I am, quite simply, chuffed to bits with our London garden right now. At times the transformation of our boggy, heavily shaded ‘lawn’ into a woodland garden, complete with winding gravel path, almost defeated us. There was sweat, there was toil and there were tamtrums. Removing sack after sack of clay subsoil laced with lumps of tarmac, through a block of flats in the heat of the summer, is not to be recommended. Nor will you find many gardening books that support the planting of perennials during the heat of August.

Hieracium maculatum ‘Leopard’, a plant which has followed me to every garden and which I would not be without. A great partner for Astelia nervosa ‘Westland’ (top of post).

However, the results have been nothing short of remarkable – to me anyway. The once impenetrable soil, now picked of stones, tarmac and the worst clods of subsoil, has been enriched with composted bracken and good old blood, fish and bone. Digging has created a tilth which is still permanently damp and heavy, but now rich and workable too. More compost and grit will be needed as time goes by. The soil level has been raised by 6-8 inches, creating a top layer which is much better drained. The worm population seems to have rocketed overnight. Mr Robin is almost as delighted as I am. And the poor, neglected plants that spent April until August cooped up in black plastic pots on the terrace are putting on a huge growth spurt.

Campanula ‘Pink Octopus’ (and a rare glimpse of my hand!), purchased at Wallington at the end of July and already starting to wander.

Summer planting is a bit risky on dry soils, but our plants’ roots have relished a run through the cool moist earth before winter arrives. I’ve already planted hundreds of spring bulbs and there will be more to follow. And to top things off, two weeks ago a neighbouring tree which cast a light and rain shadow over one corner of the garden was taken down, leaving our magnolia in splendid isolation and with new directions in which to send its elegant branches.

Settling in – Hydrangea quercifolia ‘Ice Crystal’

Before we started work I am ashamed to say I had very little interest in this part of the garden. It all seemed rather hopeless. Now I am out there first thing in the morning and as soon as I get home from work, contemplating new garden furniture, outdoor lighting, and naturally more plants. It demonstrates what we all know in our hearts, that it’s better to get stuck in than to put things off.

The painterly leaves of Persicaria virginiana ‘Compton’s Form’.

If what we’ve created makes me happy now, it will do so all the more as plants and shrubs mature. It’s opened up new possibilities in terms of things we can grow, our coastal garden being warmer, sunnier and on much lighter soil. No possibility of candelabra primulas there! And now this part looks better, it spurs us on to tackle the back of the garden, where our decking is starting to resemble something out of a haunted house. A challenge we might once have put off, but which now seems achievable before spring comes around again.

Our Dicksonia antarctica, the only plant that remained in-situ, has never looked so good.

Having been utterly engrossed in our own garden for the last few weeks it was a relief to get out and about and start the summer holiday proper. Our destination was Great Dixter, the house and garden of the late, great Christopher Lloyd, nestled in the bucolic East Sussex countryside. The mellow Wealden house is a combination of an original 15th century dwelling with part of a 16th century yeoman’s house, transported here from neighbouring Kent. In 1912 the resulting building was sympathetically added to and updated by Edwin Lutyens, accentuating the property’s air of great antiquity.

Tall chimneys, typical of many of Lutyens’ country houses, rise above the flowers in the Peacock Garden

I have to confess to not having fully appreciated or enjoyed Great Dixter’s gardens on previous visits. I understand this statement might be considered tantamount to blasphemy in horticultural circles, but I put it down to poor timing and my own underdeveloped taste. On paper I ought to be in complete harmony with Christopher Lloyd’s philosophy of combining any and every colour effectively. I am happy to report that I am, not before time, converted.

A visitor admires the colourful display of potted plants surrounding the porch at Great Dixter

I chose Great Dixter to break my garden visiting fast for two reasons: first, to study the arrangement of pots outside the 15th century porch and second to seek inspiration in the exotic garden. You will already know from posts about our coastal garden at The Watch House that I am bound to grow many of my treasures in containers. The gardeners at Dixter have plenty of open ground to play with, but we each set out to welcome our guests with colourful displays of seasonal flowers in their prime. The terracotta pots at Dixter are handmade in England at Whichford Pottery. They are a little pricey, but a wonderful indulgence every once in a while. Having explained to many of our visitors at the weekend that I do not bother with pot feet, I was pleased to see that Dixter’s gardeners don’t either.

Colourful rudbeckia, amaranthus, dahlias, geraniums and Tulbaghia violacea ‘Silver Lace’ grace Great Dixter’s porch

As one expects of Great Dixter, the assemblage of plants is diverse and unconventional. Lilies, cannas, lobelias and variegated miscanthus tower over a tumble of dahlias, amaranthus, persicarias and shorter geraniums, fuchsias and succulents. As in my garden the subjects are swapped around constantly to ensure the display is always fresh, vibrant and pleasing to the eye. The joy of grouping pots in this way is that plants with very different growing requirements can come together in perfect harmony, if only temporarily. Dixter also illustrates that it’s not necessary to stick to the small range of plants typically cultivated in pots, bringing hope and inspiration to many a compromised gardener. The possibilities are endless and mistakes easily rectified if they occur. I took great heart from the joyous abandon with which the eclectic plants were amassed, and was spurred on to try new permutations myself. I was particularly excited by a form of Persicaria that was twinned with bronze leaved Canna purpurea – a combination I’d like to try at home next year.

An unnamed persicaria, possibly a variation of P. virginiana var. filiformis ‘Lance Corporal’

It’s hard to imagine that the space occupied by the Exotic Garden was not so long ago filled with roses. With the help of trusted Head Gardener Fergus Garrett, Christopher Lloyd tore up the rule book and replaced Edwin Lutyen’s Edwardian formality with an exuberant display of plants designed for tropical effect. The bananas, hardy Japanese species Musa basjoo, stay in situ all year with protection through the winter. They are joined by the massive palmate leaves of Tetrapanax papyrifer, the rice paper plant, and coppiced Paulownia tomentosa which might both be candidates to replace one of our larger evergreen trees next year. Great Dixter was one of the first gardens I can recall to discover the virtues of Verbena bonariensis and its wispy outline continues to lighten the garden’s extravagant structure.

Luytens’ formal rose garden has been replaced by exuberant exotics

At waist height there is lots of interest in the form of orange-flowered impatiens, dahlias, variegated cannas and more persicarias. Everywhere seedlings take advantage of any square inch of ground that receives light and water, just as you’d expect in a rainforest. I gained some mean pleasure from noting that Great Dixter’s Begonia luxurians were afflicted with at least as much capsid bug damage as my own. Garden pests are, if nothing else, democratic in their deliverance of misery. Less than gloomy was Him Indoors who, having been allowed to drive there and back with the car’s hood down, was the embodiment of happiness.

A rare sighting of Him Indoors standing on his own two feet

No visit to Great Dixter is complete without witnessing the tumultuous tapestry of plants that is the Long Border. Christopher Lloyd believed that no bare earth should be visible from late May onwards, and Fergus Garrett continues to uphold that principle. Any empty spaces are quickly bedded out with ephemeral plants such as lupins and cannas which peak and fade at different times. Tall plants are also encouraged to the front of the border, joining others that tumble gaily over the mellow flagstones.

The Long Border is separated from the informality of the Orchard Meadow by a wide flagstone path

The Long Border is a constantly evolving beast. Regular visitors will rarely experience it (and it is an experience) looking the same way twice. Verbascums, fennels and exotic annuals such as Persicaria orientalis are positively encouraged to seed themselves around, contributing to the colourful exuberance of the scene. Experimentation is, and will always be, a guiding tenet for the gardeners at Great Dixter, which is why the garden is almost constantly in the spotlight and at the cutting edge of planting design.

Christopher’s Lloyd’s wish was to create a closely woven tapestry of foliage and flowers

I never met Christopher Lloyd and visited Great Dixter just once whilst he was still alive (he passed away in 2006). Fortunately he was careful to leave his legacy in safe hands. In Fergus Garrett he has a natural successor, trained and confided in by the great man himself, but with a mind of his own. The estate is in the stewardship of a charitable trust which continues and extends the good work that Christopher Lloyd started. Everywhere one looks young people are gainfully employed, whether it’s looking after the shop, planting up pots or turning the compost heaps. From a visitor’s perspective Great Dixter remains as its creator must have wanted it, a beautiful, refreshing, evolving, irreverent and ultimately happy place where his unique style of plantmanship endures.

Even in hazy sunlight, Great Dixter’s heleniums are dazzling

Gardeners the world over are obsessed with flowers. I am no exception. As well as being beautiful to look at, flowers are a sign of success, something one can measure a garden and its gardener by. Along with fruit and vegetables, flowers are part of the horticultutal triumvirate we choose to judge competitively, always striving to grow them bigger and better than others.

Nurturing a plant to the point where it bears flowers is one of the great challenges and rewards of gardening. Throughout history gardeners have gone to extreme lengths and waited patiently for cherished plants to bloom; from the heated water tank built at Kew by Joseph Paxton to coax Victoria amazonica into bloom, to the 70 years waited by conservationists to witness rare red helleborines flowering in Gloucestershire. We are all suckers for flowers, but without foliage most blooms would, quite literally, amount to nothing.

Apart from the obvious role leaves play in creating fuel for a plant to prosper and reproduce, the role of foliage as a foil for flowers cannot be underestimated. A neatly trimmed lawn can make the scruffiest border look respectable, a framing fringe of trees will anchor a newly created garden, and well-maintained hedges will provide the structure to contain any amount of riotous blossom. Without foliage our gardens would be about as sophisticated and lovely as one of those repellant pot chrysanthemums bred to produce a leafless dome of gaudy flowers.

Both our gardens rely heavily on greenery for year-round interest. Flowers, whilst treasured, play second fiddle. Occasionally I bemoan a temporary lack blooms, but then I look more closely and appreciate the richness of the leaves and stems that would support them. Foliage lasts longer than any flower I know and, chosen well, can offer just as much colour, texture, variety and indeed scent.

Foliage is a gardener’s staunchest ally. Flowers are fairweather friends that you should enjoy when they grace you with their presence, but not mourn when they are gone.

Our coastal garden has always been predominantly green, but this year I have been experimenting with silver, red, burgungy and purple-leaved plants. I am especially fond of the combination of Hibiscus ‘Mahogany Splendour’, Fuchsia ‘Contrast’, Cestrum fasciculatum ‘Newellii’, Plectranthus argentea and Tradescantia ‘Purple Sabre’ shown below. Just out of shot are Begonia ‘Benitochiba’ and Geranium sidoides which I’ve added to the composition as the summer has gone on.

To disguise our decrepit old aluminium greenhouse, I’ve grouped together pots filled with Pennisetum glaucum ‘Purple Majesty’, Begonia ‘Little Brother Montgomery’, Begonia luxurians, Imperata cylindrica ‘Red Baron’ and some seed-grown coleus. The flowers of a trailing red geranium and magenta Salvia curviflora are welcome, but not essential for me to enjoy the colourful arrangement.

As autumn approaches tender perennials such as Melianthus major and Solanum laciniatum make a mad dash for it, throwing up increasing amounts of leaf in an attempt to catch as much sunlight as possible. This makes for a marvellously jungly effect in both gardens.

If you’re planning an new garden, or a just thinking about replanting a small area, my advice is to think about foliage first and flowers second. This may sound counterintuitive, but it’s the leaves you’ll be enjoying next to one another for months on end, not the flowers, so it’s far more important to get the combinations right. Foliage can be quiet and calming, clipped and formal, bold and architectural or lush and exotic. The choice is yours, and the choice is endless.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on foliage and about combinations that have worked well for you this summer.

I am, quite simply, chuffed to bits with our London garden right now. At times the transformation of our boggy, heavily shaded ‘lawn’ into a woodland garden, complete with winding gravel path, almost defeated us. There was sweat, there was toil and there were tamtrums. Removing sack after sack of clay subsoil laced with lumps of tarmac, through a block of flats in the heat of the summer, is not to be recommended. Nor will you find many gardening books that support the planting of perennials during the heat of August.

Hieracium maculatum ‘Leopard’, a plant which has followed me to every garden and which I would not be without. A great partner for Astelia nervosa ‘Westland’ (top of post).

However, the results have been nothing short of remarkable – to me anyway. The once impenetrable soil, now picked of stones, tarmac and the worst clods of subsoil, has been enriched with composted bracken and good old blood, fish and bone. Digging has created a tilth which is still permanently damp and heavy, but now rich and workable too. More compost and grit will be needed as time goes by. The soil level has been raised by 6-8 inches, creating a top layer which is much better drained. The worm population seems to have rocketed overnight. Mr Robin is almost as delighted as I am. And the poor, neglected plants that spent April until August cooped up in black plastic pots on the terrace are putting on a huge growth spurt.

Campanula ‘Pink Octopus’ (and a rare glimpse of my hand!), purchased at Wallington at the end of July and already starting to wander.

Summer planting is a bit risky on dry soils, but our plants’ roots have relished a run through the cool moist earth before winter arrives. I’ve already planted hundreds of spring bulbs and there will be more to follow. And to top things off, two weeks ago a neighbouring tree which cast a light and rain shadow over one corner of the garden was taken down, leaving our magnolia in splendid isolation and with new directions in which to send its elegant branches.

Settling in – Hydrangea quercifolia ‘Ice Crystal’

Before we started work I am ashamed to say I had very little interest in this part of the garden. It all seemed rather hopeless. Now I am out there first thing in the morning and as soon as I get home from work, contemplating new garden furniture, outdoor lighting, and naturally more plants. It demonstrates what we all know in our hearts, that it’s better to get stuck in than to put things off.

The painterly leaves of Persicaria virginiana ‘Compton’s Form’.

If what we’ve created makes me happy now, it will do so all the more as plants and shrubs mature. It’s opened up new possibilities in terms of things we can grow, our coastal garden being warmer, sunnier and on much lighter soil. No possibility of candelabra primulas there! And now this part looks better, it spurs us on to tackle the back of the garden, where our decking is starting to resemble something out of a haunted house. A challenge we might once have put off, but which now seems achievable before spring comes around again.

Our Dicksonia antarctica, the only plant that remained in-situ, has never looked so good.

O THE month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!
O, and then did I unto my true love say,
Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer’s Queen.

Thomas Dekker (1572-1632)

May is my favourite month, and I always say that if a garden doesn’t look merry in May, there’s a problem. There should be the last tulips and the first roses, tender foliage and entwining tendrils, sweet birdsong, the heady scent of elderflowers and green, green everywhere.

But May spells hard work for gardeners. There’s spring bedding to come out, summer bedding to go in, climbers to train, plants to be watered (especially this year), pests taking advantage of every opportunity and everything growing before one’s eyes.

When I took this week off, I was determined that Chelsea would not take over, as it usually does. It was a good Chelsea Flower Show, but not a vintage one. The nurserymen in the Great Pavilion excelled, but the gardens were average by Chelsea standards. That’s not to say they were not accomplished, but I don’t think I’ll remember a single one of them come this time next year. One of the most lovely was Kazuyuki Ishihara’s Gosho No Niwa : No Wall, No War which is a garden I could have uplifted in its entirety and enjoyed forever. The Japanese designer never strays far outside his comfort zone, but does what he does with astonishing craftsmanship and precision.

Apart from Gosho No Niwa, our favourite garden in the whole show was Chris Beardshaw’s garden for Morgan Stanley. It comprised a lush woodland garden navigated via a sinuous path, leading to and an area of jewel-coloured perennials. At the heart of the garden a monumental oak and limestone pavilion offered shelter and space for entertaining. There was meant to be a tentative subtext exploring the sponsor’s long-term committment to young people’s education, but all that really mattered was that the garden was both inspiring and accessible. Helen of Oz adored the lupins and swathes of mositure-loving candelabra primulas. Funny how we all hanker after the plants we can’t grow. (More to follow on both of these gardens in due course.)

Wednesday was a rest day and an opportunity to write a couple of posts before the state visit from Helen of Oz. Decoration of the library has come to and end (almost) and the books are slowly moving in. Design-conscious friends have suggested organising them by colour, but that would only mean I could never find the one I wanted, so I have put them on the shelves by subject. I find I have a lot of biographical books, most of which I haven’t read; an abundance of plant monographs and not enough books on trees, shrubs and vegetables. I’ve discovered a good few duplicates too. Thankfully there is enough space for me to keep collecting for several more years, and the shelves look better for not being packed to the gunnels.

The task of getting the house back into order starts now, a full thirteen months after the project began. Everywhere I look there’s a pile of paperwork or a box of ‘useful’ detritus which needs dealing with. I am committing to myself that the library should become a sanctuary away from all of that, so only ‘cleansed’ items may be admitted. The temptation of filling eight new cupboards with junk must be resisted.

I settled on a decorative scheme of greyish-lilac with soft green and saffron highlights. I am extending the palette out into the garden with olives, echiums, yellow marguerites, mauve verbenas, Bulbine frutescens and – I never thought I report this – clipped box balls. Box does not feature in my normal style of planting, but it looks right here – or at least it will when the decorator clears all his rubbish out of the garden.

Thursday took Helen of Oz and I to Sissinghurst via Madrona Nursery near Pluckley in Kent. Madrona is one of my favourite places to buy plants because of the eclectic range. They have everything from shade lovers to drought survivors, and the quality of the stock is always excellent. The nursery’s setting, among the woods and fields of the Kentish Weald, is also dreamy. I came away with Salvia ‘Love and Wishes’, Catalpa × erubescens ‘Purpurea’, Agapanthus ‘Back in Black’ and Persicaria ‘Purple Fantasy’.

Given the sublime weather, and it really was sublime, Sissinghurst was busy, but not unpleasantly so. The garden was brimming with irises and roses and looking very fine indeed. There are lots of changes going on, including the opening up of the cutting garden and replanting of the phlox garden; an extension of the Nuttery which will take it right up to the paddock fence; and a stunning planting of Iris sibirica at the end of the moat walk. The simplicity of this scheme is dazzling and refreshingly contemporary.

Beyond the garden gates wild flowers are being encouraged to return to the meadows in front of the house and next to the cafe. A guided tour around the South Cottage, where Vita and Harold slept, was a special treat, providing a fascinating insight into the couple and their extraordinary relationship.

Our final stop before Helen of Oz had to return to London was Walmer Castle near Deal. Once a home of the Queen Mother, Walmer Castle has wonderful gardens which are rarely busy. We shared a stroll around with a coach party of Danes who were equally enamoured of the kitchen and cutting gardens.

The herbaceous borders, bounded by thick, undulating hedges, were already looking strong, particularly the yellow section in the middle. A preponderance of Mexican fleabane (Erigeron karvinskianus) in the walls surrounding the moat got me thinking about planting some in my own humble garden.

In just a few days it will be June and, before we know it, the longest day. With Helen of Oz on her way back to Melbourne, it’s been back to sorting out the garden, watering and getting the house straight before my not so merry return to work and the imminent arrival of summer.

Wishing you all a very merry May Bank Holiday Monday. TFG.

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I am, quite simply, chuffed to bits with our London garden right now. At times the transformation of our boggy, heavily shaded ‘lawn’ into a woodland garden, complete with winding gravel path, almost defeated us. There was sweat, there was toil and there were tamtrums. Removing sack after sack of clay subsoil laced with lumps of tarmac, through a block of flats in the heat of the summer, is not to be recommended. Nor will you find many gardening books that support the planting of perennials during the heat of August.

Hieracium maculatum ‘Leopard’, a plant which has followed me to every garden and which I would not be without. A great partner for Astelia nervosa ‘Westland’ (top of post).

However, the results have been nothing short of remarkable – to me anyway. The once impenetrable soil, now picked of stones, tarmac and the worst clods of subsoil, has been enriched with composted bracken and good old blood, fish and bone. Digging has created a tilth which is still permanently damp and heavy, but now rich and workable too. More compost and grit will be needed as time goes by. The soil level has been raised by 6-8 inches, creating a top layer which is much better drained. The worm population seems to have rocketed overnight. Mr Robin is almost as delighted as I am. And the poor, neglected plants that spent April until August cooped up in black plastic pots on the terrace are putting on a huge growth spurt.

Campanula ‘Pink Octopus’ (and a rare glimpse of my hand!), purchased at Wallington at the end of July and already starting to wander.

Summer planting is a bit risky on dry soils, but our plants’ roots have relished a run through the cool moist earth before winter arrives. I’ve already planted hundreds of spring bulbs and there will be more to follow. And to top things off, two weeks ago a neighbouring tree which cast a light and rain shadow over one corner of the garden was taken down, leaving our magnolia in splendid isolation and with new directions in which to send its elegant branches.

Settling in – Hydrangea quercifolia ‘Ice Crystal’

Before we started work I am ashamed to say I had very little interest in this part of the garden. It all seemed rather hopeless. Now I am out there first thing in the morning and as soon as I get home from work, contemplating new garden furniture, outdoor lighting, and naturally more plants. It demonstrates what we all know in our hearts, that it’s better to get stuck in than to put things off.

The painterly leaves of Persicaria virginiana ‘Compton’s Form’.

If what we’ve created makes me happy now, it will do so all the more as plants and shrubs mature. It’s opened up new possibilities in terms of things we can grow, our coastal garden being warmer, sunnier and on much lighter soil. No possibility of candelabra primulas there! And now this part looks better, it spurs us on to tackle the back of the garden, where our decking is starting to resemble something out of a haunted house. A challenge we might once have put off, but which now seems achievable before spring comes around again.

Our Dicksonia antarctica, the only plant that remained in-situ, has never looked so good.