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And Another Thing

Paul Johnson

Wednesday, 2nd July 2008

A gardener must be a philosopher but never an atheist

I was thinking of Bacon the other weekend when I went to an open garden day at one of our finest Somerset villages, Stogumber. There were 15 gardens on display, all within easy walking distance so each could be visited without undue fatigue. It is a noble place, crowded with old houses, kept beautifully painted, and with a pleasing mediaeval church, whose collection of silver vessels was likewise on show. Walking its sleepy lanes, and popping in every few paces to inspect a garden behind its proud cottage, was a rare delight. One sometimes thinks that Old England is gone for good, and looking around parts of London nowadays with its atmosphere of a degraded Levantine bazaar crowded with embittered people, it is hard to deny the malign change. But in West Somerset, on such an occasion, Old England is very much alive: gentle, personal, courteous, smiling, welcoming, anxious to show you what has been created, and explain it.

These small gardens on show at their best time of year are more fun and interesting than the grander affairs. To begin with, each is totally individual, made by one devoted person, or a couple. Then, the creators are there, on the spot, to answer your questions and tell of the experiments, surprises, disappointments and glories of their craft. What is so remarkable is the ingenuity with which each square foot of garden is put to use, to create intensity, variety and contrasts, an air of spaciousness and generosity in an acre or less. I saw nothing repetitive, no horticultural clichés, but on the contrary, originality and imagination, especially in the juxtaposition of colour, shape, size and texture of leaf, as though the gardener was a painter, composing carefully not only for the telling detail but the general effect. And they are quick to tell you of the happy accident, the surprise emergence in due season of an unusual bloom, unexpected but refreshing, and welcome. ‘That was a surprise,’ they say. ‘But then you never know exactly what is going to come up, or what precisely is happening in the winter under the soil.’ Gardening is like raising children, in a way: full of unexpected changes, even shocks; requiring a great deal of patience and love, and willingness to go with nature instead of trying to bend it to your will.