I looked a few weeks ago at the techniques that Repton used in his Red Books, particularly his trademark flap or overlay to show his proposed improvements. This week I want to turn to another aspect of the Red Books and his printed works which rarely attracts much comment… and that is only marginally to do with flaps and slides. It’s the way that Repton uses the double-page spread to show the full extent of a landscape. Is that significant? Why did he do it?
from the Red Book for Endsleigh, 1814
One of my favourite places to work and take students is the Lindley Library, part of the Royal Horticultural Society. It’s interesting when taking groups there noticing how different things attract and appeal to different people. One book however always causes an intake of breath and a look of amazement: The Gardens of England by Edward Adveno Brooke.
Published in 1856 it’s a large format account of 19 of the grandest gardens in the country at the time. But it’s not the text that creates the wow factor, although when you read it it’s certainly not merely drily documentary, it is the images. These are based on Brooke’s own paintings and they show an innate sense of place, coupled with a romantic, even theatrical streak. It’s no wonder they’re regarded as some of, if not, the best evocations of the spirit of great Victorian gardens.
So I thought Brooke would obviously be well documented and researched. But like other “minor” artists, including some like Beatrice Parsons who I have written about here – I soon realised I was mistaken. Although his name crops up occasionally in art or garden history books it is almost always only in connection with The Gardens of England his only published work. So this really isn’t a post about Brooke, as I’d intended, but instead one about his magnum opus which is what will keep his name alive. Continue reading
A few months ago I wrote about the change in attitudes to ‘wilderness’ and ‘untamed’ landscapes in the 18thc in a post concentrating on the Lake District. This week I want to turn to Wales which became another 18thc scenic landscape ‘discovery’.
In the main, up until the mid-18thc, the principality had largely been considered remote and inaccessible to travellers, especially English ones. No-one was interested in, or went to, ‘wild places’ so why should they go to Wales? The answer was provided by Thomas Gray in his poem The Bard written in 1757 about the conquest of Wales by Edward I in the 13thc whch effetively extinguished Welsh independence. Gray researched medieval history and literature and consequently The Bard – albeit rather long-winded and flowery to modern ears – helped overturn ignorance and formed one of the foundations of both the Romantic movement and the Celtic Revival in Britain.
This new appreciation of landscape was part of the revival of interest in both British and specifically Welsh history. Just as the British ‘discovered’ their Saxon roots so the Welsh ‘discovered’ their supposed links to the ancient Britons. It led in 1751 to the foundation of The Honourable Society of Cymmrodorion [from ‘cyn-frodorion’ or ‘earliest natives’]. Antiquarians began seeking out historic sites and ruins, whilst ‘tourists’ sought out ‘sublime’ experiences in Snowdonia and other mountainous areas, to rival those of the Alps. It all helped ensure that Wales became part of the itinerary of many British landscape painters.
On Tuesday I suddenly realised that it was Easter this weekend, before then quickly realising that I had completely forgotten about writing a special festive blogpost. I could have chickened out but I eggspect you’ll have guessed by now what I decided to dooodle do.
It’s difficult to be original hens these fowl jokes and this poultry piece inspired by the feathered ladies who lived in my garden last summer. I decided to research where they might have laid their eggs had they lived in the gardens or grounds of one of our great stately homes in the 18th or 19thc.
Of course this started out as a bit of good humour but I hope you’ll be surprised by some of the things I discovered about housing poultry in the garden. As Lucinda Lambton commented: “when building for animals, the builders imaginations could flourish unbridled – often with scant regard for architectural convention.” Even Humphry Repton turned his hand to it!
detail from “Cotehele House with daffodils on the Bowling Green”, by Rena Gardiner, National Trust
I realised what it was like to be an aristocratic landowner when I visited Cotehele in Cornwall the other day. There were no pesky visitors and apart from one or two staff scurrying rapidly from building to building my partner and I had the place completely to ourselves. Admittedly it was immediately the site opened on a Tuesday morning in February but the main reason for the apparent lordly solitude was the fact that it was raining. And when it rains in Cornwall it rains. And when it wasn’t raining hard it was drizzling steadily through the thick and clinging mist. It was a case of water, water everywhere. But whereas I normally would be sensible and stay at home I was on holiday and determined to see the place…and suprisingly the weather didn’t matter, particularly when I recalled a letter about a garden visit that I’d read written by the Dowager Countess of Mount Edgcumbe in the summer of 1862: “Unluckily it began to pour (at Tavistock – where you know Charles II said it always rained) – & we walked about the charming gardens under umbrellas.”
Your intrepid hero…there is a view across the Tamar and some beautiful gardens behind me- honestl!
And it certainly wasn’t as bad as June 1872 when she wrote:” We had a great thunder-storm last Tuesday – with rain really like ramrods. …The rain came thro’ the ceiling of Ernestine’s room, & through the floor, into the Housekeeper’s room below – wetting her books, & soaking some clothes in a drawer. The carpet was taken up as quickly as possible, & hung up to drain – & the rain from the quadrangle ran down 2 steps into the lobby – & 3 buckets full of water had to be taken up before they could lift off the matting on the floor.”
So seeing Cotehele in the mist and rain is nothing out of the ordinary and just meant walking complete with a mac, wellies and an umbrella…and, even at such an inhospitable time of the year, the grounds which she helped create are so stunning it would been worth walking around even without them! Continue reading
This post started out life months and months ago as a draft piece on eroticism in the garden generally. I’d found some great images and references and was looking forward to surprising you, my readers, with a little naughtiness….surely not on a Parks and Gardens blog!
I began compiling a list of snippets, references and images to include, and then thought I’d discovered two unknown women garden designers when I read a paragraph in a 18thc newspaper which said that “Lady Foley and Mrs Arabin have kindly undertaken to plan the intended shrubbery behind Gower Street – can anyone doubt their capability, who reflects with what art they displayed the beauties of nature in their own gardens.” [Daily Universal Register, 2 Sep 1785] although that turned out not to be quite the case.
As one thing led to another I realised there was far too much for a single post, and that there was a good concentration of stories from one particular period, SO here are some tales about what went on in the Shrubbery… and probably elsewhere too … in the late 18thc.
BUT what has all this got to do with this year’s hero Humphry Repton? Read on to find out
Camellia donkelaaris from
The Garden. [ed. William Robinson], vol. 54: (1898)
Knowing that I was going to spend some time in February in Cornwall looking at gardens I realised I’d probably be looking at a lot of camellias. I’ll probably upset or even irritate a lot of people by saying straight out that I’ve never been their greatest fan, partly because the flowers die so miserably, turning brown and refusing to drop, but more disappointingly because despite their glossy leaves, strong structural form, disease-resistance and vivid colours they just don’t smell. And that’s a hard fault to forgive.
Perhaps the world’s rarest Camellia cultivar
But on the bright side a couple of weeks touring Cornwall and seeing them as the backbone of so many amazing gardens has made me reconsider. So I’m going to pay a visit to the annual Camellia Festival at Chiswick House Conservatory which runs until March 25th and that might just completely overcome my prejudice!
So read on to investigate their history in our gardens, and also to discover an excellent newish blog by Siân Rees, a professional gardener, who has written about them this week too…
detail from Single White Camellia / Single Red Camellia, from Samuel Curtis, A Monograph on the Genus Camellia, 1819, Museum of Fine Art, Boston
We tend to think of properties owned by the National Trust as being protected in perpetuity. Their land is usually inalienable and their pockets to restore and maintain great houses are deep and usually well-filled. But this is not alway the case. Sometimes the threats come from an unexpected place: being too successful. If that sounds a bit crazy the example of Saltram, described by the executors of the 4th Earl of Morley, the last private owner as a “white elephant”, might illuminate the point.
In August last year I visited Saltram House just outside Plymouth as part of the Gardens Trust conference. I was in a group taken round by the Head Gardener, and was taken aback by some of the problems he reported, which were not caused by neglect or lack of vision but because of sheer success of the Trust’s policy of increasing revenue and interest by attracting more and more visitors.
I had the opportunity to revisit a few days ago, and turned up 20 minutes after the gardens opened on a Monday morning in mid-February to find the car park almost full. By mid-morning the FULL sign went up. There was a temporary loo block in the entrance area, the small cafes had queues and the circular parkland walk is hard-surfaced in most places and at times was a bit like a busy High Street in the sales. So what’s Saltram got to offer that attracts so many people?
detail from Les Jardins Francais, 1821 by Zuber
This is a very belated follow-up to a post about gardens on walls in 18thc England in 2016 which looked at the work of John Baptist Jackson and his contemporaries. And by “gardens on the wall” I don’t mean “living walls” but wallpaper.
England and France were rivals over many things in the 18thc. Indeed they were at war for large parts of it. Apart from seizing large chunks of the French overseas empire England also took over the role of the world’s leader in gardening, but there is no doubt that the French took the lead in developing gardens on walls. When, in 1753, the French ambassador in London sent back some English wallpaper to decorate his home in France he started a design revolution nearly 40 years before the more famous one.
detail from Les Jardins Francais, 1821 by Zuber
When that started in 1789 it began more than 20 years of continuous warfare across Europe. This cut Britain off from a lot of continental cultural influences. In France it invigorated design and fashion with bold, clear and simple taking the place of elaborate, ornate and luxurious. Wallpaper, bizarrely, was one of the best showcases for these dramatic changes in styles. It not only became political propaganda but in the process all manner of gardens and landscapes took to the walls of both public and private spaces in a completely different way to that we saw in 18thc England.
So read on to find out more… Continue reading
No – it’s not south-east Asia but south-west Dorset! Abbotsbury, a garden founded by the Strangways family in the late 18thc, was my first point of call recently on an out of season tour of some gardens in the south-west.
In 1863 Henry Fox Talbot, the inventor of photography, must have been rather surprised by the contents of a letter he had just received from his uncle, William Fox Strangways, the 4th earl of Ilchester. The two corresponded regularly and often about gardens but this time Uncle William was complaining about his elderly gardener not just chopping bulbs in two & trying to stick them together again but asking what he should do about “amorous polygamy”. This was surely scarcely a subject fit for the pen of a Victorian gentleman so no wonder William said it had “left indelible impression in my memory.”
From: Dictionnaire des sciences naturelles. by Jussieu & Turpin.
1816-1829, volume 5, plate 266
Actually its nothing as potentially scandalous as one might think. Uncle William’s gardener was rather confused and asking what he should do with Amyris polygama, more commonly known as the Chilean pepper tree, one of the rarer plants in the garden. So sorry if you’d read this far expecting a bit of salacious gossip but read on to find out more about this amazing sub-tropical garden and its origins.
[All photos are my own from Feb 2018 unless otherwise stated] Continue reading