alpine strawberries, and in the other half I have scooped out all the clay and made a peat garden. It is really easier not to have to bother about gum-boots when I want to work here, but I must say that I should like above all things to have a little running stream somewhere in the garden. Water is so companionable, and though I grow my Asiatic primulas quite well under the trees, with plenty of humus in the soil there is no comparison with them and the wonderful effect of those grown beside water.
At the back of the malthouse the original boundary turned sharply at right angles for the water to drain away at the far side of the garden. A willow was growing crookedly over what should have been water, and it seemed an ideal corner for more stone work. We terraced the ground and made shallow steps down to the stream, and on the other side a little paved court and steep steps up to the orchard. Round the corner we scooped out a lot of the clay and made a wide paved walk with hamstone tiles.
Primulas, Iris Kaempferi and Meconopsis Baileyi were induced to grow against the wall that supported the garden above, and on the orchard side I used large stones in the steep bank, and planted such sun loving things as zauschneria, sternbergia, rock roses and androsace. Walter spent a lot of time constructing a waterfall down the steepest part. He put drainage pipes across the orchard and arranged big stones over which the water was going to tumble to the stream below. Everything was there except the water, and the only waterfall we ever had was the rain splashing down.
We always referred to this little bit of the garden as the Lido, but is was not easy to explain why when no cooling waters washed its shores.
In the end I planted Asiatic primulas in what should have been the bed of our river. It seemed a pity to waste a position so admirably suited to their taste, so I dug out the heavy clay and filled the channel with a good mixture of leaf mould, sand and compost and here the Bartleys, the Postfords, the Millars and their foreign relations enjoy life, with their feet in deep damp earth and their heads in the sun.
18. Rock Gardening
Our garden did not lend itself to a rock garden, as such, in fact I think very few gardens do. A rock garden, to be really convincing must look as if the stratas of rock were really part of the ground, and it must be on a big scale. At Forde Abbey, near Chard, a delightful rock garden winds up through high banks, with enormous rocks that look right. The rock gardens at Wisley, Kew and Edinburgh are equally generous, but unless one has a natural outcrop of rock or a very deep dell or very high bank which will accommodate really large lumps of rock, I think rock gardening should be done in less orthodox ways. There is nothing more depressing than a few stones rising self-consciously from a suburban lawn, which is almost as bad as those dreadful Victorian ‘rockeries’, which were nothing but a collection of horrible burrs or lumps of concrete huddled together in a shady, dank corner, where nothing but ferns would thrive.
With all our stones it was inevitable that my mind should turn very quickly to rock plants.
The first home for alpine treasures was expedient rather than intentional, the two rocky beds against the walls of the barton. The second was also forced upon me rather than of my own choosing. The ‘Coliseum’ came into being because we had to dig out the soil that had silted down to the west end of the house. When we first came to live here we couldn’t understand why that end of the house was always so cold and damp, with a strange vault-like smell. It was some time before we realized that about six feet of the wall outside was receiving the clammy embrace of weeping clay.
On digging out the clay we discovered the remains of an enormous fireplace behind the present chimney. This solved the problem of how to support the ground, which was several feet above the level of the foundations. On
At the back of the malthouse the original boundary turned sharply at right angles for the water to drain away at the far side of the garden. A willow was growing crookedly over what should have been water, and it seemed an ideal corner for more stone work. We terraced the ground and made shallow steps down to the stream, and on the other side a little paved court and steep steps up to the orchard. Round the corner we scooped out a lot of the clay and made a wide paved walk with hamstone tiles.
Primulas, Iris Kaempferi and Meconopsis Baileyi were induced to grow against the wall that supported the garden above, and on the orchard side I used large stones in the steep bank, and planted such sun loving things as zauschneria, sternbergia, rock roses and androsace. Walter spent a lot of time constructing a waterfall down the steepest part. He put drainage pipes across the orchard and arranged big stones over which the water was going to tumble to the stream below. Everything was there except the water, and the only waterfall we ever had was the rain splashing down.
We always referred to this little bit of the garden as the Lido, but is was not easy to explain why when no cooling waters washed its shores.
In the end I planted Asiatic primulas in what should have been the bed of our river. It seemed a pity to waste a position so admirably suited to their taste, so I dug out the heavy clay and filled the channel with a good mixture of leaf mould, sand and compost and here the Bartleys, the Postfords, the Millars and their foreign relations enjoy life, with their feet in deep damp earth and their heads in the sun.
18. Rock Gardening
Our garden did not lend itself to a rock garden, as such, in fact I think very few gardens do. A rock garden, to be really convincing must look as if the stratas of rock were really part of the ground, and it must be on a big scale. At Forde Abbey, near Chard, a delightful rock garden winds up through high banks, with enormous rocks that look right. The rock gardens at Wisley, Kew and Edinburgh are equally generous, but unless one has a natural outcrop of rock or a very deep dell or very high bank which will accommodate really large lumps of rock, I think rock gardening should be done in less orthodox ways. There is nothing more depressing than a few stones rising self-consciously from a suburban lawn, which is almost as bad as those dreadful Victorian ‘rockeries’, which were nothing but a collection of horrible burrs or lumps of concrete huddled together in a shady, dank corner, where nothing but ferns would thrive.
With all our stones it was inevitable that my mind should turn very quickly to rock plants.
The first home for alpine treasures was expedient rather than intentional, the two rocky beds against the walls of the barton. The second was also forced upon me rather than of my own choosing. The ‘Coliseum’ came into being because we had to dig out the soil that had silted down to the west end of the house. When we first came to live here we couldn’t understand why that end of the house was always so cold and damp, with a strange vault-like smell. It was some time before we realized that about six feet of the wall outside was receiving the clammy embrace of weeping clay.
On digging out the clay we discovered the remains of an enormous fireplace behind the present chimney. This solved the problem of how to support the ground, which was several feet above the level of the foundations. On
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