Day 68 - Grace and danger

I've been talking at length about my singular obsessions, hedge maintenance and the pruning and training of wall shrubs and climbers, but this was only part of what we did. Fundamentally I had made my career so far on restoration projects, and people used to ask me when I met them in the garden what I would do when the rescue work was finished. There are two aspects to that question. The first I could answer quite simply. The work in a garden is never finished. It may seem to have different phases, but they are all part of the same process. And the second point results from that. As a restoration gardener, my work is not finished when I have sorted out the problems, that is when the real work starts. Because it is a fact that seems rarely noticed, that the reason a garden becomes derelict and needs saving from itself, is precisely because no one has maintained it properly. The real work is not the restoration itself, but the maintenance once that phase is finished. The sorry state that such gardens arrive at is the entry point for gardeners such as myself who want to follow a whole project through, but it is not our sole purpose. What we are really aiming for is the point when the garden which we have recreated is ours to maintain and enjoy. Nice when it allows us to prove our own theories in the practice too, of course. Again, this is just an aside. And it is true that I was never tempted to apply for positions in more prestigious gardens which were already established and running well. To continue someone else's achievements would not interest me. I suppose I wanted to make a mark. I took on precarious projects that others didn't fancy. Don't forget that 'garden' is an anagram of 'danger'. It may seem like a sedate occupation, but I like to court risk, step into the unknown. And I would argue that this garden in particular was up there with the best of them anyway, despite being lesser-known. I had the satisfaction of maintaining the highest quality of garden, without the negative impact of excessive management interference or over-visiting. If the pleasure is in the job, and not in the number of times you appear on telly or in the papers, then you can't do better than find a place like this.

Of course, we did get on the telly. There were connoisseurs who understood how good a garden this was. We got into books and magazines. I was interviewed on Radio 3 in the prestigious spot in the interval to the Proms, which brought us a few extra visitors. And we appeared on programmes where we were just used as a convenient film location regardless of our particular relevance to the show. We hosted Chris Packham in the early days, Michaela Strachan later on, and Alan Titchmarsh a few times, amongst others. We were even on an early high-definition Japanese television film. This latter and Mr. Titchmarsh were the ones dealing with the garden specifically. We were included in the book 'Alan Titchmarsh's Favourite Gardens', where he compared me to Mr. McGregor, and scoffed cakes made by my first wife in the tea-room. We also featured in his TV series 'How to be a Gardener', in which he used our superb layout to explain certain design principles. I have to say, of all the personalities we saw, he was the most gracious, finding himself repeatedly interrupted in his work by coach-loads of ladies wanting to tell him about their gardens and requesting selfies with him. He patiently responded to all of them in a way that maintained his reputation favourably.

The other film unit that came to us, in the early 90's, was the crew for an advertisement for Pretty Polly tights. They were led by quite a well-known photographer, who brought his wife, who seemed a very nice lady, and an entourage of about 50 hangers-on who spent three days mooching around the gardens. Only a minority of them seemed to have much of a function. We were allowed to take breakfast and lunch in the catering van, which supplied some tasty fare. The photographer's name was David Bailey, a man whose first name is redundant. You may have heard of him.

I was initially perturbed when I discovered that in a garden where we took such pride in our topiary, and which had been specifically chosen by the location manager because of this, that they had brought their own specimens, about 18" high, which by mysterious methods they filmed shrouded in mist generated by a portable machine, from a camera lying at ground level.

The model was the lovely Saffron Burrows, Bailey's muse at the time, I believe, and she got changed in the tea-room. In the end, the advert aired about four times on Channel 4 before being pulled. It had cost them £2500 to use our garden for three days, plus all the costs of the crew, catering, transport, equipment etc. Not sure if they got their money's worth.

Bailey took one look at my magnificent beard and promised to take my portrait before he left, and I was very much looking forward to that, as you can imagine. Thought I might become the face of the 90's as a result, and develop a lucrative sideline to keep my family from starvation, but it was not to be. We held a wrap lunch at trestle tables under an oak tree in our nursery area, and I sat near him, as guest of honour, gazing longingly into his ear, but in his eagerness to get away from us, he must have forgotten his promise, and I was left deflated. And bitter, naturally. But I forgive you now, Mr. Bailey. I now have the experience to realise that everyone believes they have a claim on us artists, clawing at our shirt-tails for free souvenirs which one day might be worth something. Sometimes you just have to put them straight. But for the record - I have done your portrait in words, here, and now you owe me one.

Want to see a couple of photographs? OK.

They brought the huge clock with them. They also set up rails for the camera to travel along and set fire to my grass. My overriding impression was that filming was the most boring thing one could do with one's life, and consisted almost entirely of waiting around for days while two or three people worked feverishly to set up the equipment. In the picture below, I have captured Bailey's ear under his navy blue baseball cap at the back right, his wife has her back to us with the plaited pony-tail, and of course the model and actor Saffron Burrows is being filmed parading down our lawn in umpteen takes.

It was nevertheless a longer-lasting fix than my encounter with the Queen Mother in my previous job, there were bacon butties for breakfast, and lunch came with dessert. Tiramisu one day as I recall.

Happy days. But where's my portrait?