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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, 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. 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. 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 place. 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 — the paths, the edges, 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 - 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 — 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

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 — adding 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

Gwaenynog isn’t open often, which only adds to its quiet allure. When I heard - last autumn -that the gates would open for a single weekend, I knew I had to go. Some gardens don’t just invite you; they call you. Tucked away in the Welsh countryside, Gwaenynog is more secret sanctuary than showpiece. Weathered walls, tangled borders, a sense of time standing still - it’s the kind of place that feels discovered rather than visited. The Walled Garden at Gwaenynog is intimate, timeworn, and steeped in story. Though I had never set foot inside it before, it felt instantly familiar. Perhaps that's because Beatrix Potter once wandered these same paths, sketchbook in hand, drawing inspiration from its gentle, unruly charm. Her time here lives on in both line and leaf. This garden is more than just a place - it’s a page from a beloved storybook. Gwaenynog’s Walled Garden was the setting for The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies, one of Beatrix Potter’s most cherished tales. She knew it well, often visiting, sketching, and capturing its quiet charm. In her secret journal, she called it “the prettiest kind of garden, where bright old-fashioned flowers grow amongst the currant bushes.” And standing alone in the garden, I saw exactly what she meant. It took a few hours to reach Wales, the sky low and grey, but as I turned through the gates of Gwaenynog, I knew the journey had been worth every mile. This was no ordinary garden - it belonged to Beatrix Potter’s Uncle Fred and Aunt Harriet Burton, and between 1895 and 1913, she visited often, perhaps as many as thirteen times. The Walled Garden, in particular, stirred her imagination. On this visit, several of her delicate garden sketches were on display - quiet echoes of the moments she once captured here in ink and memory. As I parked and made my way toward the garden, a quiet peacefulness settled over me - a sense of stepping not just into another place, but another time. There was a timeless charm to it all: the soft curve of the path, the weathered Gardener’s Cottage standing like a prelude to something special. Then, through the gate and into the Walled Garden itself - enclosed by tall stone walls I instantly recognised from Beatrix Potter’s sketches. Her presence was everywhere, not in a loud or curated way, but gently woven into the very fabric of the garden. It felt both deeply familiar and quietly magical. It was a quiet day, with few visitors around, and I had the rare luxury of wandering the garden in near solitude. Unhurried and uninterrupted, I could take in every detail - the shifting light, the scent of damp earth, the soft rustle of leaves. It’s a testament to the family who now care for Gwaenynog that the garden remains so beautifully unspoiled. There’s no hint of commercialisation here - only a deep respect for its history. It felt as though nothing had changed since Beatrix Potter walked these paths herself, sketching, imagining, and quietly absorbing the same enduring atmosphere. Surprisingly, it wasn’t always this peaceful or lovingly preserved. After Beatrix Potter’s time, the garden fell into quiet neglect. Much of it was ploughed over and horses then grazed where flower beds had bloomed. By the time the 1960s arrived, little remained of the original garden - only two derelict greenhouses stood as silent reminders of what had been. It wasn’t until Janie Smith and her husband took on the property that restoration began, slowly breathing life back into the old walls and reawakening the spirit of the garden Beatrix had once known. The restoration began with Janie’s daughter, Frances - just twenty at the time, but already armed with horticultural knowledge gained from her time working in the Kitchen Garden at Chatsworth House. In 1988, she turned her attention to Gwaenynog, determined to revive the gardens with care and authenticity. Her vision was clear: to bring the garden back as closely as possible to how it would have looked during Beatrix Potter’s visits. It was a labour not just of skill, but of deep affection - for history, for beauty, and for the quiet magic that lingers in old gardens. Much careful research went into the restoration. Frances reached out to Frederick Warne, Beatrix Potter’s original publisher, as well as the Victoria and Albert Museum for guidance. Studying Beatrix’s own detailed illustrations of the garden proved invaluable - they revealed not only the plants that once flourished there but also the original layout, design, and the very spirit of the place. Through this thoughtful work, Frances was able to breathe new life into Gwaenynog, restoring its unique sense of time and place. As with many success stories, a stroke of luck came in the form of David Lewis, a former apprentice who had worked in the garden during the 1940s. David’s vivid memories of the garden’s layout, plant varieties, and the fruits and vegetables grown there proved invaluable. His firsthand knowledge allowed Frances to stay true to the original design, helping to restore the garden with a remarkable authenticity. Nestled within the garden is a charming potting shed, its upstairs windows crafted in a delicate Gothic style. It’s believed this very building inspired Mr. McGregor’s Potting Shed in Beatrix Potter’s stories. Restored alongside the garden, the shed now serves as a display space, housing captivating photographs that reveal the garden’s remarkable transformation - from neglected ruins to the vibrant, living place it is today. It was a joy to discover the family’s thoughtful tribute to those who helped restore the garden. A handwritten note, carefully displayed, acknowledged Mr. Wil Pierce, who lent his digging skills in the Kitchen Garden back in 1989. Small gestures like this spoke volumes about Janie and Frances - how deeply they valued every hand that contributed, ensuring that kindness and effort were remembered and honoured for visitors to see. Beatrix Potter wrote fondly of the garden, describing it as “very large, two thirds surrounded by a red brick wall with many apricots and an inner circle of old grey apple trees on wooden espaliers. It is very productive, but not tidy. The prettiest kind of garden.” This very garden inspired her delicate drawings - where, famously, the small rabbits in The Tale of the Flopsy Bunnies succumb to the soporific charm of lettuce, captured with gentle humour and affection. Visiting in late autumn, I was fortunate to see many of the espaliered apple trees heavy with fruit - just as Beatrix had so lovingly described them. At the entrance gates, crates of windfall and other apples were thoughtfully laid out for visitors to take home - a simple, generous gesture that felt perfectly in keeping with the garden’s spirit. It was incredible to see how the current gardeners had carefully pruned and shaped the trees into espalier forms, and I found myself imagining the hands that had tended the trees in Beatrix’s day. In that moment, I truly felt the garden’s living connection to the past as I soaked up Gwaenynog’s timeless atmosphere. Visiting at the end of autumn, many of the summer flowers and roses had finished their season, yet the garden remained abundant with ripe apples. Brightly coloured Sedum and softly pastel Cosmos brought gentle bursts of colour, while roses climbed gracefully over wooden frames. I found myself longing to return in summer, to see the roses and herbaceous borders ablaze in their full, vibrant bloom. Beatrix Potter also set two of her unfinished stories - Flittermouse and Fluttermouse as well as Llewelyn's Well in the garden. The latter begins with a vivid description that brings the garden to life: "In Summer there were white and damask roses and the smell of thyme and musk. In Spring there were goosberries and throstles, and the flowers they call ceninen. And leeks and cabbages also grew in that garden; and between long straight grass alleys, and apple trained espaliers, there were beds of strawberries, mint and sage. And great Holly trees and a thicket of nuts. It was a great big garden". These words paint a picture not just of a garden, but of a living, breathing world - a place where every season offers its own quiet wonders. Today, the vegetable and productive areas of the garden are thoughtfully separated from the flowers, roses, and herbaceous borders. I was lucky enough to spot some incredible pumpkins that put my own back home to shame. It was a poor year for pumpkins generally, yet these were thriving - so much so that I wish I’d asked about their variety. Their robust presence was a testament to the care and skill that continues to nurture this remarkable garden. Though it wasn’t the season to see the garden in full colour, I was delighted to find many plants left standing - untrimmed for winter - offering shelter and sustenance to birds and wildlife. These remnants of late-season growth also made a striking architectural statement, their silhouettes adding a quiet beauty to the garden’s fading light.   I wholeheartedly recommend a visit to Gwaenynog if you find yourself in Wales. While many gardens have become over-commercialised tourist attractions, this one remains wonderfully true to its roots -intimate, unspoiled, and full of quiet charm. It’s a rare and precious place that invites you to slow down and simply be. Garden Writer | Guineveres Garden

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 - vibrant borders, a shimmering pool, a wild meadow......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 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

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

Tulips have long been a personal favorite, but my interest intensified significantly following an encounter with Polly Nicholson's beautiful book, "The Tulip." This appreciation deepened further after attending a compelling presentation by Nicholson herself, where she showcased her remarkable collection of historic tulip varieties. Curiosity piqued, I soon found myself drawn to the Netherlands, compelled to witness first hand the internationally acclaimed Keukenhof Garden, home to an impressive display of more than seven million flowering bulbs that attracts horticultural enthusiasts each year, from across the globe. Located just outside Amsterdam, Keukenhof opens its doors for eight weeks each year, typically from the end of March through May. The spectacle you’ll experience varies depending on when you visit, but in early April, the daffodils and narcissus are usually in full bloom, accompanied by the first of the early flowering tulips Keukenhof has earned its reputation as the most beautiful spring garden in the world, and as I walked through its gates, expectations were high. Yet, the garden not only met them but surpassed them. While Keukenhof can feel somewhat commercial, drawing in crowds from all over, its vast expanse allowed for a surprising sense of space, never feeling overwhelming despite the throngs of visitors. The meticulous organisation of the garden was immediately apparent—every path seemed carefully planned, inviting visitors to meander at their own pace, taking in the breathtaking sea of tulips in all their glory. My visit began with the Historic Tulip Garden, where the layout, designed in the classic parterre style, immediately drew me in. The garden was framed by low Buxus hedging, complemented by graceful water features and perfectly pruned trees that added structure and depth to the space. Everything was meticulously labelled, making it easy to pause, take note, and truly connect with the plants on display. Among the many beauties, I found myself particularly drawn to Narcissus   'Conspicuus' , a variety with roots stretching back to 1869, as well as the delicate Narcissus   dubbel   'Pip van Winkle' and the striking Fritillaria 'The Premier. ' Keukenhof has something for everyone. Whether you’re leisurely strolling to take in the vibrant colours, having a well-deserved break, or stopping to admire a sculpture or water feature, there’s always a moment to pause and appreciate. For the curious, the informative boards offer fascinating insights into the rich history behind the iconic bulbs, making the experience all the more enriching. In the Historic Garden there was a wealth of information about the daffodil. Once a wildflower native to the regions surrounding the Mediterranean and Central Europe, the daffodil has undergone a remarkable transformation. Its journey to prominence in Northern Europe began in the late 16th century, when Dutch botanist Carolus Clusius (1526–1609) introduced the plant to the Netherlands. Clusius, known for his role in the spread of tulips, helped spark interest in the daffodil among European horticulturists. Centuries later, that curiosity has blossomed into a global fascination. Today, there are more than 26,000 known varieties of daffodils, blooming in a range of colors beyond their classic yellow—orange, white, green, and even pink varieties now brighten gardens around the world. Leaving the Historic Tulip Garden behind, a gentle path meanders toward Oranje Nassau, where the garden transitions into a spectacular showcase of roses, all brimming with colour and fragrance. Though tulips once stole the show here, traces of their legacy still linger—stories of cultivation, trade, and obsession rooted deep in the soil. It’s a space where seasons shift but the sense of history remains, offering visitors a chance to pause, breathe in the bloom, and reflect on the enduring charm of the bulb that shaped a nation’s garden culture. The tulip first made its way to Dutch soil in the 16th century, arriving from the Ottoman Empire—modern-day Turkey—through thriving trade routes. What began as a curiosity soon became a national obsession. By the 1630s, the Netherlands was in the grip of Tulip Mania , a short but intense period when rare bulbs were traded for staggering sums—some fetching as much as 4,400 guilders, more than the cost of a house at the time. Though the frenzy faded, the passion endured. Today, the legacy lives on in vibrant fields stretching across 15,000 hectares, where tulips bloom by the millions each spring, a living tribute to the flower that once captivated a nation. At the heart of Keukenhof lies the Willem-Alexander Pavilion, a true haven for tulip enthusiasts. Inside, thousands of tulips bloom in a breathtaking indoor display—an explosion of colour, form, and fragrance beneath one roof. For garden lovers, it’s pure delight: each variety is clearly labelled, making it easy to discover favourites and jot down inspiration for future planting. Whether you're drawn to the soft pastels or the bold bi-colours, this display offers endless possibilities. For me, it was the highlight of Keukenhof—a moment of floral abundance that lingers in the memory long after the petals fall. One of my own personal favourites was Tulipa ' Lasergame'. Visiting Keukenhof was a revelation. I had no idea there were so many variations in colour, shape, and form among tulips—each with its own distinct feel. The experience left me brimming with ideas for my own garden. I’ve selected a few striking combinations to weave into the borders of my cottage garden, and in my cutting garden, I’ll be experimenting each spring with new varieties that caught my eye in the Netherlands. Keukenhof isn’t just a feast for the senses; it’s a source of real inspiration. If you love gardening—or simply appreciate beauty—it’s well worth the journey to see the tulips in bloom and discover their rich and fascinating history. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

Like many gardeners, my love for roses runs deep—woven into memory and tradition. The front garden of my childhood home was a rose garden, its blooms marking the seasons with colour and scent. Even earlier, my grandparents tended their own collection of Hybrid Tea roses, proudly grown when they were the height of fashion in the 1950s. That early connection has never left me; it’s part of why roses still hold such a special place in my heart—and my garden. In my Nana’s garden, a beautiful wooden trellis stretched the length of the lawn, its framework softened by the gentle sprawl of climbing roses. Today, that very trellis—now weathered by time and more than 80 years old—stands in my own garden, still supporting many of the same rose varieties she once lovingly tended. It’s more than just a structure; it’s a living thread to the past, rich with memory and meaning. Each bloom feels like a quiet echo of her care, a reminder that gardens often hold far more than just plants—they hold the people and stories we cherish most. When I moved into my current home—a cottage with over 400 years of history—I felt inspired to restore the garden in keeping with its heritage. I set about planting historic roses alongside traditional cottage garden favourites, seeking to create a space that honoured the past. It was during this journey that I began researching and sourcing Old Roses for myself, diving into the rich world of these timeless blooms and their stories. Roses have come full circle in my life—and in the lives of countless others. Through life’s highs and lows, they remain a constant presence, offering exquisite beauty and comfort. These blooms are more than flowers; they are living links to the past and symbols of hope for the future. It was this enduring connection and love for roses that drew me to this book the moment it caught my eye on a bookstore shelf. "Where the Old Roses Grow"  by Janelle McCulloch might initially seem to be focused solely on Vita Sackville-West and her fight to preserve beauty during wartime. Yet the book reaches far beyond one remarkable woman. It tells the stories of several key figures—Vita Sackville-West, Maud Messel, Constance Spry, Edward Bunyard, and Graham Stuart Thomas—each of whom played a vital role in rescuing and celebrating old roses. Together, they ensured these timeless blooms would endure for future generations to cherish. The book opens with Vita Sackville-West’s discovery of Sissinghurst—then a dilapidated estate, dismissed by some as little more than a “dump.” But Vita saw beyond its neglected state; she had a vision, and, crucially, the determination to bring it to life. When she first laid eyes on the house on 4 April 1930, she could hardly have imagined the profound influence the garden would have—not only on her own life but on the world of horticulture for generations to come. During the dark days of war, Sissinghurst became Vita’s sanctuary—a place of solace amid the doom and uncertainty that gripped the world. The house and garden, close to her heart, offered a refuge where she could find peace and quiet. Behind those ancient walls, Vita retreated to write and tend her beloved garden, seeking to escape the ominous drone of warplanes overhead and the turmoil that shadowed everyday life. Over time, Vita gradually built an impressive collection of roses, many of which cascaded freely over Sissinghurst’s tall brick walls, creating a breathtaking tapestry of colour and scent. She celebrated these roses and the garden in numerous books and newspaper columns, sharing her deep affection with readers far and wide. Beyond her writing, Vita nurtured connections with fellow rose enthusiasts, visiting and corresponding with those who shared her passion for these timeless blooms. The book opens with the story of a mysterious solitary rose that Vita discovered when she first arrived at Sissinghurst. So enigmatic was this bloom that even the most esteemed rosarians could not identify it. Vita named it the Sissinghurst Rose, and it remains available to gardeners today—a living symbol of the beginning of her remarkable life at the estate. Poignantly, her story closes with another exquisite rose, Madame Alfred Carrière, just coming into bloom and climbing near her bedroom window as Vita fell ill in her final days. These two roses beautifully frame her journey, from hopeful arrival to a graceful farewell. Timing is everything, and what makes this book so compelling is its release during a period of uncertainty much like the one Vita experienced. Just as she found solace in her garden during wartime, many of us turned to our own gardens during the challenges of Covid. Today, in an unsettled world, our gardens continue to offer comfort and calm—a peaceful refuge amid the noise of daily life. This timely connection between past and present makes Where the Old Roses Grow  especially resonant. For me, this book is a story of connection—a beautiful intertwining of past and present, people and roses. It’s this seamless blend that makes it so captivating and why I found myself unable to put it down. While grounded in fact, the narrative unfolds like fiction, weaving in and out of the lives of several remarkable individuals. The result is a compelling, richly textured story that celebrates both history and beauty. Many of the characters in the book—real people with rich and varied lives—began with different vocations. Vita Sackville-West pursued writing, Constance Spry built a career in floristry, and Edward Bunyard was renowned for his fruit nursery in Kent. For each, roses were initially a secondary interest, a quiet passion alongside their main pursuits. Yet over time, these timeless blooms came to occupy a central place in their lives, shaping their stories and legacies in unexpected and profound ways. The book is clearly the result of meticulous research, and I found myself frequently jotting down names, places, and plant varieties to explore further. I was particularly fascinated by Maud Messel and how the rose collection at Nymans—now beautifully wild, entwining the garden’s ruins—deeply influenced her life. Equally compelling was the story of Graham Stuart Thomas, who began his interest in old roses from a commercial perspective but ultimately relocated his entire collection to Mottisfont, creating a lasting legacy there in his later years. These remarkable individuals went to great lengths to treasure, protect, and source their roses. They traveled across Europe in search of rare varieties, took cuttings to preserve roses for future generations, and shared their finds generously with friends. All this while steadfastly refusing to dig up their beloved roses during wartime, even as the “Dig for Victory” campaign urged the nation to convert gardens into vegetable plots. Their unwavering commitment ensured that these historic blooms survived through some of the most challenging times. "Where the Old Roses Grow" is one of the most captivating books I’ve read in a long time. Janelle McCulloch has breathed life into the stories of these remarkable rose lovers, weaving history and passion into every page. I hope that one day I’ll have the chance to meet her in person and thank her for opening this beautiful world to me through her writing. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

Last summer, amid the gentle hush of the Irish countryside, I was fortunate enough to spend an afternoon at Patthana Garden — a place unlike any other, where art and horticulture entwine in the most exquisite way. Invited not only to explore the garden under the guidance of its creator, TJ Maher, but also to share a quiet lunch prepared with care by his husband, Simon, I found myself immersed in a world that felt both personal and profoundly beautiful. The garden itself — intimate, layered, painterly — unfolds like a living canvas, each corner a vignette, each path a slow reveal. It is a space not just planted, but composed: a testament to the emotional power of gardens when shaped by a true artist’s hand. With hindsight, I realise just how rare and generous the day was — not only the setting, but the conversation, the hospitality, the stillness. Patthana remains my favourite garden in Ireland and I often let my mind drift back to that day. We were scheduled to arrive at Patthana for lunch, but the morning brought heavy rain and grey skies. Cold, wet, and a bit disheartened, we couldn't help but feel that the weather might put a damper on our visit. Nothing quite prepares you for Patthana—just an unassuming street sign and a distinctive tall metal gate. As we stepped through into the Courtyard, TJ greeted us with a warm Irish welcome and a smile. Within moments, we were seated with friends, old and new, enjoying a delicious lunch. To our delight, sunlight began to filter in, and the rain clouds slowly drifted away. Even in the Courtyard, the garden burst with colour—bold, bright, and beautifully contrasting. Terracotta pots overflowed with life, each plant seemingly chosen with care. But one stopped me in my tracks: Abutilon ' Red Tiger ' , its vivid orange, lantern-like blooms dripping with raindrops from the morning showers. It was dazzling—delicate yet striking. I fell in love with it on the spot and now have one of my own at home, a living reminder of that unforgettable summer day at Patthana. Patthana begins at the Courtyard, a compact yet richly layered space beside the house. Grey stone walls provide a calm, architectural backdrop to a tapestry of potted plants—an eclectic and well-tended collection that brings colour and texture through the seasons. A small stone pond anchors the space, not only visually but ecologically. Planted with care and restraint, it offers structure and softness in equal measure, while gently sloping edges allow easy access for birds and insects. Nearby, a modest potting shed adds a note of charm and purpose. Every element here feels deliberate, designed to blur the boundaries between cultivated space and natural habitat. Height is confidently used throughout the Courtyard, giving the space a lovely sense of structure and rhythm. Climbing plants—picked not just for their leaves but for their shapes—are carefully trained to gently separate the potting shed from the pond, adding a delightful touch of surprise. There’s a real charm in the handcrafted iron railings that curve gracefully around the steep stone steps leading up to the Inner Garden. Their elegant lines draw your eye upward, while colourful, textured pots placed along the way soften the climb. Together, they offer a gentle invitation, guiding you forward as little glimpses of the next garden space begin to reveal themselves. Originally, Patthana was made up of just two distinct spaces: the Courtyard and the Inner Garden. Over the years, TJ poured care and creativity into shaping them into peaceful, secluded retreats. With layered planting, thoughtfully placed trees, and gentle fencing, he carefully screened out neighbouring houses—not to shut the world out, but to draw visitors into a space that feels completely removed from everyday life. The result is a garden full of calm and quiet beauty—a green, embracing world that feels miles away, even though it’s just steps from the village street. In the Inner Garden, generous borders overflow with planting chosen for their colour harmony and year-round appeal. TJ’s eye for form and structure shines through, with layers of perennials, shrubs, and small trees adding texture and rhythm. As the garden evolved and space became tight, island beds were introduced into the lawn—an inspired way to create more room for planting. Curved paving stones weave gently between them, protecting the grass while guiding the eye through the space. From certain angles, these beds seem to merge with the surrounding borders, creating a beautiful illusion of depth and scale that makes the garden feel much larger than it really is. Colour is used with confidence at Patthana, guided by TJ’s training as an artist. Contrasting and complementary tones are placed with a painter’s instinct, creating vibrant yet balanced combinations. He’s unafraid to edit, even cutting back plants in full flower if they disrupt the overall composition—a boldness that brings clarity and cohesion to the planting. TJ often moves flower stems from one part of the garden to another, placing them temporarily to test new combinations. It’s a simple, effective way to judge how a plant will work in a different setting—and a useful technique to adopt in your own garden, offering instant insight before making any permanent changes. One unexpected combination that works beautifully is the soft purple-pink of Valeriana officinalis   paired with the bold orange of Helenium  ‘Moerheim Beauty’ . It’s a striking contrast, yet it doesn't clash. The subtle tones are gently anchored by the warm hues of a nearby wooden building and the textured bark of a tree close by—proof that context, as much as colour, makes a planting work. It looks so natural and works perfectly, but this is very careful curation by TJ behind the scenes. He isn't afraid to experiment with plants, colour and form. For me, a garden is really about the plants and the design. Too often, though, gardens end up feeling cluttered with sculptures and statues. Patthana is different. There’s just a small amount of metalwork here, and it’s so subtle and thoughtfully placed that it blends in beautifully with the space—never distracting from the garden itself. I loved the intricate, artistic metal holders placed beside a wooden bench—perfect for setting down a drink while you pause and take in the garden. Subtly echoing the metalwork on the Courtyard Steps, they were discreetly tucked in among the ferns, easy to miss if you weren’t really looking. A small detail, but such a thoughtful one. Until fairly recently, the garden ended just beyond the boundary of the Inner Garden, with a farmer’s field stretching out beyond. But in the last few years, TJ and Simon had the chance to purchase that land, and the garden has since expanded to include the newly designed Torque Garden, as well as a Meadow and Pond. These new areas are tucked out of sight, connected to the Inner Garden by a softly planted, leafy woodland path. Stonework here mirrors that of the house, echoing the character of the Courtyard and creating a seamless transition. There’s a calm, almost meditative atmosphere in this space—an inviting pause before the garden opens out again. The Torque Garden has a strong prairie-style feel, with a winding path that guides you through the space, allowing you to see the borders from all angles and get up close to the plants—so close that you feel almost immersed in them. About halfway along the path, you come to a secluded gravel seating area with loungers and a fire pit. It’s completely tucked away within the planting, offering a real sense of privacy, and yet it still feels open and airy. The seating is wrapped in greenery, creating a sense of calm and gentle protection—a peaceful spot to pause and just be. As you leave the Torque Garden, the space opens up and a grass pathway leads you into a wildflower meadow. To the right, a row of trees gently frames the view, while to the left, sculpted earth banks cleverly screen the garden from the buildings beyond. At the same time, they subtly echo the curves and contours of the surrounding hills and distant mountains, creating a beautiful sense of harmony with the wider landscape. Even in this more open part of the garden, the planting is lush and abundant, spilling out of the borders and drawing the eye. If you’re lucky, you might catch sight of insects and butterflies flitting between blooms in search of nectar. The whole area hums with life, filled with striking plants like the beautiful Verbena bonariensis , which seems to self-seed freely throughout this extended part of the garden. Beyond the meadow, a striking borrowed view comes into focus—the local church, towering above the garden and naturally drawing your eye. TJ has thoughtfully placed a beautiful metal bench here, its wide arches echoing the church’s own architectural curves. It feels like wherever you stand in the garden, there’s always a plant or feature that adds something special to the view. Here, I spotted a tall, dramatic Teasel plant that stood proudly above me, marking both the beginning and the end of the meadow in a bold and beautiful way. As we walked back toward the house, the garden continued to surprise and delight. Through the Hawthorn trees—originally marking the boundaries of the Inner Garden—there’s a breathtaking view stretching out to the stunning landscape beyond. The wooden fencing quietly fades away, drawing your eye instead to the gnarled, magnificent tree roots close by and the rolling hills in the distance, bursting with vibrant color. The garden is truly spectacular. It feels like an artist’s ongoing masterpiece—not painted with brushes, but crafted with plants. At times, it literally took my breath away. The design and plant combinations are beautiful, and I hope that one day soon, I’ll be lucky enough to return to Patthana—a garden that is not only stunning but full of feeling and meaning, a rare and special combination. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

Several years ago I stumbled upon some Topiary Images in a magazine. This in turn led me to probably my all time favourite garden book - "The Gardens of Arne Maynard". After reading the book I knew that one day I had to visit the garden itself. A couple of years ago my wish became reality and I finally got to stay at and visit Allt y Bela, the private garden of the renowned designer Arne Maynard. It was quite an effort to get to Allt Y Bela as it's tucked away on the borders of Wales and accessed by a long and winding country lane which seems way off the beaten track. However, the effort was worth it. From the moment I drove my car in through the beautiful wood and iron gates I just knew this visit would be something very special and was sure to remain with me for a long time to come. I'd already managed to read several of Arne Maynard's garden books before my visit, and I'd seen most of the blog posts on his website as well as every article that I could get my hands on but none of this prepared me for the beauty of this place. Seeing really is believing and so much better than a magazine or book. The house sits perfectly within the surrounding landscape and seems nestled comfortably in to the rolling countryside around it. It is refreshingly quiet and peaceful with a strong feeling of time having stopped still. The house has been painted in an eye catching orange shade and so it stands proudly and magnificently at the centre of this scene. At the same time the property feels humble and serving the landscape itself. The house seems to be almost grounded within the setting itself. There is a small stream that flows through the valley by the house and stonework along it's banks links the steam to the property and envelops the house with a sweeping curve. The stream stone matches the buildings and this feature really punctuates and sets apart the house from the countryside beyond. It looks so simple but it is really quite sophisicated design that draws your eye and subconciously let's you see the house at peace with the landscape. When viewed from another angle the curves of the stream are replicated in a series of stone walls set into the bank beyond, almost like an amphitheatre but very simplistic with planting spill out from the stone itself and a stunning curved wild flower meadow beyond. The curves get gradually smaller with height and so seem to disappear into the hillside. There are several parts to the garden and most flow into one another although the Cottage Garden and Vegetable Garden are two seperate places. Topiary is dotted throughout and there are lots of pot displays as well as the amphitheatre and wild flower meadow. It is all curated perfectly and it is difficult to see clearly where the garden ends and the countryside begins. Use has been made of local materials which adds to the sense of the place but, at the same, time there are some quite bold statements such as sculpture that is quite magestic in style but due to the simplicity of the surroundings does not feel out of place. To me this whole garden is strictly about structure but then how that can be made to fade into the background and carry the planting and landscape that surrounds it. Care has been taken to ensure that any pots, seating and hard landscaping all "fit" with the surroundings and they have been allowed to weather beautifully, even gathering moss, so that they appear to have been around for many years. Even the Head Gardener Bertie, who kindly showed me around the garden, looked a fitting part of this amazing space ! The Cottage Garden was a profusion of every type of Cottage Garden plant you could imagine. Some towered above me and it was difficult to take everything in. There were beautiful stone pathways criss crossing through this garden so that you could explore deeper and try to discover some new and beautiful plants. I could have stayed in part of the garden for quite a long time except there was even more to see. The Vegetable and Cottage Garden were suprisingly small but that did not stop them both from packing so much in. In the Vegetable Garden everything was very ordered and most of the produce here is used for the house. Most plants were labelled and there was a feeling of having stepped back in time. There was a stunning wooden greenhouse which again was not huge in size. At the time of my visit this was packed with several different varieties of tomato plant. Again natural materials had been used whenever possible including some stunning terracotta pots. The Greenhouse is a walk from the house and so some more tender plants are kept nearby in a stunning cold frame. Attention to detail is key as the plants are staged so that those near to the back are raised up and easy to view and traditionnal terracotta pots are stored underneath. A beautifully clipped topiary sits adjacent to the frame whilst climbing plants cling to the wall besides it. In this garden even the most practical of structures look beautiful. Everything looks so natural and you would never know that this garden is a relatively recent creation. Tightly clipped topiary of Carpinus betulus (hornbeam) and Buxus (box) sit comfortably in the garden with a backdrop of more wild and free flowing trees. Even the oak seating is set at an angle to reflect the garden design - a clever but subtle detail you may not even notice unless you look closely. Nevertheless small details like this are a nod to the sophisicated design which is almost hidden in this garden. Sadly the visit came to an end all too quickly and I made sure that I had all my notes and pictures to hand before I asked Bertie, the gardener, any final questions. We were lucky that day as the weather was kind and when we had finished looking at the gardens we were able to enjoy a well appreciated cup of tea ! If you can make the trip to Allt y Bela you will not be disappointed and I really do recommend it. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

Hill Close Gardens are without doubt one of the most fascinating gardens I have ever visited. Steeped in history, nearly lost forever and not at all well known - these gardens are absolutely charming and a treat to see. Hill Close is a series of almost secret gardens, originally covering an area of five acres sandwiched between the ancient medieval walled town of Warwick and its racecourse. Mr Wilson inherited the site in the 1840s and seeing the need for detached gardens which were once very common, he set about splitting the plot into a series of 32 gardens each with it's own hedgerow and lockable door. These private gardens were perfect for those living in the town where most business and other premises only had a small yard alongside their business or house. Hill Close gardens, like now, were an escape from everyday life and somewhere to relax in a private space. People would use these detached gardens to grow fruit, flowers and vegetables or to just relax and enjoy some peace and quiet. In the 1860s the whole site was sold to Mr Phillips who went on to sell the plots individually and this probably saved them from development in future years. Plots were passed down in the same family for generations but by the end of the Nineteenth Century there was demand for housing and some of the plots, at the outer edges of the site, had been sold and built on. Between 1900 and 1910 half the orginal site had been developed and the Council began to buy plots as they became available. It took forty years, but eventually the Council owned the whole site. Permission was given for housing development and in 1993 bulldozers moved in. Luckily a group of local residents realised how special the site was - not only the land, but also the derelict summerhouses which previous owners had built in many different styles. The residents grouped together to try and save the gardens from development and stop the bulldozers. The heritage value of the gardens was recognised and a Trust was set up to secure the future of the gardens and to restore them. The Summerhouses and the Gardens are now Grade II Listed - recognised as being historically important, and protected, for future generations to come. Work started to restore the gardens in earnest, with the support of the Heritage Lottery Fund. The gardens were then opened to the public so that everyone can now enjoy and appreciate the social and gardening history of this very unique site. The Trust has recreated plots as close to possible to their original layout and planting. Each plot has a number and plaque which gives a brief history behind who gardened there. It's fascinating to read the stories of people who were gardening at Hill Close many years ago and discover what influenced them, what their family and business life was like, and how this may have impacted on their own garden plot. The gardens were used for pleasure as well as production and would have comprised lawns, ornamental beds, fruit, vegetables, garden ponds and often a summerhouse. As you wander through the plots at Hill Close today this is what you can expect to see. It's a place of community but also somewhere for privacy and a feeling of secrecy - each garden being completley unique and hidden from its neighbours. The summerhouses were used to sit and admire the gardens but also store tools. Many had a fireplace to keep some warmth and perhaps a kettle to make drinks whilst some had stoves to cook a small meal. The site had gas supply too and so was lit after dark to extend the gardening day. Plot owners obviously had a sense of pride and enjoyment in their own personal garden and many invested money making each plot unique to them. Not only were the summerhouses quite spectacular, with brick, chimneys and ornate tiles but plot owners also invested in steps, pathways and fancy edgings to their planting beds and paths. The trust relies on a team of volunteers to help maintain the gardens. There are 80 volunteers at Hill Close altogether and just half of them are involved in the gardening. Each volunteer is usually allocated to one plot. There is a huge selection of flowers and planting combinations in the gardens which gives plenty of inspiration to take away and try in your own gardening space. As you reach the final garden there is a large Victorian style greenhouse with coldframes and I was pleased to see a selection of plants for sale. These were not "bought in plants" but cuttings, division and propagation of the actual plants growing in the gardens today. In early Autumn, when I visited, the purple Verbena bonariensis (Purpletop vervain) and Japanese anemone stood out in the border and looked striking against the left over seed heads of Alcea (Hollyhock). There were a lot of Dahlias planted throughout the gardens as well as Cosmos, Geranium and Roses. The gardens have had a huge social effect, not only in the past as you can discover by reading the plot plaques as you walk about the garden, but also in the present. These gardens are still giving daily pleasure and benefits to the volunteers who garden today. Plot number 10 is looked after by Stella Carr, a well known artist, and you can easily see the influence of her art and creativity in the way that she tends to this garden plot today. For other volunteers the gardens are a sanctuary where they can get away, connect with nature, tend to their plot and connect with others - perhaps just a chat with a visitor or fellow volunteer - social interaction that can make a huge difference to their day. It's a wonderful place which continues to give and impact on people and nature. At one time there were many more detached gardens in the UK but most were lost to development. Many of these would have fruit trees which provided fruit, beautiful blossom and a shaded place to sit. Hill Close Gardens are no different and contain over 160 trees made up of 70 varieties. The apples are ready from September time through to November each and comprise many Heritage varieties. Each year Hill Close Gardens holds an Event to celebrate these wonderful trees where you can sample the apples and find out more about the history. I noticed Wyken Pippin an apple variety dating back to the 1700s, Warwickshire Drooper plum tree which is unusual as it can be eaten and cooked as well plus Blenheim Orange apple which also dates back a long time to 1740. These are just a handful of the many varities to see at Hill Close. At the end of the gardens is the stunning greenhouse and plant sales. I treated myself to an eyecatching Symphyotrichum (Aster) which I'd seen in the borders whilst wandering through the different plots. Hill close also has over forty varieties of Chrysanthemum and holds part of the RHS National Dispersed Collection of Chrysanthemum. I thoroughly recommend a visit to Hill Close. There is so much to see and learn about the past, the present as well as the social and architectural history. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer

I was lucky enough to be invited to visit The Mill Garden in Warwick on a sunny afternoon in late September. Little did I know that this garden would be one of the best examples I have ever seen of what garden designers describe as a garden with a "borrowed view", where features beyond the boundaries of a garden appear to be part of the garden itself. The borrowed view of the Mill Garden is spectacular with Warwick Castle as a backdrop on one side rising out of the garden with a huge sense of scale, and the river Avon framing the garden to the other side. The lawn slopes gently toward the river taking in a picture perfect view of the old abandoned bridge which used to carry the road from Warwick to London. The house itself was originally the bridge keepers cottage and has a history going back hundreds of years. The house and garden are tucked away down a small cobbled street lined with historic houses each of which has its own distinct character and gives a sense of stepping back in time. The street curves gently and so the Mill Garden is hidden from view until you reach the very end of the houses where a quaint and unassuming pink cottage comes into view. The Cottage belongs to Julia Measures and her husband David Russell and was previously owned by Julia's father Arthur who originally rented the house before purchasing it from the Earl of Warwick in 1959. Julia has been connected with this place all her life and the story of how she met her husband David, and kept the garden she believed she may need to let go, is a fairytale in itself. Gardens are as much about the people who "garden" them as the garden itself. This garden has been a constant thread interwined throughout Julia's life so I was thrilled to meet Julia and her husband on my visit, and hear first hand, from her, some of the history of this spectacular place. As you step in to the garden the Castle backdrop is breathtaking with it's turreted tower and huge expanse of grey stone wall running along the length of the garden. The dull grey of the Castle wall tones in perfectly with the pale pink of the Cottage, and its out-buildings, drawing the two together in a very subtle way. The entrance to the garden has a Cottage Garden feel with bird baths, benches to sit and take in the view as well as a collection of earthenware and terracotta pots displayed beautifully on an old stone bench. The planting here is very low and close to the ground comprising many alpine type plants in a subtle hue of colours including lilac, pink and white but framed by silver colour foliage. Height has been obtained by growing climbers along the walls of the outbuildings drawing the eye away from the Castle and out towards the garden beyond. Not only does this garden draw on features beyond its own boundaries, but it also has a very cleverly designed series of paths which lead you, in twists and turns, through the garden. The garden is not that big in size but by using this clever design it is revealed to you bit by bit and so appears to be a lot larger than it actually is. From the entrance to the garden and the Cottage, a path leads past the low level planting, through a lawn and down to the lower level garden. There is just a glimpse of water beyond and at first glance this seems to be a lake rather than the river itself - it's only as you walk further along the path that the whole view is revealed and you can look back to see the bridge. It is breathtaking and design at its very best. The stone path continues to weave its way and lead you around the garden making clever use of planting and shrubs to gradually reveal, hide or frame a particular view. This garden should be on every garden designers wish list and be a must have addition to garden design tuition courses. It's only small in size but packs so much in. The borrowed view doesn't stop at the river, bridge and castle - it also comprises mature trees beyond the river which frame in the view and link up with very tall trees within the garden itself which give the impression of being somewhere in the country rather than in the middle of Warwick Town. It's breathtaking both visually and in terms of design. What I loved about this garden, as much as the garden itself, were the people. Julia and her husband are very unassuming but were available during my visit to ask questions, share knowledge or plants. They also share the garden not only to passing visitors but by opening for the NGS Garden Scheme and over the years they have raised a substantial amount of money for charities. They also connect with other nearby gardens and gardeners and help provide training opportunities for the WAGS garden scheme. It would be very easy to keep this beautiful oasis private and enjoy it only for themselves but instead they, like many other gardeners, share and I am sure that they get a lot of pleasure themselves from doing just that. As you wander around the garden it feels so natural but there is some very clever and subtle curation going on too. There are lots of intimate viewpoints and vistas and places where you can just stop and take in the view. The garden is scattered with nods to a time past. There are old stocks, benches, pots, garden rollers and staddle stones too. I had such an enjoyable afternoon at Julia's garden and I would recommend making the effort to visit Warwick sometime and see this beautiful garden for yourself. Guineveres Garden | Garden Writer