This garden had looked at the earlier models, and whether because of fortunate topography or generosity of spirit, the idea of enclosure, the garden room, had taken a much more expansive direction. No more the discrete rooms, each with its own atmosphere, in which a visitor would be enfolded, and quite inward-looking. This was laid out in the 1930's - 1950's and has moved on from the 1910's and 1920's. Each area, although clearly defined, was opened out to lead to the next. Hedges were cut away to reveal, not simply erected to conceal. There were huge views onto surrounding countryside. The estate was 1600 acres of farm and woodland. It was all there to borrow for the garden. There was little to see that didn't belong to the house.
Planting, by the old man's admission, was almost entirely in pastel shades. There are two aspects to that. One is that it may have been his quiet, understated preference. The other is that perhaps he didn't have confidence when working with bright colours. There were places where he had used oranges and golds, for example, where they worked uncomfortably against the pinks they shared the borders with. On the other hand, all pastel without variation is bland. It is boring. Visitors will tire of it, even as they praise its subtlety. To have nothing but pastel plants is like painting your entire house magnolia and not putting up any pictures. Dull, dull, dull.
Short digression - I've just been decorating the house to get rid of that magnolia ennui left by the previous owners. I painted my bathroom purple and hung garish Hundertwasser prints. I could no longer stand subtlety. I wanted to end restraint. I think I achieved that. I can live with that. Not sure my wife can. But she has her own bathroom, with a bath. I can't get in and out of baths. Not easily anyway.
The trouble is, with gardening, as always, everybody asserts the right to an opinion. Everybody is a gardener. And most of them know nothing, which is why in the end they have to marvel at what we do, even though they feel obliged to force their contrary opinion on us. Everyone assumes the right to shoot down the professionals from the secure position afforded by their 'experience'. But let me tell you that what most people do in their back gardens bears no relation whatsoever to what the professionals do for a living. The comparison falls down in terms of scale, vision, technique, efficiency and results. It is like comparing a shelf I put up (which, incidentally, fell down again) with the work of Grinling Gibbons.
We had experts from different disciplines, who knew about about the history of gardens from marginal readings to complete the picture of historic houses in their minds. And true, they understood some principles from a vague historical perspective, without ever having immersed themselves in the art. This gives a very skewed, academic outlook, lacking in practical knowledge or understanding. These people felt themselves to be charged with preserving the intentions of the previous owner. Having read his writings, they all settled on the key terms - formal structure, informal planting, pastel shades. They made a rule of that. The one thing I was learning quickly about gardens was that rules don't work. If you don't know how to step outside them, you make something very ordinary. You have to have the eye. Measuring only works as a guideline. You have to be able to visualise how to depart from the precise to make things look perfect. One of these experts came round the garden one day with a head full of discipline and superiority (after all, I was only a gardener, and therefore an uneducated menial, despite my qualifications. I don't put letters after my name) and declared that we needed to get rid of the red rose in the terrace border because it was inappropriate.
Well, this wasn't my boss, so I had no reason to pay any attention, and even if it had been my boss, I would still have argued and ignored it. I don't take instruction from talking sphincters. The fact was that without a couple of clumps of that rose, the variety 'Rosemary Rose', the border was just a long narrow string of absent opportunities. At first I, too, was seduced by the pastel thing, and thought that was all I could do to retain the character, but it wasn't true. Over the years I learned that what really makes it sing is the little pockets of contrast that you insert. Also, in gardens it is all too easy to focus on the intensity of the flower colour, and to fail to notice the extent to which this is embedded within green. You need to stand back to see the overall effect in the border. A border is not an individual plant, or a single bloom. It is an ensemble. They all have to work together. Make a note of this principle. It will feature more in reports to come. The point is, if there is enough green, it will mute most colours, so there will be a quiet feel to the whole picture, whilst still allowing you to inspect the vivid flowers close-up and enjoy them as glorious, garish individuals. In this way I was able to build up an extensive collection of the tender Salvias I mentioned yesterday, each flower of which might be extremely vibrant, but which faded into the background, nestled against so much green. And they never intruded on the pastel scheme.
Nice picture of an offensive rose. See what I mean? Without it that border would have no kick. And to remove it would be to remove part of the original owner's plan. How could that be right in a conservation context?
As for the Salvias, they allowed me to create a really exuberant lush border, with lots of interesting strong colours, which when viewed in passing were toned down by the amount of green they were set against. Such is the nature of Salvias. See how the next picture compares with the photos of the earlier attempts to establish borders either side of the central steps.
You can no longer see the nine-foot wall behind, the appearance is lush, exuberant, bright, and yet at the same time, predominantly green. And it was taken in October. How's that for late season?
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