And so my second English foray ends the
same as the first: at the foot of St Paul’s cathedral in the YHA hostel. As the
bells chime, I’ll make my final entry before coming home.
Part 1: Colchester and the Beth Chatto
Gardens
After Oxford it was off to Colchester and
the Beth Chatto Gardens, my final stop on what has been a whirlwind tour of
English gardens. I suppose Colchester was doomed from the start, nothing can
compare to Oxford, but regardless of where I was coming from I doubt I would
have found much to cheer about. Colchester is a city that undoubtedly has the
potential to be very pretty, but it ultimately fails to make good on that
potential. When the High Street features betting halls, bargain clothing stores
and boarded up shops, you know a city is in trouble. There’s a trend in the UK
where cities and in some cases entire regions are being slowly drained of their
vitality by the megalopolis of London. It seems like only those that have an
exceptional history (i.e. Oxford, Cambridge, York), or are embracing the new
contemporary era (i.e. Bristol and Sheffield), or a combination thereof (i.e.
Edinburgh) are immune. Colchester seems to be none of the above. To be fair I
don’t expect every place to be tourist-friendly, where’s the fun in that?
That’s not what they exist to do. But when I travel to the smaller towns that
are so far from the beaten track that I may be the only tourist within 30 miles,
irrespective of their economic situation they still feel welcoming. In
Colchester it felt a bit menacing. I think that’s ultimately what made the
difference.
Regardless, I wasn’t there to see the city
I was there for the garden nearby. Like Great Dixter, the Beth Chatto Gardens (as
their name would imply) are the manifestation of the gardening philosophy and
ideology of an icon of English horticulture. Beth Chatto is a household name
both as a garden writer and designer and her humble Essex home (it’s so
refreshing to visit a garden that isn’t at a manor house or castle but at an
ordinary home of an extraordinary person) has become a place of pilgrimage for
gardeners and designers from around the world. I can now add my name to the
list.
The gardens reflect Chatto’s interest in
thinking about plants ecologically, almost a precursor to the work of
Hitchmough, Oudolf and others who model their plantings, like Chatto, after
natural plant communities. This method ensures plants are good neighbours and
work well together, minimizing the need for overly intensive maintenance and
synthetic fertilizers. When Beth Chatto started down this path of ecological
gardening it was revolutionary, but thanks to her efforts and those of her
successors, it has become widely accepted by the gardening public. Also like
Dixter, the gardens are only half the story, the other half of the operation is
the commercial nursery selling some of the newest and most sought after
introductions in the horticultural world.
After walking up the drive from the main
road the garden begins with the Chatto’s famous gravel garden. It is a
spectacular achievement, borne of a combination of poor local soils and
creative genius, and one of the main reasons I wanted to see the gardens so
badly. The gravel garden is decidedly not a case of top-dressing the garden
with a layer of gravel mulch over nice rich topsoil, these plants are growing
in some of the leanest soil imaginable and thriving with no irrigation
whatsoever. Only the toughest of the tough make it here, including the
ever-present Verbena bonariensis (I think every garden I’ve seen has involved this
plant in one way or another), sages, Phlomis other Mediterranean species and
even a couple of agaves (that are brought in in the winter). It all makes for a
wonderful if very unconventional, un-English picture.
The gravel garden |
From here you descend into the valley that
has been made into a series of water gardens bordered by a long shady walk that
shelters the gardens from the adjacent fields. The gardens feature Chatto’s
trademark plants – things like Bergenia, Phlomis, Russian sage – in sweeping
beds between swathes of quite perfect lawns. Again, in keeping with the themes
of the other gardens I’ve visited, there is a stark contrast between the
crispness and formality of the lawns and edges with the informality of the
garden planting. Durslade, Dixter, Sissinghurst, and even Hitchmough’s borders
all play with this theme in some way. After walking through the valley area you
rise up a small hill and enter the woodland garden. Lush and verdant it is a
delicious array of textures and occasional splashed of colour. A particular
highlight was the path through rough grass that had been inter-planted with
Cyclamen (one of the popular alpines I had first seen at Kew). In the late
afternoon light they sparkled among the grass. After walking back along the
borders, passing the scree garden that borders the house and through the valley
the gardens empty into the nursery; the candy store of candy stores for people
like me. Perhaps even more than Kew, Beth Chatto’s nursery became a tremendous
resource for building my plant vocabulary, exposing me to exciting new plants
and setting all sorts of light-bulbs off in my ever-churning head.
The valley gardens |
Mediterranean planting in the borders |
The woodland garden |
Cyclamen in the lawn |
I greatly enjoyed the garden, it is
undeniably beautiful but like at Kew, something was bothering me. I may change
my mind when I think about it in hindsight, or I may be abjectly wrong, but the
thing that came to mind was that where the gardens are indeed revolutionary in
terms of plant palette they are formal in arrangement, composition and physical
form. What was revolutionary in its day is no longer the cutting edge and now,
aside from the gravel garden maybe, the gardens seem to reflect a sort of soft
radicalism. That’s not a fault, just a result of the passage of time as trends
and movements come and go. Again context plays a role here since my last garden
experience was of James Hitchmough’s Merton Borders, so almost anything was
going to feel more subdued and controlled by comparison but what I’m most
interested in and fascinated by is the really radical, the boldly audacious and
the philosophically challenging. It’s why Hitchmough’s borders and Waltham
Place have left such a strong impression. They recklessly abandon convention.
Stylistic quibbles aside, it is definitely
a place of pilgrimage for a reason and I’m glad I made the trek to Essex. The
really important quality, the thing that has united every place I’ve visited
and what I think is the most important of all, is that the Beth Chatto Gardens
are a plant-lover’s garden that look and feel well-loved. The best gardens and
the best designed landscapes are those that reflect a deep love of plants and
Beth Chatto’s gardens are no exception.
The scree garden by the house |
The candy store |
Part 2: London
The train from Colchester dropped me at
Liverpool Street, in the heart of the City of London. The City is a financial
hotbed. Suits, ties, slick hair, thick perfume and briefcases make the
sidewalks an awfully inhospitable place for someone in a green windbreaker and
backpack while the roads are generously populated by the likes of Porsche,
Maserati, Bentley and others. All are hallmarks of a lifestyle that I neither
understand nor covet. Architecturally though, the City is a fascinating and
dynamic mixture of the very old (St Paul’s, Temple Bar, Mansion House) and the
very new (the Gherkin, the Shard), both of which I love. The City skyline is
not the static picture that Westminster is, it is a collage where Wren mingles
with Renzo Piano, where stone meets glass and steel, where construction meets
restoration and where it all seems to achieve a remarkably cohesive balance.
Best of all though is the experience of walking through this maze of
architectural ingenuity. Walking through urban space is a kind of choreography.
Different movements ebb and flow, sometimes quietly and sometimes rising to a
great crescendo. There is something special about watching a shiny glass
building slowly give way to Wren’s masterwork at St Paul’s or walking down a
flight of narrow steps that open to a sudden, dramatic panorama of the mighty
Thames. It’s something you can only experience on foot, and that’s just how I
spent my final London day.
St Paul's |
I walked from St Paul’s along the river,
into the unexpectedly lovely Inner Temple gardens, and along the Strand and the
Kingsway before coming to the British Museum where I spent a couple of hours
(that’s about when the intellectual saturation sets in) before returning to the
hostel. I went back out, this time in a sweater since the air is taking on a
notably autumnal bite, and hoofed it to Regents Park, along the canal to Camden
for a street-food dinner and after a short subway ride, back down to the Thames
to say goodbye to Big Ben (almost as hard as saying goodbye to Oxford). I didn’t
get to see everything I’d wanted to in London, but then in five months on
exchange I didn’t either. It always keeps you coming back for more, why fight
it? Now, back in the hostel again serenaded by the bells of St Paul’s as the
clock strikes midnight, I’m getting ready to leave.
The Inner Temple gardens |
Anemones in the shady garden |
The British Museum |
This trip has been fantastic. More than
just a bit of English fun, it’s been a vocational validation. Everywhere I’ve
gone I’ve encountered kindred spirits, mentors and heroes whom have been, in
their own way encouraging, stimulating, invigorating and inspiring. They have
shown me beyond any shadow of doubt that this is what I’m meant to do. This is
a group that I’m meant to be a part of. I couldn’t ask for anything more and I
can’t wait to get started! Prepare yourselves. Things are about to get floral.