As a garden historian, I think we are in one of the most exciting and important periods of garden history. But the study of the subject seems to be in the doldrums.
No other art form – art, sculpture, architecture, photography or literature – turns its back upon its history in this way, ignoring what has been before. In my book England’s Gardens, I wanted to tempt readers into thinking more about the gardens they were visiting, to introduce them to a historical timeline of gardens and tease them with insights into the gardens and their makers.
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I wanted to spark an interest in garden history. My own journey started when I was given a National Trust membership for Christmas in 1998. It depressed me – was I destined for the pipe and slippers brigade?
At Easter I was bored and looking for somewhere to go. I dug out the NT guidebook and spotted Sissinghurst. I’d heard of it – and hey, it had a restaurant. I loved the garden. I drove back to London and spent a fantastic night at The Ministry of Sound. I was not quite ready for those slippers.
I relish the eccentric and I am partial to glorious gossip and background information
The following morning, I kept thinking about how good Sissinghurst had been but couldn’t put my finger on why. So I started reading about it. I made it my mission to visit every Sunday for a whole year; I became very familiar with the lunch menu. I got to know the bones of the place and how it altered through the seasons.
There are few greater experiences than walking Sissinghurst in the mist. I was hooked
I read avidly and devoured the history, the relationships, the writings. I got to know the gardeners and they would let me walk around before opening. There are few greater experiences than walking Sissinghurst in the mist on a freezing Sunday morning. I was hooked.
I went on to study for an MA in garden history at the University of Bristol. It was a fertile time that created a wave of fantastic historians, writers, researchers and TV presenters. Sadly, the wave seems to have crashed, and such courses have become far less accessible, which saddens me, as the subject area is vast, and garden historians are not cardigan-wearing pipe smokers.
These are exciting times in garden making. But this is meaningless without knowing how we got here. I’ve always been a champion for those whom history has ignored.
I relish the eccentric and I am partial to glorious gossip and background information: isn’t Gertrude Jekyll more interesting once you discover she was an activist in the Suffrage movement? Or that Lady Birley’s success with roses at Charleston Manor was down to regular feeding with lobster thermidor?
I could talk for hours about the many Bloomsbury houses and gardens or Constance Spry and her transformation of floristry and her intriguing relationships with artists such as Gluck. Or the Victoria fern craze and the little-remembered James Shirley Hibberd – still relevant if you ever wondered about the design of your Custard Cream biscuits.
There are serious issues, too. Who would not be moved by the plight of the force-fed imprisoned suffragettes given sanctuary at Eagle House in Batheaston, encouraged to plant trees at what became known as Suffragette Wood? Or the desperate need to create a garden sanctuary enabling a circle of gay men to live and love, as at the remarkable gardens currently being restored in Devon at
Great Ambrook?
We cannot talk contemporary design naturalism and planting without knowing about the very first Taoist gardens of the Chinese, created to enable humans to live in harmony with nature.
In more modern times, what about plant breeders Georg Arends and Karl Foerster in Germany, and Bonne Ruys (father of the remarkable Mien Ruys) in the Netherlands? Or Jens Jensen, a Dane who emigrated to the USA in 1884 and, in partnership with Frank Lloyd Wright, developed the ‘prairie style’ of gardening using indigenous plants. And how can you possibly talk of ‘modern’ garden design and not know about landscape designers Dan Kiley, Garrett Eckbo, Luis Barragán or John Brookes?
I believe that to move forward and design the gardens of the future, we need to know what and who has informed the now. Or, as Isaac Newton famously put it: ‘If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants.