The Tour de France in Yorkshire

There’s a song by Kate and Anna McGarrigle with the line: “I've walked upon the moors on many misguided tours where Emily, Anne and Charlotte poured their hearts out”.

Emily, Anne and Charlotte, of course, were the Bronte sisters who lived on the Yorkshire moors in the early nineteenth century in the grimy industrial town of Haworth. Thanks to the literary merits of the Bronte sisters, Haworth, with its stone cottages and cobbled streets, is today a picturesque tourist destination.

In July this year, however, Haworth will see a tour the likes of which the poor sisters could never have imagined. The town is expected to be jammed with people when a circus-like parade of promotional cars, trucks and media vehicles pass through, led by a platoon of police cars and motorcycles with lights flashing and sirens wailing. Meanwhile, helicopters will be circling overhead as the crowds lining narrow Mill Hey Road crane to see a kaleidoscopic mass of around two hundred cyclists swoop into town.

This is the Tour de France — in Yorkshire, England. It may surprise many to learn that it is occurring outside France, although not unusual for the world's largest annual sporting event. During the three weeks it is held each summer, the race covers approximately 3,500 kilometres over twenty-two stages, mainly in France, but it typically dips into other European countries.

Launching the tour in the north of England is seen as a huge coup for local organizers and an economic prize for both countries. It’s also partly the reason Yorkshire has been voted the third best region in the world to visit, according to Lonely Planet’s 2014 Best in Travel list. And for me personally, the prospect of these top cyclists travelling the roads and dales that I tackled as a skinny kid is the stuff of dreams.

The Tour de France claims a worldwide television audience with 47,000 hours of coverage. Add in another 12 million spectators along the route and it’s an advertising bonanza.

In 2012 the Tour was won for the first time by a British rider, Bradley Wiggins (now Sir Bradley). The following year saw his teammate Chris Froome take the title. This, with spectacular successes in cycling at the 2012 Olympics, resulted in an upsurge in cycling in Britain, not unnoticed by the organizers eager for a larger audience. In return for hosting two stages, Yorkshire will have complete disruption of traffic with roads closed for up to eight hours along the route; however, the county is expecting an economic windfall of as much as $180 million dropping into its tourism basket.

In addition to a weekend of thrilling sport, the Tour will showcase some of the most beautiful countryside in Britain, thanks largely to the dramatic helicopter coverage of the race.

From the Grand Depart of in the bustling city of Leeds, the first stage is a loop through the Yorkshire Dales (valleys), finishing in the graceful old spa town of Harrogate, a popular resort for the one percenters of the Victorian era. After an exhausting 200 kilometres, I dare say a health spa for the riders will be in order, plus a considerable number of the more than 5,000 calories each will have burnt through.

On leaving Leeds, the route follows the valley of Wharfedale to the market town of Skipton, a favourite
place of mine as it’s where my parents first met. The race passes along High Street, site of a lively market, and right past the Black Horse Inn where my mother once worked so long ago. Dad worked nearby on the Duke of Devonshire’s grouse hunting estate.

Much as they’d like, there’ll be no time for riders to pause at the inn to refuel on a pint of local ale and traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. So focused, they’ll barely notice the canal basin on the Leeds to Liverpool canal, either, where a narrow-boat can be rented for a more leisurely trip through the dales. And the massive ramparts of the 900 year old Skipton Castle, one of the best preserved medieval castles in England, will be just a blur to them as they race by en route to the hills of the Yorkshire Dales National Park.

There are no alp-like mountains on the UK stages, but the rolling terrain of the dales throws up surprises with sharp, steep hills that daunt the casual cyclist. As the riders pass by, they may not notice the quaint villages set in a patchwork of green fields, stitched in place with dry-stone walls of white limestone. More likely they’ll be focused on strategy as a stage race is a chess game on wheels.

It’s a team event with an outright winner based on accumulated time, but there are competitions within the overall race, and among the nine members on each team there are specialists to challenge for the title of best sprinter, single stage winner, or the title of King of the Mountains.

If riders do have a moment to admire the magnificent views, they’ll be able to see the three highest mountains of Yorkshire: Whernside, Pen-y-ghent, and Ingleborough. Beneath these 700 meter peaks are natural caverns, the most famous being Gaping Ghyll. Big enough to hold a cathedral, it has a waterfall twice the height of Niagara Falls

Leaving Wharfedale, the tour crosses Kidtones Pass into Wensleydale, home of the classic Wensleydale Cheese, then follows the valley to the lively market town of Hawes. From here riders will tackle the formidable Buttertubs Pass, so called because of limestone formations near the summit. It will be the toughest ascent of the stage, a punishing five kilometres with a 20% grade. As they reach the top, they’ll see a landscape scoured to the bedrock in places by gales that rage in from the Atlantic. Pity the riders if it’s one of those days, but on a clear day the view is priceless.

After a hair-raising descent on a road little wider in places than a single car width, with cattle grids and ambling sheep, the route snakes down through beautiful Swaledale, hugging the river as it tumbles over Wain Wath Force with the sound of clogs on cobbles. The name “force”, a term used in the North of England, is derived from the Norse word for waterfall — yes, the Vikings were here, too, long ago.

Henry the VIII’s men were in the area as well in 1539, busy destroying the nearby Fountains Abbey after Henry ordered the dissolution of the monasteries. What they left behind is a glorious ruin, one of the largest, best preserved Cistercian monasteries and a World Heritage Site.

It’s a short detour but of no interest to the riders. There are now only about 30 of the 190 kilometres of the first stage left before the finish in Harrogate, and teams will be manoeuvring for position, setting up their best sprinters. Waiting crowds will be hoping for a win and the coveted yellow jersey for British rider, Mark Cavendish, a sprint specialist who’s already notched up twenty-five Tour de France stage victories. To streak to another win on home soil will mean every pub in town will be packed that night.

The gruelling 200 kilometre stage two begins the following day from the walled city of York. Founded by the Romans in 71 AD, tourism is now York’s business with deep layers of history to explore, especially the twelfth century York Minster cathedral that towers over the city. While across the river is the National Rail Museum with a vast collection ranging from the earliest steam engines to the Japanese Bullet train.

Maybe not as fast as a speeding bullet, but with an average speed as high as 50 kilometres an hour on the flat and 80 downhill, the riders will head back into the hills again before leaving the dales for the spectator rich conurbation of southwest Yorkshire, heart of the nineteenth century industrial revolution.  This is the area that gave rise to the Luddites, disgruntled hand weavers who resisted change by smashing the first mechanized looms. They couldn’t stop it, but resist the technological revolution of today and you might still be called a Luddite.

After passing through Haworth, the race enters the town of Huddersfield, significant as the home of Brian Robinson, a childhood hero of mine who, in 1958, became the first ever British rider to win a stage of the Tour de France. Still riding today at 84 years old, he’ll sure be smiling when he sees Le Tour arrive on his own doorstep.

From here the route turns up the Holme Valley, even more significant as it’s where I grew up, cycling forth on most of roads the tour has covered. When I left in 1967 the valley was home to numerous textile mills that after a century or so of belching smoke had turned every building black. Today, almost all those dark satanic mills are gone, torn down, or turned into condos. Soot stains have been blasted away from public buildings to reveal beautiful, golden sandstone, although the old weaver’s cottages that scramble up the valley’s hillsides are still dark, if fading.

Here, too, dry-stone walls quilt the fields, threading upward past man-made lakes and woodlands with green-barked trees to peter out before the bleak, yet starkly beautiful moors in the Peak District National Park. It’s here, when the heather is in bloom, where nostalgia tugs most hard on my sleeve. Nonetheless these moors can be a desolate place when clouds drape low; with only coarse grasses, heather, and peat bogs, there are few landmarks to guide a lost soul — just ask Jane Eyre.  

The valley below, however, is a welcoming place, attracting visitors in ever greater numbers since 1973 when filming began of the longest running TV sitcom in the world, Last of the Summer Wine. It transformed the town of Holmfirth when it became a destination for fans of the beloved show. The series ended in 2010 but visitors still arrive for the annual folk festival, brass bands, and the best fish and chips in England. Locals are friendly, and typically forthright with a sometimes impenetrable accent and a dark sense of humour — a barber shop, long gone now, was said to have had a parrot taught to screech the words, “Cut his bloody ear off, Fred.”

There may well be swearing in the peloton as it passes through. The seven kilometre valley begins as a gentle incline, but it grows steeper as it reaches Holme Moss, the peak at the head of the valley and the toughest climb of the stage. Seen from the valley it’s a forbidding wall, and an opportunity for the strongest climbers to break clear.

This is where I’ll be, the ideal vantage point to watch the arrival of the first riders as they explode up the climb, legs burning, lungs gasping as they pour their hearts out, as I did as a skinny kid so many years ago, dreaming of one day riding the Tour de France. I never did, but my daughter, Leigh, competed in Le Grande Boucle, considered the Women’s version of the Tour de France, before going on to represent Canada at the Beijing Olympics in 2008.

After clearing Holme Moss, it’s a straight, fast descent down Woodhead Pass before a race to the finish in the city of Sheffield. One more stage will follow in southern England with a finish in London, before the whole circus packs up and leaves for 18 more stages in France, finally ending with a final sprint up the Champs-Élysées in Paris.

Yorkshire may never be the same.

First published Grand Magazine 2014

The Amazing Chelsea Flower Show

I am squeezed around a picnic table with strangers — a woman from Sweden, another from Australia, and a pair from Italy. Communication should have been a challenge, except we shared varying degrees of English and the lingua franca of plants and gardens.

We are fellow pilgrims who have at last reached our goal, attending the amazing Chelsea Flower and Garden Show in London, England. We’re sharing a moment to grab a bite and summon the energy to plunge back into the surrounding crowd of beaming faces. This was in 2013 and my seventh visit to the show. You would think I’d seen enough, but each visit manages to eclipse the previous one, such is the magic of Chelsea.

It’s been said that gardening is to Britain as cooking is to France, although there are rumours that Britain now rivals France in the culinary stakes. The Chelsea Flower show, however, is incomparable. It takes place each year in late May, has been running for over a hundred years, and exemplifies Britain’s passion for plants.

Presented by the Royal Horticultural Society, this international horticultural exhibition is the Olympics of gardening where leading designers and plant producers compete for gold medals. Winning gold can result in an exceptionally successful garden career and likely retirement to a villa in Tuscany.

It’s also the first event each year of the London social calendar, attended on the first day — media day — by The Queen, who is Patron of the Society. On that day, other members of the Royal family frequently appear along with every celebrity with an interest in gardening — or an interest in being seen at this prestigious event. Actresses Helen Mirren and Maggie Smith are regulars, as is former Beatle, Ringo Starr.

The show is then open to the public for the following five days. It takes place on four and a half hectares in the grounds of the Royal Chelsea Hospital, a retirement home for former soldiers. Chelsea Pensioners, as they are called, are revered by the British public and seen around the show, resplendent in their distinctive scarlet uniforms.

Total attendance is capped for the duration at 157,000 otherwise it would be mayhem. Unlike many garden shows, visitors at Chelsea are not allowed to stroll at will through the gardens. Rather, the large show gardens are designed to be viewed from up to three sides, making it a better experience — no people-cluttered images for the photographer. This means, however, that everyone follows the typically British queuing protocol as they politely jostle their way to the front.

My first of many visits was in 2005, which happened to be the 60th anniversary of Victory in Europe Day and when award-winning garden designer Julian Dowle was tasked with creating a garden that would capture a soldier’s nostalgic vision of home at the close of the Second World War.

After chatting over a pint with a group of Chelsea Pensioners, the result was A Soldier's Dream of Blighty, an authentic thatched country pub with rhubarb and roses in the front yard and red poppies lining the pathway. The Chelsea pensioner sitting on the garden bench quaffing a pint of beer perfected the emotive setting, bringing tears to the eyes of admiring well-wishers. This is an example of how a talented designer can create a space that extends beyond plants and flowers to make a deeply emotional connection.

Perfection is the rule at Chelsea, both in the garden designs and the plants. Take those poppies, which volunteers had spent the night warming with heat lamps to ensure they would be open in time.
Each year, fifteen to twenty of these large show gardens are meticulously assembled over three weeks of intense activity as crews toil to create flawlessness, yet temporary gardens that appear to have been in place for ever. Each one is easily the size of our typical suburban backyard and all are sponsored as they require wheelbarrows of cash, averaging over half a million dollars or more.

For this the finest of garden designers are summoned, someone like Cleve West, winner of numerous medals. In 2011 I was in awe of his sunken garden, inspired by a visit he made to Roman ruins in Libya. From a cream-coloured wall, water flowed from multiple pipes, the sound perfected by days of testing to ensure the exact rate of flow would produce the precise sound he wanted as it flowed into the pool below. Sculpted columns, one toppled and artfully overgrown by sprawling flowers, captured the sense of antiquity.

Plants are provided by specialist nurseries around the country while many rare trees and shrubs are imported from warmer climes. All are held in precisely controlled conditions to ensure they are immaculate at show time.

This was never more evident than in a garden designed in 2008 by Tom Stuart-Smith which, besides winning a gold medal, won the prestigious Best in Show, a coveted award bestowed based on votes from show visitors and TV viewers. The show receives wide coverage on TV and is reviewed each evening by Britain’s gardening luminaries, almost in the manner of Coach’s Corner with Don Cherry and Ron McLean.

I found viewing Stuart-Smith’s masterpiece a peaceful, sublime experience. No massed plantings of colourful flowers, but simply shades of green with a few clusters of white peonies and Astrantia. Among the layers of foliage plants, perfectly positioned zinc tanks of still water reflected clouds formed above by the careful pruning of Hornbeam trees, six metres high. It was like discovering a dreamy secret within a forest.

For a startling jolt of colour, a lively crew from Australia frequently wins gold medals with their designs featuring antipodean plants with hardscaping in bright reds reminiscent of an outback landscape. No kangaroos, but their 2011 garden did manage a water feature in the form of a boomerang.

These large gardens range in concept from traditional through contemporary, avant-garde, even radical. Diarmuid Gavin of Ireland, a regular at the show, likes to shock and surprise. Hugely popular in 2011, his Avatar-inspired sky garden floated above the show suspended by a crane. I would have loved a ride, but only lucky VIPs were allowed aboard.

Gavin’s unusual concept for a garden attracted plenty of criticism, but still managed to win gold. Just don’t remind the principal sponsor, Cork city council in Ireland and its taxpayers. The final bill was said to be around $3,000,000. That would purchase quite a chunk of ION track. Regardless, Gavin’s wildly unique concept gardens are one of the show’s delights.

Among my especially memorable large show gardens is another from 2008 that told the story of former Beatle George Harrison. His life was commemorated at Chelsea in a garden designed by his widow Olivia Harrison and landscape designer Yvonne Innes.

Along a meandering pathway, George’s life unfolded, beginning in his father’s garden plot in Arnold Grove, Liverpool. The path continued, becoming a mosaic of the explosively psychedelic colours of ‘60s culture, past a glass wall bearing an image of a contemplative George in his garden inscribed with his song lyrics, “Floating down the stream of time, from life to life with me.” The journey ended at a white gazebo in a peaceful garden of white flowers representing his spiritual arrival in Nirvana. With one of his songs running through my head, this evocative illustration of his life captivated me.

Perhaps less emotive are the artisan and urban gardens. Around 30 of these small gardens, only five or six metres square, are grouped side by side along a wooded laneway to be viewed as though peering over a fence into someone’s front yard. They are whimsical, filled with novelty, unique concepts, and countless ideas for the visitor to try at home.

I’m always impressed by the unsurpassed attention to detail in these modest gardens. Moss-covered rocks slump in place as though they were born there. Rambling roses cling to drystone walls and wooden fences like long-lost lovers, despite having only just met. Laburnum trees, their rich yellow blossoms droop gracefully over a trickling stream. It would be difficult to replicate these perfect gardens in the real world, subjected to the vagaries of weather, but for a while at least, they spark the imaginations of all who view them.

Plants are precisely placed according to colour, form, and texture, not a fallen petal or a yellow leaf. It’s not hard to imagine an army of garden gnomes working furiously overnight to ensure everything is flawless — except. Except garden gnomes have been historically banned from the Chelsea Flower Show, deemed unworthy, too kitschy. At least they were until the 100th anniversary in 2013 when the ban was lifted and gnomes made their appearance in all shapes and forms, even gnomish effigies of Will and Kate were represented.

Plenty of garden kitsch is available from the 600 exhibitors in the market area, and throughout the rest of the show where only high-end kitsch is on display. Would you pay $50,000 for a bronze snail the size of a smart car? Maybe not, but for the discerning shopper, plenty of fine art statuary can be found.

Time for shopping is essential for many show visitors as every possible garden-related product is available, from the latest elixir for plants to gazebos furnished in decadent style. The man from Dubarry of Ireland is always there, standing in a pail of water to demonstrate the waterproof nature of their exclusive leather boots. “Worn by country squires everywhere, he tells me.” Each time I’m tempted to trade in my old rubber wellies, but I always relent and settle for a packet of rare seeds, hoping customs don’t impound them.

Rather than shop, I prefer to spend my limited time in the Grand Pavilion; a mind-boggling 1.2 hectare temporary structure impossibly jammed to the walls with the most amazing array of plants on earth, a symphony for the senses of colour and form. This is it, the plant lover’s fantasy world where superlatives are redundant. Your local paint store would be challenged to match all the hues, and that’s just the sweet pea display. All the specialist nurseries in the country are represented, competing for a gold medal, but not against each other. As in garden design, each medal is awarded based on meeting the highest of standards set by Chelsea judges — all or none might win.

Foxgloves, which I struggle to grow in my own garden, tower above me over two metres high, while a massed collection of David Austin roses infuses the air. Leading lupin breeder, Sarah Conibear of Westcountry Nurseries in Devon, stops the traffic flow, having diced and sliced the rainbow even further in her quest for yet another gold medal.

If you have a clematis clambering a wall in your garden, there’s a good chance it was bred by Raymond Evison, the clematis king winner of 27 gold medals. At his nursery on the Channel Island of Guernsey, Evison, one of the world’s largest producers of clematis plants, has bred over 100 new varieties. Every year he arrives at the show with at least one new cultivar. In 2005, he introduced Franziska Marie, a rich-blue, double-flowered variety named after his daughter.

I immediately wanted to buy one to bring home, but alas, plant smuggling is frowned upon. I considered begging for a cutting that I could slip in a sandwich at the airport and pretend was lettuce, but instead I waited until the plant eventually became available in Canada.

Even the British public are unable to purchase plants and immediately carry them away. Purchase they can, but they must wait until the close of the show to collect them, which happens precisely at 4:00 p.m. on the final day. A bell is rung to signal the end of the show and the start of the grand sell-off, the fastest way to clear the grounds of The Royal Military Hospital so that it can be restored to its original condition.

Over the following five days, the beautiful gardens are dismantled. It’s rare that a complete garden is sold and relocated to a permanent site. In the 1950s, however, former King Edward VIII, the Duke of Windsor, is said to have enthusiastically helped move a complete rock garden to his private estate. More recently, the 2008 garden by Cleve West was moved to Meadbank Care Home in Battersea owned by the international healthcare group, Bupa, West’s sponsor.

Otherwise, about 400 of tonnes of material has to be removed from the site. Large trees and shrubs are returned to the growers to be rehabilitated, smaller plants are sold off on site, while gravel, stone, concrete, and waste is recycled. Statuary will be returned or auctioned off for charity; meanwhile everything else is up for grabs.

At the ringing of the bell, the garden gloves come off and the previously genteel patrons of the Chelsea Flower Show become avaricious rivals in a gigantic botanical Boxing Day-like sale.
This is a feature of the show that I’ve not been present for, but it’s been described as a river-like flow of plants, shrubs and even trees filling the streets and sidewalks outside the grounds. There, pedi cabs and taxis are summoned and buses become greenhouses on wheels as thousands of plants are dispersed throughout the gardens of London and beyond to grow on as a living reminder of the gardener’s amazing day at the show.

Visitors from afar like me and my picnic table friends, unable to transport plants through customs, have to be content with inanimate souvenirs (surely not a gnome). Our memories and our memory cards, however, are jammed with images of thousands of plants singing in tune to concepts never imagined. This elevation of gardening as an art form will become inspiration for garden makeovers, or at least a new flowerbed with perhaps a hint of Tom Stuart-Smith or Cleve West in the design.

In my own garden I barely have room for more plants, and my aspirations as a designer are limited to attempts at the perfect groupings and colour combinations I’ve seen. Often I fail, but each summer when my Franziska Marie first blooms on the arbour, I share with gardeners around the world the same excitement and joy we experienced at the Chelsea Flower Show.

For some, one visit to the show may be enough, but for many, including me, the allure of rare plants, the sheer artistry of the gardens, the novelty and nostalgia, will always conspire to entice a return visit — at least one more time. See images from shows HERE:

The Lost Gardens of Heligan

There's many a gardener who will be looking out the window over the next few months wishing they were somewhere else. As snow falls and the piles beside the driveway grow ever higher, I know I'll frequently be daydreaming about my visit early this summer to the lost gardens of Heligan. The name alone conjures up evocative images of a romantic past. The place is stuck in my memory now as it must be in the minds of the thousands of other visitors that have made the trip through space and time to the most visited private garden in Britain. It is unforgettable.

The story goes something like this: Early in the final decade of the last century, a couple of explorers, Tim Smit and his friend John Willis, made an expedition to the outer reaches of southwest England, Cornwall precisely, where they made an astonishing discovery. While in the tiny fishing village of Mevagissey, they heard rumours of a vanished garden in a tropical valley far above the village. Cornwall isn't tropical, but it is lush, wet, rugged country with a long history of pirates and smugglers, the kind of place where things can easily go missing, even a garden. Villagers on the Cornish coast have always been focused on the sea, rarely venturing inland, except perhaps for a little quiet poaching occasionally, but no one would admit to that. By blabbing over a pint of cider in the Ship Inn about lost temples and wishing wells up the valley, a poor fisherman might just as well admit that he'd been out chasing game on the estate of the local Squire. Instead, the stories were whispered.

But these hints and whispers gained a life of their own, as rumours do, and intrigued, Tim and John,

following the hidden paths of poachers, set out to explore the valley. They were amazed to discover palm trees and bamboo, and as they pushed upwards through tangled undergrowth and overgrowth, they soon found themselves crawling on all fours beneath huge, overgrown shrubs and laurel hedges, their way blocked in places by massive brick walls, derelict stone structures and broken glass. I imagine their strained conversation was along the lines of, "I say, Tim, aren't those thingies the gnarled branches of the extremely rare Rhododendron prunifolium, native to the Himalayas, and what the Dickens is it doing here in Cornwall?"

On that day, February 16th, 1990, our two sunny afternoon explorers had discovered the gloomy ruins of Heligan Gardens, lost in time beneath seven decades of rampant growth. Acres of themed gardens, grottoes, and a treasure of Victorian follies awaited them. Over four kilometres of footpaths would eventually lead them to a hectare of walled kitchen gardens containing the melon frames and pineapple pits that had supplied the estate with exotic fruit. All about were hundreds of rare plants from around the world, overgrown specimens from the original collections of the garden's founders, the Tremayne family.

The area had been under the stewardship of the Tremaynes since the mid 17th century, although the first true gardens were largely created during the 19th century. They became one of the finest in England of the period, with 23 hectares of planted gardens, around 40 hectares of ornamental woodlands, and riding trails crisscrossing an area of 120 hectares. It was a remote oasis of tranquility.

But when war broke out in 1914, the outside world forced its way in. One by one, the large staff of gardeners joined the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry and left for the trenches on the battlefields of Europe. Most never returned. Their names can still be seen today, scratched into the walls of Heligan. By 1920, fortunes had changed for the Tremayne family. The house was leased, the land neglected, and the gardens of Heligan simply rolled over and slept beneath a blanket of ivy and bramble until the day Tim Smit and his friend arrived to awaken this idyllic place.
 
Thus began the largest garden restoration project in Europe. The result is a time capsule of a forgotten era, faithfully restored to its original majesty. A gardener visiting the Gardens of Heligan today can indeed travel through time and see this wonder almost exactly as it existed over a century ago. I did and I can't forget it.

Welcome Gifts From the Past

Deep in winter I’m taking a deep dive into a memorable garden trip. While in England a few years back, I slipped over the border into Wales, only my second visit. It was there that I discovered the world famous Bodnant Garden, not just one garden but many, visited annually by almost 300,000 plant and garden lovers.

Wales and the other countries of the UK are fortunate that many of the mansions and stately homes and their elaborate gardens built in the nineteen century by wealthy industrialists have been saved for the benefit of all by the National Trust, the heritage and nature conservation charity.

A National Trust property since 1949, Bodnant was founded in 1874 by Henry Davis Pochin who’d made his fortune as an industrial chemist. The property was then developed by his daughter Laura McLaren, Baroness Aberconway, and further generations of the family.

They had 32 hectares (80 acres) to play with and over time, in went majestic Italianate terraces and tranquil borders filled with rare plants from everywhere plant hunters ventured in the early 1900s. One, Frank Kingdon-Ward, travelled to the Himalayas, one of his many expeditions during the 1920s and 1930s and returned with new species for Bodnant like the Himalayan Blue Poppy (Meconopsis betonicifolia).

The gardens hold four National Collections of plants including magnolias and rhododendrons, making it the place to go to see all species in one place. Over the last 20 years new areas named the Winter Garden, Old Park Meadow, and the Yew Dell have been added. There’s also a riverside garden called The Far End described as a good walk — it was. New areas are still being planned that include a gorge garden with a waterfall. Bodnant is known for its outstanding trees, twenty-two listed as Champion Trees, noted for their age, height and horticultural merit.

Unfortunately, my fall visit was the wrong time of year to see the beautiful sunshine yellow Laburnum arch, the longest laburnum arch in the UK, best seen during May and June. However, I wasn’t disappointed with the dizzying variety of plants and features. Among them was the Pin Mill, not only for its tranquil appearance but also the story of how it arrived there.

The structure was originally built far from Bodnant as a lodge or garden house in Woodchester, Gloustershire around 1730. It was later used as a pin factory making dressmaking pins, then it became a hide store before being abandoned and dilapidated. It was then discovered in the 1930’s by Henry McLaren, the 2nd Baron Aberconway who had it dismantled, transported and restored at Bodnant.

In 1952 it was designated a Grade II listed building as a fine example of an early Georgian garden building — hardly a shed. Available as a wedding venue, the turreted building in white with grey roofs stands in a backdrop of greenery with lawns in front lining a canal-like water feature, stretching away to form a perfect vista.

Wedding or not, if you’re ever in Wales, don’t miss Bodnant Garden.

Garden art in an artful garden

Back in summer I was trekking in the Himalayas; not really. I was in a garden and there were no mountains, but I could almost imagine I was in a woodland dell in Nepal. It was the name of the garden that had attracted me to a small valley in North Yorkshire. I was on a short trip in July to see family and looked around for a classic garden to visit. That’s when I heard about the Himalayan Garden and Sculpture Park.

There are countless stately homes around with impressive gardens but this sounded different, so off I went to find the award-winning garden. The countryside is rolling but this garden is located in a narrow valley, an unusual rift in the landscape. I reached it after following little more than a tree-lined lane. And there it was, a 45-acre woodland garden created by Peter and Caroline Roberts.

They only acquired the property in 1995 when it was a woodland filled with coppiced hazel trees, dense areas of Sitka spruce, and Japanese knotweed. And yet they had a vision. They turned the small valley, more like a large ravine, into a beautiful garden/art gallery. The art is in the form of striking sculptures, 90 pieces dotted throughout the garden, each one positioned to relate to the weather, light, and nearby plantings. Particularly striking was an installation of ceramic blue poppies cascading down the hillside. This is fitting as the poppies originate in the Himalayas and can be seen growing in the garden in springtime. 

Springtime is the favoured time to visit when one of the largest collections of rare and unusual varieties and species of rhododendrons, azaleas and magnolias in Northern England are in bloom, enhanced by drifts of spring bulbs. It would be an exceptional sight, although it’s also the busiest time and tickets must be booked well ahead. 

The combination of plants and sculptures in the park works beautifully, and the view from above was as breathtaking as described, but after descending one of the steep pathways to the floor of the valley, I discovered quiet trails that meandered around three small lakes. Along the way I passed by a somewhat incongruous bronze leopard stalking a deer, and a mini-Stonehenge that did look at home emerging from a grassy bank. 

Then when I circled the larger lake, I discovered the magic of the park in its delightful tranquility, with birds singing and a light breeze whispering through the willows. Before me a was a traditional Nepalese pagoda that captured the essence of the garden. Due to the park’s uneven terrain, it isn’t suitable for those with mobility issues and the steep climb out was almost a challenge, but I was rewarded with that staple of every garden and garden centre I’ve visited in Britain, a tearoom. The delicious, buttered scones with raspberry jam and fresh cream never tasted better. 

I left hoping to return some day, maybe in springtime, and it will be waiting for me because to secure the future of the park, the Roberts donated the estate to a charitable trust named The Hutts Foundation. Located just north of the old market town of Ripon in the heart of James Herriot country, this garden may not be attached to a stately home, but there is a rather grand farm that offers accommodations. A few days there to explore the park would be lovely. 

Longwood Gardens

Well it wasn’t an act of desperation, but driving ten hours to see living plants might appear that way. It all began with a suggestion by Rodger Tschanz, who many know as the fellow who runs the plant trials at the University of Guelph. “How about a road trip to see the Philadelphia Flower Show,” he said. “Why not,” was my reply, so off we went last week.

Was the show worth a ten hour drive? Absolutely, but mainly because Rodger had a side trip in mind that ensured the journey was memorable. As for the show, it is the one that inspired the original organizers of Canada Blooms. The concept is much the same, but the Philadelphia show is larger with a wider range of plant material that is easily shipped in from the south. We trekked through the show Monday evening and Tuesday morning, and certainly enjoyed it, but then we headed to Longwood Gardens, about a forty minute drive west of Philadelphia.

I’d heard much of the place, and heard it was impressive, but I wasn’t prepared for what I would see. Certainly, the 1,000 acres of gardens were snow covered as ours are, but the 20 indoor gardens covering 18,200 m² (4.5 acres) were open for visiting. These were the famous Longwood conservatories and they are truly magical. I’m not much of a lawn lover, but to see a lush green one in the middle of winter bordered by beds of clivia and bromeliads, is a sight to behold. This was the main conservatory, originally built to house an orangery. It’s the largest of the 20 areas under glass.

Eight indoor gardeners along with volunteers ensure absolute perfection of the floral displays that transform with the seasons. Birds sing and water softly burbles, while in the orchid house, 500 plants fill the air with fragrance. Orchids? We just happened to visit during Orchid Extravaganza (runs until March 30^th) when nearly 5,000 orchids adorn columns and hang from baskets with a few thousand more as backups should a petal fall.

Meanwhile in the East Conservatory blue predominates with masses of hydrangeas and spires of Plectranthus thyrsoideus. In any other place, a Bird of Paradise would stand out, but here it is challenged by too many other stars. I particularly liked the Winter Red-Hot Poker plant, not our common orange variety of Kniphofia uvaria, but Veltheimia bracteata, an entirely different species in pink and white.

We covered most of the half mile of pathways and passages, passing through the Silver Garden, Acacia Passage, Cascade Garden, Palm House, and Mediterranean Garden, marvelling all the way. The following morning we returned, and whilst Rodger, who once spent a week here as a volunteer, met with colleagues to discuss tissue culture techniques, I had the good fortune to be turned loose in the  conservatories before they opened for the day. Alone except for the few gardeners, I was free to wander at will, putting miles on my camera. What a gift.

And who gave this gift? It’s all thanks to industrialist Pierre S. du Pont (1870–1954), heir to the family fortune of the DuPont company. He acquired the property in 1906 to save an existing arboretum, then went on to create the gardens and build the conservatories. Longwood is now operated as a private trust, and in addition to the gardens it offers educational opportunities through its graduate program and internships. It also hosts hundreds of arts and horticultural functions each year.

Now I’ve seen what Longwood offers indoors I must return some day to see the outdoor gardens. Sure, it was a long drive, but with the winter we’ve had it couldn’t have been a better time to visit — serendipity. Good idea, Rodger.

Great Dixter

Great Dixter was the home and garden of the late Christopher Lloyd. Lloyd, revered by gardeners worldwide, was a preeminent plants-man, garden writer, and television personality.

Now operated as a private trust with an educational mandate, this rambling yet cleverly structured garden was originally designed by renowned architect Sir Edwin Lutyens for Lloyd’s parents, Nathaniel and Daisy, after they acquired the fifteenth century house in 1909. It is as glorious as ever, though it has never remained static. Lloyd learned gardening skills from his mother, then boldly modified and enhanced many aspects of the garden in the thirty years following Daisy’s death in 1972.

 After Lloyd’s death in 2006, head gardener, Fergus Garret, has continued to care for the garden. He has experimented boldly, creating unique combinations of colour and form. I saw bright crimson tulips soar through swaths of blue forget-me-knots, masses of cow parsley (yes that weed) tempering the kaleidoscopic springtime blaze of poppies, euphorbia, wallflowers, and bluebells. Soft and low boxwood hedges combine with huge ones of yew to form an erratic maze of delights connecting the many sections, or garden rooms, while giant topiary mounds topped by figures of birds, stand like sentinels.

Known for his succession planting schemes that ensured colour throughout all seasons, the shrubs, climbers, perennials, annuals, and biennials in beds and mixed borders ensure something is always exploding into bloom.

Lloyd certainly had the eye of an artist, or it could be easy to believe he simply wandered about wearing an old jacket, countless seeds carelessly spilling from the holes in his pockets, accidentally creating heavenly vistas.