned home, I’d try to recreate something similar, a small reminder of this garden recreated in my own personal space. This, I think, is the true joy of visiting gardens. No matter how grand, historic, or different from our own, there’s always something to take away, an idea, a detail, a quiet moment, that plants itself in our memory and, sometimes, even in our own soil. And that, in itself, is a very special gift. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

I arrived at Jacksons Wold without much of a plan, which, in hindsight, is often the loveliest way to discover a garden, letting it reveal itself slowly, without expectation. Set quietly in the chalky folds of the North Yorkshire Wolds, it doesn’t announce itself from the road, but that only adds to its quiet allure. I seemed to wind my way off the beaten track for miles, passing through a patchwork of agricultural fields and quiet countryside, before finally arriving at the garden, tucked at the heart of a working family farm behind a huge windbreak of trees. Jackson's Wold is a farm growing mostly potatoes, stretching far and wide, but at its heart, hidden just behind the trees, lies a stunning series of garden rooms, quiet pockets of beauty that flow seamlessly into one another, stunning in their simplicity and grace. I’d visited to see the roses, so the garden rooms came as a delightful surprise. The owners guided us through each space, revealing the rich history, careful planning, and delicate intentions woven into every detail. We began in the woodland garden, where the trees shelter the house and its surroundings from the steady, strong winds. The woodland paths meander gently into the kitchen garden, where a beautiful buxus parterre unfolds, guiding the eye toward a charming greenhouse that stands as the garden’s quiet focal point beyond. The kitchen garden was full of vegetables, protected by netting, held up on simple posts, crowned with terracotta pots. Among them, a few old roses lingered, soft and weathered, quietly adding their charm to the scene. When I returned home and read more about the garden, I discovered that the kitchen garden’s design was influenced by Rosemary Verey’s potager at Barnsley House, a beautiful reminder of how gardens can carry stories and inspirations across time and place. Next, we moved into the meadow, lined with lime trees. Their branches arched lightly overhead, guiding the eye toward a weathered bench at the far end, perfectly positioned to take in the sweeping view of the landscape beyond. We wandered through the meadow and a charming little plant nursery, its tables dotted with promising young perennials, before arriving at a quiet gravelled area tucked behind the farmhouse. It was one of those unexpectedly lovely spaces, simple, but full of quiet intent. Neatly clipped balls of Buxus and Taxus baccata had been thoughtfully arranged among weathered fragments of ancient stone, each piece steeped in local history. There was a calm, timeless beauty to it all. I knew at once it was an idea I would carry home, a vision for reimagining my own gravel driveway with a similar sense of restraint and grace. Beside the farm house a gravelled Courtyard offers a quiet but composed space .  At its centre, a round stone pond with a gently bubbling fountain creates a calm focal point. A short flight of steps leads up to it, adding just enough formality to anchor the layout. Billowing drifts of Nepeta  softened the edges, their cool purple tones contrasting beautifully with the sun-warmed brick walls. The planting was loose but deliberate, with texture and movement playing a greater role than colour alone. It was a restrained, thoughtful space, designed as much for pause as for passage. Beautiful as the Courtyard was, what really caught my attention was a small wooden ramp built into the pond, designed to help frogs and other small mammals escape the water easily. When I asked the owner about it, he explained it was a thoughtful solution inspired by Scampston Walled Garden, not far away. It’s a subtle yet clever detail, yet another idea to consider for my own modest garden pond. Leaving the courtyard, we moved to the front of the farmhouse, where the paving was casually peppered with Achillea mollis  and Campanula , allowed to seed naturally in whatever crevices suited them best. A beautiful old variegated rose climbed nearby, its subtle foliage a gentle foil to a stunning pink fuchsia that caught my eye and, I confess, one I couldn’t resist returning to the nursery to purchase for my own garden at home. This is Fuschia 'White Knight's Blush '. The paving led on to a more formal lawn, enclosed on either side by generously planted herbaceous borders. These were full of colour, texture, and movement, clearly laid out with a confident yet relaxed hand. Beyond them, a backdrop of tall trees provided structure and shelter, giving the whole space a sense of calm enclosure, a garden that knows how to frame its views as well as its planting. At the end of our tour we reached the stunning Walled Rose Garden - the jewel in the crown of Jackson's Wold. Once a working farmyard, it has been transformed by owners Richard and Sarah into a classic English rose garden: enclosed, structured, and filled with scent. Tall brick walls now shelter a space that feels both generous and considered, where the planting is abundant but never unruly. The garden is laid out in three long, parallel borders, each devoted to a distinct palette: one white, one soft yellow, and one a blend of pinks and mauves. This quiet rhythm of colour brings order to the abundance, drawing the eye naturally along the space. At the far end, an old farm barn provides both shelter and backdrop, its walls softened by climbing roses in full bloom. My favourite was Rosa 'Ghislaine De Feligonde' . Nestled among the borders are simple seating areas, just the right spots to sit and take it all in and a striking greenhouse that adds both structure and charm to the space. We lingered over a leisurely lunch in the garden before the time came to bid farewell. Jackson’s Wold is a beautifully conceived garden, its flowing design and confident planting creating a sense of ease and generosity throughout. But for me, it was the walled rose garden that left the deepest impression, a space of such character and quiet beauty that I find myself already hoping to return one day. Garden Writer | Guineveres Garden

I began my working life in the Potteries area of Stoke on Trent, so that part of the world has always meant a great deal to me. Years later, I was delighted to discover that Arthur Parkinson had created a garden at the Emma Bridgewater Pottery in Stoke, a place I’ve long admired for its celebration of British craft. Back in 2018, Arthur penned a heartfelt book celebrating two of his enduring passions, hens and flowers, and the quiet joy of weaving them into the industrial rhythm of the pottery, all while cultivating a garden there. A recent visit to the factory and its garden, brought his story vividly to life, and it’s inspired me to return to the book, The Pottery Gardener by Arthur Parkinson, and to share my thoughts about it with you here. Arthur grew up in the North of England, surrounded from an early age by strong, nurturing women who inspired and encouraged his love of poultry and plants. It was his mother and grandmothers who first introduced him to the joys of the garden passing on their knowledge with care and enthusiasm. His love of poultry began with childhood hours spent watching hens at nearby allotments and on farm holidays in the Peak District. As he grew older, his interests were further shaped by the influential works of plantswoman Sarah Raven, whose vibrant approach to gardening captured his imagination. Equally formative were his childhood visits to Chatsworth House, where the Duchess of Devonshire’s renowned poultry collection left a lasting impression. Arthur opens the book with memories of this childhood shaped by nature, leading to a journey and commission in Stoke on Trent : creating a garden for The Emma Bridgewater Pottery. The book begins by detailing how Arthur set about creating his garden, which he describes as essentially container gardening on a grand scale. He installed large raised beds and used a variety of containers, including troughs and dolly tub-style planters of different sizes and shapes. Arthur places strong emphasis on the care of the garden’s most vital component, the soil, and offers in-depth guidance on how to maintain its health and fertility. The book then explores the rhythm of the garden through its three main seasons. Spring bursts into life with wallflowers and tulips, followed by the rich tapestry of Summer, featuring alliums, dahlias, and roses. In Autumn, the garden reaches a dramatic finale with a spectacular pumpkin display. Arthur favours bold, jewel like colours throughout, creating a vibrant and theatrical atmosphere. Hens roam freely around the gravel paths adding a typically Arthur touch. The book is wonderful and feels incredibly real, largely because of the way Arthur writes, with genuine heart and passion for his work. He takes the time to describe many of the plants he chose for the garden in vivid detail, offering tips on how to care for them, grow them, and nurture them. He also shares his favourite varieties and colours, making you feel both informed and inspired. By the end of the book, I felt a garden like this was more than achievable myself. Arthur has a real flair for dramatic, architectural plants, the kind that make a bold statement and instantly catch the eye. They're not what I'd usually choose for my own garden, but the way he talks about them, with such passion and clarity, convinced me to give them a try. I’ve decided to experiment with globe artichokes, cardoons, and maybe even some ornamental grasses, plants he uses to great effect. The book is filled with beautiful images of these and other plants, as well as glimpses of his chickens, all photographed by Arthur himself. The book takes you through each season with a comprehensive checklist of tasks to tackle and when to do them. Arthur is generous with his knowledge, sharing his tried-and-tested methods to help you get the best out of each season’s planting. He also includes profiles of some of his favourite seasonal plants, paired with gorgeous photographs that truly inspire. His enthusiasm is infectious and made me want to put some of his ideas into practice in my own garden straight away. My favourite ideas from the book include some really unusual and striking sunflowers, Valentine , Vanilla Ice , and Claret , which add a fresh twist to the typical sunflower palette. I was also drawn to the wide variety of dahlias, with Mel’s Marmalade  standing out for me. It paired beautifully with the autumn pumpkin display that’s both described and photographed in the book. I also loved the section on tulips, both the planting ideas and Arthur’s beautiful photography. He goes for deep, jewel-toned varieties like Queen of the Night , Chato , Brown Sugar , Ballerina , and Jan Reus , which really look spectacular together. Teamed with wallflowers like Sunset Purple  and Sunset Pink , the combinations are stunning. Whether they’re planted in raised beds or layered as bulb lasagnes in galvanised dustbins and troughs, they look completely at home in the pottery garden’s industrial setting. Another thing I really love about the book is how seamlessly the garden connects to the pottery made and sold on-site. So many of Emma Bridgewater’s designs feature flowers and animals, and Arthur brings that to life beautifully, cutting blooms from the garden and displaying them in vases and flower pots from the collection, often choosing pieces that feature his much loved hens. It’s wonderful to see all these threads, the factory, the pottery, the hens, Arthur’s life, and the garden, woven together into something that feels so personal and full of character.  It’s very subtly and cleverly done, and I get the sense that Arthur has a natural instinct for pulling all these elements together almost without even thinking about it. Arthur left the factory in 2019, and as I write this in the summer of 2025, the garden he created is still very much alive. I’ve visited the factory many times over the years, and the garden continues to be lovingly cared for, bringing joy to everyone who stops by. My most recent visit was in summer, but now that I’ve reread the book, I’ll definitely be returning in spring and autumn to catch the tulips and pumpkins at their best. Arthur may have moved on, but his heart, soul, and ideas are still deeply rooted in the place. If you get the chance, I’d really encourage you to visit the factory and garden yourself and, of course, to read the book. It’s full of inspiration, practical ideas, and Arthur’s unmistakable passion for growing. Whether you have a large plot or just a few pots, there’s something in it for everyone. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

I was really excited to visit the Cottage Herbery. The couple who had lovingly run it for nearly 40 years had only stepped away a few years ago, so getting the chance to be there felt like something truly special. It wasn’t just about seeing the place, it was about hearing their story, feeling the spirit of what they’d built, and soaking up even a little of the wisdom they’d gathered over a lifetime spent working with plants and sharing their passion. All set for an afternoon immersed in herbs, I was surprised, pleasantly so, to arrive and find a small field bursting with cut flowers and row upon row of Irises. It turned out this beautiful display was the work of India, the couple’s daughter, who now runs her own floral business. She’s developed a real passion for Iris breeding, with many of the striking varieties coming from the United States. It was an unexpected twist to the visit and a lovely surprise. Kim and Rob ran the herb nursery for many years, travelling to plant fairs, giving talks, and even winning awards at the Chelsea Flower Show. So it was a real treat to hear them share stories about the history of the site. And while I’d come expecting herbs, what I discovered instead was something equally inspiring, the transformation of what had once been a rather plain and functional farmyard into a beautiful gravel garden. Listening to them talk about the process, with all its challenges and creativity, was fascinating. The farm itself once grew hops, and the rather industrial-looking structure in the yard had housed a hop-picking machine. Today, it’s been beautifully transformed. A garden now surrounds and softens the space, with glorious rambling roses weaving their way up the old framework. Their delicate blooms and graceful stems stand in striking contrast to the barn’s sturdy metal supports, a perfect blend of the past and present, where beauty and utility meet in the most unexpected way. It was fascinating to hear about the couple’s vision from the outset, the hard work they had put into clearing and planting the site, along with the thoughtful reasons behind their plant and design choices. What I especially appreciated was that they had undertaken all of this work themselves, with only occasional help from friends. The gravel garden featured a wide mix of perennials and annuals, some quite unusual, and others more familiar to me, such as Papaver , Lavandula , and Verbena bonariensis . Care had clearly been taken to ensure the planting looked beautiful from every angle, sitting perfectly within the space. The garden was further enhanced by a stunning backdrop of farm fields and distant trees. Whilst Kim described in detail how the planting had come about, Rob was equally enthusiastic in sharing how much wildlife had been attracted to the garden during its transformation. He was very observant, keeping a log of different bird species, and even had an interesting piece of equipment that could detect a variety of bats, many of which could now be seen around the garden. Although the garden wasn’t particularly large, it had three distinct sections. The outer area featured a gravel garden, while behind and extending into the barn were grass pathways and borders filled with perennials. A cloud-like Lonicera nitida  hedge cleverly framed different views throughout the space. There was even a natural-style swimming pool, beautifully integrated into the design and perfect for a dip when the weather allowed. What really struck me was Kim and Rob’s enthusiasm and the passion they still had, even though they had stepped back from running the herbery itself. They kindly let us wander into the herb section of the garden, which consisted of a series of polytunnels and greenhouses packed with herbs and plants, many of which were for sale. There was also an amazing selection of books available, as they were trying to downsize their collection. I was thrilled to purchase one of the herb books that Kim had written herself and felt especially lucky to have her sign it for me. For those of you who are interested the book is called "Herbs - The Secret Properties of 150 Plants". It was a beautiful afternoon, and the weather was perfect. I spent quite some time wandering through the herbs and exploring the various parts of the garden, realising that anything is possible in gardening if you have passion, vision, and the tenacity to see a project through. Here, what was once almost an industrial environment had been transformed into something truly beautiful yet it still retained elements of its past, with some of the original structures thoughtfully preserved as a subtle nod to its history. In most gardens I visit, I usually take away a plant, a clever planting combination, or a new design idea. But this garden was very different. What I took away instead was a powerful sense of passion, drive, and commitment. The ability to hold a vision of what a place can become,regardless of where it starts, and to have the tenacity to see that vision through, was truly inspiring. The herbery and its garden served as a reminder of what I should keep in mind as I continue to restore my own garden, which was quite neglected at the outset. Holding on to that sense of vision, passion, and perseverance feels all the more important now. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

Last Summer I finally made it to the Emerald Isle and, as a garden lover, I went armed with a rather long must see garden wish list. Jimi Blake's Huntingbrook Garden had long been at the top of that list - but what I hadn’t expected was the surprise of discovering that Jimi Blake’s sister, June, has her own stunning garden just nearby in Blessington, Co Wicklow. I was lucky enough to meet June in person and visit her garden during my trip. She began by sharing a little of her own background and the garden’s history explaining how it all came to life. Then came quite a relaxed tour of the garden itself, led by June who gave lots of insights along the way. The visit ended with tea and cake in one of June's beautifully converted, award-winning barn studios. It was the perfect way to relax at the end of a very long day. I know the moment I walk into a garden whether I like, love, or even loathe it. But it’s only later - when I revisit it in my mind, looking back at my pictures, notes and memories - that everything clicks into place, and I truly understand the space. That’s exactly how it was with June’s garden. There was layer upon layer of space including vibrant borders, a shimmering pool, a wild meadow, just so much going on and details to take in. But as I walked to the top of the garden, there was a sudden and calming, clear sense of landscape and place. This feeling was strongest at the very top of the garden, where the trees opened up to reveal a view of the distant Wicklow mountains. In that fleeting moment, I realised the house and garden weren't just beautiful, they held a quiet sense of history shaped by time, memory and the people who had passed through them. What really struck me about June’s garden was the riot of colour and the sheer height of the plants - densely packed into stunning, carefully coordinated beds adjacent to the house. There are around ten rectangular beds, each edged in sleek, contemporary steel, and in many ways, they feel like ten distinct gardens of their own. The use of colour in June and Jimi’s gardens was striking. It’s clear that they both have an incredible sense of artistry and natural flair, something instinctive that allows them to be bold, experimental, and confident with vibrant colour. And with their gardens so close together, they can share ideas, inspire each other, and collaborate in ways that only deepen the creativity in both spaces. Some of the raised beds in June's garden have a calm and soft tone, whilst others are bold and full of energy or more experimental and can change from year to year. One of the beds contained a striking yellow Phyllostachys (bamboo) which perfectly complemented many tall yellow coloured plants such as Silphium perfoliatum (cup plant), Rudbeckia laciniata (coneflower) and Helianthus  'Lemon Queen' (sunflower). I loved the long, dark reflective pool, elegant and still, bordered on one side by soft grasses leading out to a meadow, and on the other by a densely planted bed bursting with jewel-toned reds, oranges, and bright, vivid blooms. It was a striking contrast: calm and wild, restrained and exuberant, all in one view. This part of the garden is a challenging area to design as it is set on a noticeable slope, but clever use of stone walls and gravel have helped overcome that. The materials June has chosen link the planting beds, reflective pool, and pathways back to the stonework of the house, creating a sense of cohesion and drawing the whole space together with a natural ease. June is a master of colour, and it showed not just in the bold pairings of plants, but also in the careful play of texture throughout the garden. One combination that stood out to me was a striking white Lysimachia clethroides (goosenck loosestrife) set against a deep red Mondarda (scarlet beesbalm), a simple but powerful contrast that added real depth and energy to the planting. The garden featured plenty of dahlias, many of them grown from seed, which brought an element of surprise and fun to the space. Their variety in colour and form added a sense of spontaneity, making each part of the garden feel a little different and full of personality. Alongside the more familiar hot oranges and reds, June also used bright pinks to great effect, drawing the eye through the planting. On their own, the pinks could have felt a bit too bold, even garish, but set against softer lilacs and fresh greens, they found balance and energy, adding vibrancy without overwhelming the space. The bright pink Sanguishorba worked really well bringing a sharp pop of colour to the planting around it. In other parts of the garden, the planting took on a more restrained and traditional feel. One herbaceous border in particular, with its soft pastel and lilac shades, wouldn’t have looked out of place in a classic country house, offering a calm, timeless contrast to the bolder colours elsewhere in June's garden. Here, a gap in the yew hedge framed the view of the field beyond, cleverly extending the sense of the border’s length. I especially loved the spiky white Veronicastrum virginicum planted throughout as its elegant form lifted the eye and gently guided it along the border, adding both rhythm and lightness to the planting scheme. It was refreshing to see some truly unusual plant combinations, including the use of architectural plants like bamboo. Its strong, sculptural form added structure and contrast, fitting seamlessly into the garden while giving it a modern, dynamic edge. June very cleverly made the garden feel spontaneous and natural, but beneath that relaxed appearance, it was clear that a great deal of careful thought and planning had gone into every border and planting combination ensuring every element worked perfectly within the whole. June's garden is one I would very much like to see again if I am lucky enough to return to Ireland one day. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

There were so many reasons why I’d always wanted to visit Provence. The iconic lavender fields and the serene Senanque Abbey had topped my list for years - images I'd seen a hundred times, yet never experienced for real. But Provence offers so much more than just postcard views. There's the scent of Grasse, the perfume capital of the world, and the delicate Centifolia roses (or May Rose) grown at Domaine de Manon exclusively for Dior. And then there’s Miraval, Brad Pitt’s vineyard estate which adds a touch of modern glamour to this stunning landscape. But when I finally got to visit, what touched me most wasn’t any of the things I had imagined. It was a quiet, hidden garden - simple, tranquil, and impossibly beautiful - that stole my heart. And it's that garden that I want to share with you here. This beautiful garden was tucked away on the outskirts of a small village, not far from Bonnieux, made famous by Nicole de Vésian’s iconic garden La Louve. The garden was filled with lavender, a variety of medicinal and aromatic herbs, and other plants typically found in the Provençal landscape. Juniperus communis (common juniper) grew all through the garden, mostly as low, spreading shrubs rather than tall, slender trees. I’ve always loved how its berries bring out the flavour of meat and give gin its distinctive edge and knowing that they also have medicinal uses just adds to its appeal. Scattered throughout the garden was Delosperma cooperi, or Cooper’s hardy ice plant, with its vibrant pink flowers and low, spreading matt growth. It was thriving effortlessly in the warm, dry conditions and really caught the eye. The effect of light on the flowers was far more noticeable here. I loved how the garden, mostly composed of countless shades of green, was suddenly brought to life by bursts of colour, perhaps a deep red rose standing out against a pale wall that itself shifted in tone with the changing sunlight, from soft to bright depending on the time of day. It was so tranquil in this garden, whether waking in the morning, drifting to sleep at night, or wandering through it beneath the midday sun, a deep sense of peacefulness seemed to linger in the air. The garden enveloped you completely. Set on a series of terraces, it was a place where you could easily lose yourself. I loved exploring, turning a corner, descending a few steps, and finding something new each time: a cobbled terrace bathed in light, a neatly patterned herb parterre, or a terrace overflowing with lavender. It was hauntingly beautiful. Some gardens I read or hear about and dream of visiting for years before the opportunity finally comes. Others I stumble upon by pure chance. Whichever way I find them, there is always that same rush of emotion on seeing a garden for the first time. Often, there is simply too much to take in, and being caught up in the moment, it’s easy not to pause and truly appreciate everything: the setting, the design, the planting, the atmosphere. There are so many layers to a garden. Only now, as I look back and write about this beautiful garden in Provence, do I realise just how special it was, how fortunate I was to be there, and how much I long to return. To revisit it slowly, with the benefit of familiarity, and really come to know it. There are, after all, far too many gardens in the world to see. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

I had one of the most enjoyable days out I’ve had in a long time when I visited Rode Hall for their annual Snowdrop Festival. I knew very little about Rode Hall and went quite ill prepared. Years ago, a friend who had worked in the gardens suggested I visit, but for one reason or another I never got around to it. Now I regret not going sooner. The snowdrops were arranged in natural drifts throughout the wild garden, and it was a pleasure to walk along the woodland paths, taking in the different varieties. Many were planted on terraces along a gentle incline, so you could appreciate their nodding heads without having to bend down. There are over seventy different varieties of snowdrops including Lady Beatrix Stanley, Lady Elphinstone, Straffan, Magnet, S Arnott, Blonde Inge, Mrs Macnamara, Rev. Hailstone, Sickle, Woronowii and Jaquenetta. The path sloped down past a small pond, its surface was dull in the cold Winter light. A wooden bench sat off to one side, half surrounded by snowdrops. They had pushed up through the wet soil, scattered rather than planted and everything felt so calm and still. The path kept going, curving through thin woodland where the ground was soft and the air smelled faintly of damp leaves. Then the trees gave way to a small clearing. At the bottom of a steep slope there was a round stone pond and fountain, clearly manmade, the stones weathered and a little uneven. Higher up, set where the ground levels out, another bench looked down toward the fountain. Sitting there I could see the whole space at once, the pond, the incline and the trees at the edges. There’s no grand view, nothing arranged for effect. Just a contained, ordinary quiet that makes it easy to stay a while and contemplate. I spent a good hour wandering in this part of the garden, and it wasn’t just the snowdrops that drew my attention, Helleborus (Hellebores), Rhododendrons , and Daphne added colour and scent to the stroll. There is nothing pretentious about Rode Hall, it has a calm, natural feel, and walking there I felt quietly connected to the place and eager to see more of the garden. Later, I learned that in 1790 the owner of the hall, Richard Wilbraham Bootle, commissioned a red book from the landscape gardener Humphry Repton, a reminder that this garden has been thoughtfully shaped for centuries. The Red Books were created by Repton in order to illustrate his designs to his clients and they were distinctively bound in red leather. There were approximately four hundred of these books produced in total and just over one hundred are known to be in existence today. I wandered back from the wild garden toward the house, terrace and the rose garden which were laid out in much more formal lines. At the time, I didn’t know who had shaped them. I only felt the shift from looseness to order, from wild to intent. Later I learned the Rose Garden was commissioned from William Andrews Nesfield, one of the most sought after landscape architects of the mid Victorian era, a man whose work reached from Castle Howard to Regent's Park and across many of England’s great estates. Knowing that changed my thoughts and perception of the garden. What had seemed simply composed was, in fact, deliberate and part of a larger vision. I discovered this only after my visit. And once I understood that so many of Nesfield’s designs have been lost altogether, I knew I would have to return to Rode Hall perhaps in the Summer, when the garden would be in full bloom so that i could see the effects of the formal design filled in with planting. February isn’t the best time to see a rose garden. Everything was bare, the canes cut back, the beds dark and open. But that made the structure clear both in terms of the paths, the edges, and the way the beds hold their shape. I could notice it all in a way you wouldn’t when the roses are in bloom. At the centre of the rose garden stood a statue, set perfectly in line with the terrace steps that lead up to the hall. The line carried my eye past her, out across the garden, and all the way to the lake beyond. She was a wood nymph, and she faced away from the house, toward the woodland and the wild garden where she truly belonged . In winter, with the roses gone, she isn’t just decoration. She anchors the space, giving shape and purpose to both the formal garden and the untamed ground beyond. This stunning statue was commissioned by the present owner of Rode Hall from the great nephew of Clough William Ellis, the creator of Portmerion in Wales. I had only seen two parts of the garden, yet already there was a clear thread connecting it to significant designers of the past including Repton, Ellis, Nesfield. Every element carried a story, a lineage, a deliberate hand shaping it and I had only just touched the surface. Rode Hall garden really is remarkable. I walked up the steps to the terrace and around the house toward the walled kitchen garden. Even here, the design was clear with everything aligned, each focal point deliberately placed, whether within the garden or stretching out into the landscape beyond. Along the steps, terracotta pots held dark crimson Helleborus (hellebores) and white Galanthus (snowdrop)s. Simple, restrained, yet striking. I made a note to try the same idea with my own pots at home. For me, even in February, the Walled Kitchen Garden was the jewel in Rode Hall’s crown. Tucked away to the side of the house, this two-acre garden is one of the most beautiful walled gardens I have ever seen. Perhaps it is because it feels so unspoilt, with the gardener’s cottage built right into the garden and walls, looking out across the space it cares for. It is a breath taking place and totally unspoilt unlike many other walled gardens that still exist today. I discovered that over the years, the kitchen garden had fallen into neglect, but careful restoration has returned it without spoiling its character. It’s divided into four sections, growing fruit, vegetables, and flowers, each area clearly defined and very well ordered. February isn’t the ideal time to see a kitchen garden, but the layout and structure were easy to see. The espaliered apple and pear trees caught my eye, their bare branches forming precise, elegant patterns along the pathways of the garden and in a small orchard area. I noted down two pear varieties, planning to try growing them as espaliers on my own allotment, inspired by the simplicity and care of this garden. I chose Doyenne du Comice a late season pear that originated in France around 1840 as well Conference that dates back to 1885 and is often said to be the definitive British pear. The head gardener, lives in the gardener's cottage and I discovered that he is an accomplished grower, having won several competitions for his gooseberries, even earning the title of World Champion. Recently, I came across a method of growing gooseberries on a single-stem cordon, rather than the traditional bush. It caught my attention, and I made a mental note to give it a try myself, perhaps with the Montrose variety, as grown at Rode Hall especially for competition. Rode Hall, is a Grade II listed park and garden and is one of the most unspoilt and enchanting gardens that I have visited. On my snowdrop visit, I only glimpsed a fraction of the garden, missing the grotto, the pool, the Italian garden, and the herbaceous borders. I couldn’t help but feel like I’d barely scratched the surface. It’s one of those rare gardens that stays with you, and I’m already looking forward to returning in the summer. Garden Writer | Guineveres Garden

I felt very privileged to visit this beautiful and unusual garden, which offers the most breathtaking view across the Welsh hills. The garden is made up of many hidden areas that gradually reveal themselves one by one as you explore. Although the entire garden sits on a gentle slope, from the top terrace near the house there is little hint of the series of secret gardens that lie below. Near the house are a series of herbaceous borders where a conscious effort has been made to grow plants that truly thrive. Rather than completely redesigning the borders, the approach has been to divide, split and expand what is already growing well, allowing the planting to evolve gradually and naturally over time. Many of the garden’s features are sunken, and at the top of the garden there is an unusual circular fire pit set into the ground in stone, with a rust-coloured centre. This contrasts beautifully with the surrounding dark green yew hedges, as well as the warmer rusty tones of the grasses and the bright sedum nearby. Between the different garden rooms are wider expanses of grass and even a woodland in the distance. These spaces are often punctuated by sculptures, such as these unusual metal spheres. Many of the pieces also have a connection to the family who created and care for the garden, beautifully tying the space to the people behind it. Beyond the fire pit and herbaceous borders is a small pond with a duck house at its centre, which immediately draws the eye. Looking beyond the pond, in the far distance, a mown grass pathway runs through the woodland towards a small building. It is a very clever design feature, drawing the eye onward and inviting you to explore further into the landscape. Beyond the pond is an unusual wooden bridge which curves upwards over the driveway approaching the house and leads off into the woods beyond. It is a beautiful addition to the space that cleverly links two very different parts of the garden together. Towards the bottom of the garden is a purpose built kitchen garden, perfectly positioned in full sun next to the gardener’s cottage. It is very thoughtfully laid out, with a mini orchard on the slopes above, a large greenhouse, and a series of raised beds, all designed for ease of management and maintenance while creating a productive and attractive space. This is a fabulous area, and at the time of my visit, pumpkins were growing, ready for a Halloween display, alongside fruit, vegetables, and cut flowers for the house. The greenhouse was very well arranged, filled with tomato vines and other tender plants. It is a beautiful space to work in, and a real treat to be able to stroll through the rest of the garden while accessing this more productive area. Close to the kitchen garden is one of my favourite parts of the garden: the sunken water garden. This peaceful, tucked-away space offers a beautiful spot to sit and enjoy the exquisite water features below, with another stunning sculpture at its centre. I have never particularly liked sculptures in gardens, but this garden completely changed my mind. When tastefully placed, a sculpture can add a whole new dimension to a garden space, enhancing its character and sense of discovery as you can see from the stunning centre piece of the water feature below. The final part of the garden is the most spectacular and is astonishingly hidden away. It is approached via a wide pathway that gently slopes upward, and as you walk along it, the ground begins to open up with tall banks on either side—this is the entrance to the very unusual quarry garden. The quarry garden features dramatic, rocky, and steep terrain, with hundreds of uneven stone steps. It is known for its lush plantings of rhododendrons and azaleas, creating a magical and intimate landscape. Fern filled glades and hidden corners make the space feel secluded, offering a unique and engaging experience as you move through it. For many years, this part of the garden had fallen into neglect, with fallen leaves piling up and concealing much of its original layout. Gradually, the area has been cleared, and certain features have been carefully restored with the help of historical photographs. The quarry now includes multiple ponds, flowing streams, and a waterfall, surrounded by a wide variety of mature rhododendrons, azaleas, and a tulip tree. Efforts continue to identify some of the older rhododendron specimens. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time to explore the entire garden, which spans over nine acres. I hope to return someday to enjoy the woodland walk and wander around the large lake at the back of the property. It was truly a wonderful day spent in a spectacular and very unusual garden. Garden Writer | Guineveres Garden

On a short trip to Ireland, I was lucky enough to visit the National Botanic Garden at Kilmacurragh, where the head gardener Seamus O'Brien kindly gave me a guided tour of some of the highlights. Kilmacurragh is one of Ireland’s most important gardens, well known for its collection of mature and unusual trees, its wildflower meadow, and its extensive herbaceous borders. At the centre of the garden stands Kilmacurragh House, which suffered a major fire in 1976 that destroyed the entire interior. The house has remained derelict ever since, although over the years there have been various efforts to raise funds for its repair. The ruins sit within the grounds of the National Botanic Gardens at Kilmacurragh, which are the sister gardens to the National Botanic Gardens at Glasnevin in Dublin. It was a beautiful, calm and sunny day and, although it was very sad to see the house in such a derelict state, Seamus explained that they were now much closer to securing the funding needed for its restoration. He spoke with great enthusiasm about the plans for the future, describing how the layout of the house would be arranged, and in particular where his own office would be situated, which you could tell was something very close to his heart. To the front of the house stands one of the icons of Kilmacurragh, a remarkable specimen of Cryptomeria japonica , often described as a living fossil. Around 150 years old, it stretches an extraordinary 30 metres across while reaching only about 6 metres in height. We were kindly allowed to step inside this wonderful and historic tree, and the experience felt both otherworldly and surreal. Closer to the house, the gardeners have created a wildflower meadow inspired by the traditional hay meadows of the past. Seamus spoke with great pride about this project, which began in 2007. He explained that the key to its success has been the introduction of Rhinanthus minor  (yellow rattle), a plant that can reduce grass growth by up to 60%, allowing more delicate and unusual species to thrive. At the time of our visit, more than 130 species had been recorded, including Dactylorhiza maculata  subsp. ericetorum   (heath spotted orchid) and Lotus corniculatus  (bird’s-foot trefoil), which is the larval food plant of the common blue butterfly. Seamus then explained that this whole area was once regularly mown, and it has taken many years to establish the more traditional meadow that exists today. He was keen to point out that this is not a pictorial meadow, which is usually created from curated mixes of wildflower seeds. Instead, it is a natural grass meadow, much closer to what would have been seen in the past and a reminder of landscapes how they used to be, before the widespread use of fertilisers and herbicides. We continued walking through the meadows until we reached the Broad Walk. This style of garden walk became popular in the 1840s following the creation of the Great Broad Walk at Kew Royal Botanic Gardens, designed by the renowned landscape architect William Nesfield, who also designed the Rose Garden at Rode Hall, which I mentioned in one of my other posts. Kilmacurragh’s Broad Walk was laid out in the 1850s by Thomas Acton and his sister Janet. It was designed with enough width for two Victorian ladies, wearing wide, flowing crinoline dresses, to promenade side by side. The walk is lined with alternating Taxus baccata  'Fastigiata' (Irish yew) and Rhododendron  'Highclere' ( R. altaclarense ) , creating a striking and formal avenue. There were some stunning plants and combinations in the herbaceous borders, although there wasn’t enough time to explore them fully. I was particularly taken by the striking pairing of purple Symphyotrichum  asters with Triteleia laxa , also known as triplet lily, which created a truly spectacular combination. We walked away from the house and down an avenue of Rhododendron arboreum and Irish yews ( Taxus baccata ‘fastigiata’ ) where we found ourselves surrounded by glades of southern conifers and many other rhododendron species. As we continued, Seamus led us past a large wooden door that opened into his own personal gardening space within the great estate. He was reluctantly persuaded to let us take a look inside, where several garden beds were set out to grow all types of fruit and vegetables. It was a lovely moment, as he seemed both embarrassed and proud at the same time, joking that he would have tidied up if he had known we were going to look behind the door. This memory stands out clearly in my mind from that wonderful day. Despite all the magnificence of Kilmacurragh Botanic Gardens, this small personal garden held just as much significance with it's own sense of place. I was deeply saddened to learn of the passing of Seamus O’Brien, the head gardener of Kilmacurragh Botanic Gardens. Widely respected as one of Ireland’s leading horticulturists, he devoted his life to plants, conservation, and the restoration of these remarkable gardens. Remembering the small, personal moment we shared that day now feels even more meaningful, and it remains a lasting reminder of the passion and care he brought to Kilmacurragh and to Irish horticulture as a whole Garden Writer | Guineveres Garden

Hare Hill Garden was left to the National Trust by Charles Brocklehurst in 1977. The Brocklehurst family were involved in the manufacture of Silk in Macclesfield and were very well connected. When Charles inherited the garden, it was in a state of neglect, but he was interested in horticulture, and through his connections he contacted the renowned garden designer James Russell. Together Charles and James restored the walled garden and woodland area planting many trees, rhododendrons and shrubs. The garden sits in what was originally a large country estate, and as you approach, through the iron gates and fields, it's hard to imagine a garden at all in this type of landscape. The walled garden was originally the Victorian kitchen garden for the main house, many years before Charles inherited it. When I first visited, I was a little disappointed that the kitchen garden had completely disappeared but, as I delved into the history, I found there was a lot more to this garden than initially meets the eye, and it has a very poignant story. Instead of a productive kitchen garden, the garden contains three herbaceous borders, a pergola, two horse statues, and a huge expanse of grass. I discovered that Charles Brocklehurst had a wish that all who visited the garden should "gain aesthetic and spiritual refreshment", and he had left the entire estate to the National Trust, at the time of his death, with the condition that the house be sold and the money raised be used to maintain and support the garden. From this clause in his will, it is clear that Charles had far more spiritual connection to the garden, than he ever had to the house. With a little more research, I found that Charles had a twin brother called Patrick, and both brothers spent most of their childhood at Hare Hill. In 1930 Patrick's horse fell during a steeplechase , he was very badly injured and died the following day aged just 26 years old. I think the death of his brother had a profound and lasting effect on Charles, and this is most probably why the garden is designed how it is, even to the present day. The two horse statues in the garden were commissioned by Charles just before his death, which was over forty years later. They represent the separation of the twin brothers and their shared love of horses. With the huge expanse of grass in the garden, the statues are real focal points, and the fact that they were put in place forty years after the event, surely shows how much bereavement played on Charles's mind. So despite the inherent beauty, there is a very sad back story to this very special place. The walled garden sits behind tall brick walls and iron gates, in the midst of a very wooded area. The palette is subdued with predominantly white undertones. It almost feels like a place of memorial and reflection with a true spiritual feeling. Plants are grouped in pairs throughout, possibly representing the two brothers and the tragic loss of one of them at such a young age. It's a lovely area for families to vist and perhaps have a picnic on the lawn, with plenty of room for children to play on the grass, but it's also a place where someone who has suffered their own loss can come to sit quietly, connect to nature, and reflect. There are two wire benches situated on either side of an iron pergola, set back behind the herbaceous planting. Here you can sit very quietly, immerse yourself in the garden and its surroundings, and free up your mind to the nature and sounds of the garden. A very meditative and contemplative place. When I realised this about the garden, I forgot my initial disappointment and realised that I had truly arrived at what Charles himself described as a spiritually refreshing location. It's very fortunate that records exist of the full palette of plants that James Russell chose for Hare Hil, as well as a border plan that described and illustrated the herbaceous borders in detail. As far as I am aware the National Trust are now working towards reinstating everything in line with those plans to ensure the garden appears as close to original as possible. I was particulary impressed with the greenhouse, situated just outside the garden walls, where propagation of plants seemed to be well underway. You really have to grasp and understand the back story of this amazing garden to truly appeciate it. I'm sure that Charles gained much pleasure himself from the garden, and surely felt a spiritual connection to his brother in that place - hence the commissioning of the two statues and leaving the garden to the National Trust, rather than a private buyer, for it's long-term preservation. It's a beautiful legacy that he left to all those visiting both now, and in future, children and adults alike - just as it was for his own family - enjoying the estate in childhood and looking back in contemplation later in life. It's a place of spiritual connection that I feel very lucky to have visited. The pairing of plants is a very noticeable theme within the walled garden itself, but is perhaps even more impressive outside of those walls in the surrounding woodland. Just outside the walled garden are two cedar trees planted very closely together. This is very unusual and, although there is no evidence to support it, the age of the trees and their close proxmity to each other could suggest they were planted to commemorate the twins Charles and Patrick Brocklehurst. These trees are Cedrus atlantica glauca or Blue Cedar. A few years ago, the two trees showed signs of terminal fungal disease but, due to their significance and connection to Hare Hill, money has been invested into trying to treat them. I sincerely hope that this is effective. The trees could be deemed to represent the two brothers towering in strength, reaching up into the sky and looking over the garden that formed a part of their childhood, and life, just a short distance beyond. There was a truly magical feeling and magnetism around them. Hare Hill is situated at the top of Alderley Edge on a sandstone escarpment that overlooks the Cheshire Plain. There are many magical connections and legends associated with the area, and Alderley Edge has several myths and historical connections. The soil is very acidic and so Rhododendrons , Hydrangeas and other acid-loving plants, such as Azalea really thrive here. Most of the woodland area around the walled garden comprises this type of shrub, and it is amazing to see in the springtime. However, the woodland area also has herbaceous planting which links with some of the planting within the walled garden, and so connecting the two distinct areas together. Some notable plants in the outer area are Japanese Anenome, Sedum, Fuschia, Dahlias and Roses all in a beautiful colour pallette. The walled garden contains a mainly pastel palette of plants mostly represented in pairs. I really like this spiky Cleome hassleriana, which was repeated throughout the borders and gave an oriental look, which contrasted well with the tall brickwork of the garden walls. Echinacea or coneflower was quite prevalent as well and, again, this is a striking plant which really shone out amongst the rest of the more restrained planting. There were several roses, skimmia and phlox repeated throughout the borders, with cleome too. All the planting was in cool colours, with the occasional contrast colour of yellow or a quite subdued pink, but mainly ethereal in nature. Outside of the garden walls was the woodland area which had a very different vibe. Trees that had fallen were left in this woodland area, slowly decaying and covered in lichen and moss. The upturned and rotting roots were eye catching and drew attention away from the rest of the towering trees beyond. If you started to think too deeply, there was a real connection between life and death in this area of the garden. Similar to the walled garden itself but much more profound. Throughout the woodland area there were places to sit, contemplate and take in the surroundings. Some were rustic style wooden benches and others more ornate iron benches or simple picnic tables for families to enjoy. Several wooden bridges linked two woodland ponds which had attracted a family of ducks. On the surface this was a beautiful natural area with wildlife but, if you started to contemplate and look at the water closely, you could see not only the reflection of the landscape but the reflection of your own soul Hare Hill is multi-faceted. On the surface a beautiful woodland and walled garden for families to enjoy and pass a few hours one afternoon. For others the garden is a place for very deep thought and spiritual connection - not just in relation to their own life and experiences but to Charles Brocklehurst, his own childhood memories growing up at Hare Hil,l and his darker moments and legacy to his brother and generations of others beyond. It is very rare to experience all of this in a garden, and I feel priviledged that the kindness and vision of one person left this legacy for all. Hare Hill Garden is a very special place indeed. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer