In northeast England ,
there’s an interesting new garden. New that is, compared to most UK
gardens on the tourist route there. Gardens dating back to Victorian times are
the norm, others centuries older. This one, however, only opened its gate to
visitors ten years ago, which made me almost first in line, relatively
speaking, when I stopped by this fall to check it out.
The garden is located in the picturesque market town of
Alnwick (pronounced Anick) in Northumberland. Alnwick is a busy little place,
described as one of the best places to live in Britain .
Just a half hour drive from the Scottish border, it’s been around for about
fourteen hundred years.
The town is dominated by Alnwick castle, home since the eleventh
century to a long line of powerful northern barons. Situated on the Great
North Road that leads from London
to Edinburgh , it was built as a
first line of defence against the Scots.
Today, the castle is home to the current Duchess of Northumberland, a serious gardener who, instead of deterring visitors, decided the castle needed a little something extra to attract even more. And so was created Alnwick gardens, designed by Jacques and Peter Wirtz, fromBelgium .
Up against stiff competition from other, much frequented, British gardens,
Alnwick needed to be unique, and I’d say they achieved it. At most popular
attractions these days, it’s a case of exit via gift shop, but at Alnwick I
entered that way — kind of.
Today, the castle is home to the current Duchess of Northumberland, a serious gardener who, instead of deterring visitors, decided the castle needed a little something extra to attract even more. And so was created Alnwick gardens, designed by Jacques and Peter Wirtz, from
The access to the garden is through a visitor centre that
was designed with people in mind. Resembling a huge conservatory, it offers all
the usual facilities and is large enough to accommodate a good number should
fine weather not coincide with a day’s visit. In fact, the restaurant and the
terrace outside offer the first view of the gardens, an impressive vista of The
Grand Cascade, a massive stone water feature that flows toward the viewer down
a gentle sloped bank beyond acres of lawn.
Reminiscent of the fountains of Versailles ,
and the largest of its kind, it is state of the art, with computers controlling
a flow of thirty thousand litres of water a minute. It can be viewed from
afar or close-up from windows cut into the walls of the tunnel-like hornbeam
pergolas that flank the sides and echo the curves of the stone work. Above are
more fountains, pools, rills, and a place to view the cascade where it begins
its flow.
The Grand Cascade makes Alnwick garden unique, but there’s
more. It is a working garden, too. On a small plateau at the head of the
property is a walled garden growing every imaginable fruit and veg possible. It
was here I discovered Strulch, finely textured mulch manufactured from wheat
straw that the gardener I spoke to was happy to rave about, particularly as it appeared
to provide an effective defence against slugs and snails.
From the walled garden, I spent a while lost in the required maze, but not just any old maze of cedar or yew hedges, but one of tightly grown bamboo. I did make my way out eventually, but the manner in which the bamboo swirled around the circuitous pathways, letting in just enough light from above, was mildly confusing. In the dark it could be panic inducing. I’m thinking that Duchess of Northumberland would have been a formidable foe in times of battle. No surprise, then, that she also has a famous poison garden, too.
It’s located behind sturdy wrought iron gates emblazoned with skull and crossbones and a sign that says These Plants Can Kill. I joined the tour led by an enthusiastic guide with a gift for relating gruesome tales of the uses to which the plants have been put — appropriately close enough to Halloween.
It’s located behind sturdy wrought iron gates emblazoned with skull and crossbones and a sign that says These Plants Can Kill. I joined the tour led by an enthusiastic guide with a gift for relating gruesome tales of the uses to which the plants have been put — appropriately close enough to Halloween.
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