The Education of a Gardener

Getting the Bones Right

 

 

We're getting there- slowly.  The constant rain hasn't helped, creating inevitable delays and the trellis (ordered from Anthony de Grey) took much longer to make than I thought it would.  Anyway. Here's a snapshot of the new garden, as taken this morning. I'm hoping the trellis will be finished by this afternoon.

The dreaded conifer thing (which used to "grace" the corner) has gone. I managed to cut it down myself, pulling every muscle in my body as I did so- but it was well worth the effort. We're building trellis across the end of the garden, which squares off the awkward, tri-angular shape, and the Gothic arch helps to create the illusion that there might even be some sort of door leading into another garden. I like the idea of planting ivy, ferns, Solomon's Seal and other shady plants, to create a dark and mysterious place, beyond.  That, at least, is the plan.

The nasty concrete "stone" slabs have been removed, and replaced with a gravel terrace. I've used 6mm Trent washed pea shingle, ordered from Stone Warehouse. It's growing on me.  At first, I wasn't entirely sure (it was ordered blind, on the internet); I was expecting something a bit creamier and lighter in colour. This is a browny pink. The builders have also laid it quite thickly, so that your feet sink down into it, but I've been told that it will settle down, and I'm beginning to find that this is the case- it's much more compact than when it was laid down a week or two ago.

We've also installed a new, higher trellis on the left hand side. This will help to screen out the neighbours.  I'm tempted to paint the wall on the left hand side, white. It's been built from a Midland brick, and clashes with the lovely creamy, yellow London stock, we've built our steps from.  In the meantime, I've had it re-pointed in places. I'll make the decision when the grey trellis is finished.

So far, I'm thrilled with the results. What was an awkward, uninspiring back yard is turning into a charming, rather pretty- and dare I say it- romantic garden. And it's amazing, how much bigger it looks too.  A lesson I'm learning is how important it is to get the structure right. This is what you're going to be looking at during the Winter. Planting is not enough.

Progress...

 

One side of what will soon become brick steps leading up to a small gravelled terrace: old reclaimed London Stock (probably from the 1920's or 30's), weather pointed to match the rest of the house. Lovely old London bricks: creamy yellows, pinks and blues.

Rain Stops Play

 

After a frustrating delay of several weeks, we've finally started building work on the garden. The first step is to dig out steps- which will lead out from French Windows, which we've yet to install. The steps will be built from re-claimed creamy yellow London stock, leading onto a small raised gravelled terrace, and the new French Windows will line up with a slightly off-centre Gothick trellised arch- which should act as a focal point. 

 

 

I've got a thing about wide steps. I remember my grandmother (an expert gardener) lecturing me on this. Broad, generous steps are what you want; avoid those mean, narrow, mealy-mouthed things. At the same time, I'm not that keen on deep steps, with a high rise. The challenge is that the current level of the garden (the area which is going to become the gravelled terrace) is about 2 ½ ft higher than the basement ground level; so we've got quite a way to go, and in such a tiny garden, there's no space.

 

 

By the end of yesterday, I became neurotically punch-drunk through staring at the space for too long: had we dug out the steps too far back, leaving too small a space for the upper terrace? It looked like quite a squeeze.  This morning, I'm more rational, and I think it's going to be all right, especially when higher trellis is installed, emphasising the verticals; currently it's all about horizontals.

 

 

We've also excavated around the base of the Victorian ironwork pillar, revealing scraps of old mauve coloured paint. Mauveine was discovered in 1856, the first chemical dye. I suspect that this was the colour the ironwork was originally painted in- a far cry from Farrow and Ball.

And last night, the rain returned. Torrential rain, leaving the building site looking like something from The Somme.

 

Creating a plan

 

 

Trying to take photographs in such a small space is difficult. Here's another view of the border, taken from the dreaded point, looking back west, towards the house. We've inherited a fantastic jasmine, which over two years has really taken off. It's currently growing over a small garden shed in the corner (I suspect that it used to be the outside lav; I can just see Dad sitting there reading the Daily Mirror). Both it, and the barred kitchen windows are going: French windows (in a vaguely 1840 ish style) are going to replace the prison-like windows, so that they open out onto a small terrace, which will lead onto steps made from London brick. To give room for the new French windows to open properly, we're going to demolish the shed, and rebuild it the other side, underneath the ironwork steps.

The clipped topiary box ball is staying. At the moment there's a manky climbing rose (unknown variety), which has been planted far too close to the jasmine. It's actually a rather lovely colour (a deep red), and I suspect it may even be an old variety, but it ain't happy- has bad black spot, the leaves are turning yellow and falling off. I think it has to go. In the foreground, is another inherited unidentified rose climber. Again, nothing especially wrong with it, as such- it's a subtle creamy pink colour, but it's got the dreaded blackspot, and the flowers seem to be stunted. I'm probably going to rip it out and start again. I've already dug up another rose, which had been planted just behind the topiary ball. I suspect this some form of hybrid- it seemed to be disease resistent, and enjoyed vigorous growth- all good things, but was a nasty, bubble-gum pink colour. I'm delighted that it's gone. It was a horror.

 

Here's a photograph of the Marsh Spurge (Euphorbia palustris)- or at least, I think that's what it is- I've brought from my previous garden. It's currently in a terracotta pot- and seems to be reasonably happy, although the bottom leaves are turning yellow and dropping off. I've been feeding it like crazy. Unlike most euphorbias, being a marsh plant, it likes, or tolerates, damp, moist conditions, so I don't think that I am overwatering it. During the spring, you get fresh, lime coloured flowers. In the autumn the stems turn an interesting red/brown colour. It's slightly more unusual than the Euphorbia wulfenii. It's going to stay.

The brick wall in the background is in desperate need of re-pointing. I quite like it. There are decent Victorian bricks at the bottom, but the top half is built from modern, mass-produced bricks which don't do anything for me. I'm very tempted to paint it white. And as there's shade from four o' clock onwards, this would be no bad thing. But I'm not sure that reds will work especially well against it. Blood and Milk. It's not a good combination...

Border decisions

 

 

Here's a photograph of our tiny, currently quasi-derelict border looking east- towards the scraggy conifer point. I've already got various thoughts. I like the idea of a contrast between a more formal, Draughtsman's Contract style of garden, and a more naturalistic- very English, Arts and Crafts garden in the William Robinson or Gertrude Jekyll manner. So, the clipped box topiary in the foreground is going to stay. The box plant at the end has to go (or at least will be re-potted), to be replaced by trellis, stretching across the end of the garden- the plan being, that it will square off that oh-so irritating point. But what to fill the area in-between? Currently, I'm thinking: marsh spurge (Euphorbia palustris), foxgloves and lillies. The colour scheme will be a subtle green, grey/silver, and pink/purple.

In my last post, I mentioned our angelica plant, a self-seeded thing left over from my last garden. I like angelica, in as much that it looks architectural and my god, attracts the bees. Trawling the net, I've discovered Purple Angelica (Angelica gigas). I think this will look fantastic in our small garden. Here's a photograph from the digging dog nursery:

 

 

The Tradescants and South Lambeth

 

 

 

 

I was fascinated to discover that the famous 17th century gardeners and collectors, the Tradescants, lived on a site incredibly close to our house; or to put it another way, we live just outside what would have been the grounds of their house, The Ark, on the South Lambeth Road. John Tredescant the Elder (pictured below) was Charles I's gardener. The Tradescants, apparently, were the first people to grow exotic fruits such as pineapples and nectarines in England. And it gets better. None other than Elias Ashmole, the alchemist, mystic and  antiquary lived next door in Turret House. Both The Ark and Turret House were demolished in 1881, to make way for new developments.

 

 

The diagram below (1880) shows Turret House at the bottom left and its extensive grounds of three acres or so. Our house is in a terrace built just outside the Tradescant's gardens. I'm (almost) growing plants on hallowed Tradescant soil.

 

I've spent the last two weeks or so clearing out the garden; hopefully we've got the builders coming in three weeks time to build steps, put down gravel and install trellis- but more of that in later posts. In the meantime, I'm thinking about planting. I want: hostas, old roses, lilies (love lilies), irises, ferns, foxgloves, ivy, Scotch thistle and topiary- lots of topiary. I sound like a spoilt American brat. I want. But there's the realisation that in such a small space, sparse selection is the way forward- or is it?  

We've already got a few much-loved plants left over from my previous garden in Battersea, both currently in terracotta pots: Angelica, and the Marsh Spurge (Euphorbia palustris). I like the creamy, naturalistic heads of Angelica; it reminds me of the cow parsley you see growing in the ditches of country lanes in early summer, and it's very architectural. The bees seem to love it too. I'm not sure what variety I've got. It's got rather large leaves- I seem to remember a variety with smaller, spikier leaves growing in a National Trust garden somewhere. Maybe this one would work better? It's also not especially happy in the pot (although I feed it regularly), and I suspect would be much better off planted directly into the border. I've got many decisions to take.

 

 

The Genius of the Place

 

A new blog; a new post: where to begin?  

I've always been interested in gardening- from as long as I can remember. My father, grand-mother and great grandfather are (and were) keen gardeners, but appreciation and knowledge are two separate things. I'm beginning to realise that I know very little.

I understand the difference between a perennial and a biennial; every midsummer, I make a pilgrimage to Hidcote Manor Gardens. I've tried to grow a few things from seed (with very mixed results). I watch the occasional gardening programme on television, but when it comes to the finer points of horticulture, I have to admit that I haven't got a clue; or at least, I'm more often or not in the dark. But being an optimist has its rewards: and I've got great things planned for our tiny London garden. Great things.

 

I think it was the 18th century landscape gardener, Lancelot "Capability" Brown who said "Consult the Genius of the Place"; I've subsequently discovered that this phrase was lifted from Alexander Pope.

We bought our London townhouse about two years ago, and up until now have done nothing with the garden, which we've more or less abandoned- having concentrated so far on restoring the interior of the house. We've got some inherited urns, a rusty Regency ironwork bench, and a pair of stone lions we bought for a song from a local auction house, but apart from digging up the previous owners' box plants and re-planting them in two of the urns, so far that's about it.

The house was built around 1870 (I like to call it American Civil War period) in the South Lambeth area of London. It's just south of the River Thames (relatively close to the Houses of Parliament), Vauxhall lies to the North (an urban sprawl of building sites, traffic gyratories, derelict warehouses and dodgy nightclubs, now ripe for re-generation).

The house is part of a typical London brick and stucco terrace- four stories high (including the basement), but because we're almost at the end of the street, our tiny "garden", really more of a back yard, is an awkward triangular, pointy shape. And I stress tiny: it's about seven metres long, by five-and-a-half metres wide. 

My heart sank when we first set eyes upon it. The previous owners had done their best to tidy it up by planting scented geraniums and some box (buxus sempervirens), but the disadvantages seemed to stack up with relative ease:  the yard is overooked by high buildings to the South and to the East. At breakfast it's sunny enough, but by the afternoon, we're in shade. And there's a strange thing going on with the levels, too- the barred kitchen windows look directly onto an ugly concrete wall, and there's a set of mean little steps going up to the main terrace, paved in a nasty concrete which is supposed to look like "York Stone". There's a silly, scraggy conifer in the corner (accentuating the dreaded point, like the bow of a ship), and two manky roses with bad cases of blackspot. There is some trellis, but it's rotten and falling to pieces.

 

Looking West: barred kitchen windows looking onto a concrete wall. I've dug up the previous owner's box plant, given it a haircut and repotted it in an Italian terracotta urn. Original Victorian shutters in desperate need of restoration. Lovely mid 19th century ironwork, currently covered in a gungy, thick black paint.

 

Looking East: nasty, scraggy conifer thing. Have no idea what it is. It has to go.