The layout of most of the garden consisted of quite geometrically arranged spaces, with straight lines, long vistas, rectangular lawns and linear paths leading the eye from focal point to focal point. The perimeter, however was ringed by less formal beds connected by sinuous paths, leading in lazy curves around the outside. This chalk pit was also to be found by negotiating a curving path between two tall but collapsing box hedges, from which it jutted eastwards, sinking down into a bowl created by historical diggings. At the far end was a steep bank, at the top of which was a further narrow path leading through the shade of tall trees, and affording glimpses into the dell from above. It was another area which had potential but not much more. As it was when I came to the property, it was an eyesore, full of weeds, pretty empty of plants, and starved in its thin soil. It had also been designed on a principle which I loathe with a vengeance. It was quite reasonably, in view of its history and the topography which its former use had left us with, envisaged as an informal room, with none of the strict geometry of the much of the rest of the grounds. To achieve this a single meandering bed had been constructed around a central lawn the shape of which had been designed by an idiot with a tremor. Or at least that was how it looked. Naturally, the story behind it was slightly different, but the result was the same. It was a typical example of that thing I dread wherever it is to be found - the hosepipe garden. For God's sake, spare us the hosepipe garden. You know - the idea that you can create informality by throwing down a hosepipe, letting it form wiggles, and then cutting the lawn to conform to these chance curves. I don't mind curves. Honestly. Even though I sincerely believe that informality can just as well be achieved in a perfect square as long as you place and maintain your plants correctly. But whatever you do, don't give me the fussy wobbles and wrinkles of the typical hosepipe garden. That doesn't enfold, won't give you a big hug, it will distract, it will irritate. It's a 20th century wind-up that should be struck from the records, never to be repeated. It is responsible for so many visual offences, yet it has become accepted as the correct way of doing things in those gardens that eschew rigidity.
I took a look at our chalk pit, and asked myself what was wrong with it. There were several answers, of course. The soil was dead, the plants were dead, even the weeds were undernourished. And worst of all, making itself obvious in the absence of any plants to disguise it, there was the annoyingly wonky shape of the lawn testifying to the lazy incompetence of its construction. I knew I wanted something better for it, but what was it? It was simple. I wanted to be led down into the area, which was isolated and not signposted in any way by an eyecatcher, and I wanted to be surprised by it, whilst also being welcomed by its seclusion. I wanted to disappear into its embrace, lose myself there, away from the bustle of the rest of the garden. That wasn't going to happen amidst the residual lawn of a hosepipe design. It would just make me impatient.
The solution is simple enough. You just put in the shape your brain tells you to, by eye. How can a piece of flexible plastic know better than you where your borders should go? Connect it to a tap instead and use it for its rightful purpose. I'm not going to tell you the whole story of the evolution of this part of the garden today. It will unfold over a series of posts. In the end it became one of my favourite places, and that was partly because I learned over a period that it had the one advantage that the rest of the garden didn't - by being so well-designed, every part of the garden was accessible to a visitor without a plan. Carefully placed statues or urns would lead you from one area to the next, Vistas would draw you through without effort. The garden would reveal itself to you by the sheer cleverness of its architecture. The chalk pit, on the other hand, had to be sought out. Whichever end you approached it from, there was no focus to lead you. It sat off to one side of a long, gently meandering path, and its entrance wasn't visible from either end. Even from quite close up it wasn't obvious that there was anything there. I discovered after a few years that only about one in ten garden visitors actually found it, but those who did revelled in the joy of its peacefulness.
This is what it looked like the first year I was there. I think I may have optimistically placed a couple of spare Echium pinninana in there that didn't last the winter, as it was a frost pocket.
Starved or what? The wobbly curves didn't lead me anywhere either, unless you count astray as a destination -
So this was what we had to work with, but there was no time that first winter to tackle it. Even though it was one of the most unkempt areas in the garden, the decision to leave it for another year turned out to be a wise one. Instead we concentrated on the more high-profile sections, and left this area to be dealt with as a complete project of its own. Frankly, it didn't matter, as most people couldn't find it anyway, and those who did probably thought of it as one of those further extremities that so many other gardens don't invest enough time into. That was going to change, but it was a big, difficult patch that required the cumulative input of years to reach its full potential.
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