In England - Now! And after April, when May flowers... —Robert Browning
This past year was not a time to travel, so I look back to May and June of 2015 and return to a solo trip that I planned and took to visit gardens in England, some that I had read about for years. I entered into the digital age and bought a new tablet computer and established an email account, obtained a pass to enter National Trust properties. I assumed I could use WiFi connections and had no need for a cellphone which would be useless back in Ashfield, MA.
On the 27th of May I arrived in London and managed to find my Airbnb house. The door was answered by one of the hosts who was watching the telly. On the screen was Queen Elizabeth II in all her royal drag giving a speech to Parliament; a fitting welcome to the British Isles.
My plan was to enjoy gardens and museums in London before I traveled down to Kent. At the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew I walked toward the magnificent glass Palm House where scores of gardeners were planting out thousands of annuals. Across the path was a large cast iron urn with a nesting Canada goose sitting on eggs. I wandered around the grounds and was soon overwhelmed by it all; I wasn’t focused enough to appreciate all that was offered.
The next day in London was much better. I rose early and walked through the city and had many enjoyable garden experiences. I stopped in Hyde Park and sat on a bench close by stunning plantings of pale pink Eremerus, the foxtail lily, a dark purple smoke bush, white roses, and opium poppies in bud, while red-flowered chestnut trees bloomed along the major roads. In front of St. Paul’s Cathedral there was a garden that was a study in yellow and white; roses, digitalis, and mock orange. On entering Holland Park a peacock sat on a fence with its iridescent tail feathers hanging over a group of blooming orange poppies. I ended the day visiting the gardens at Fenton House, a historic National Trust property. The walled garden was formally laid out with pea stone paths, clipped hedges, central sunken patio, and beds set along the old brick walls. Big lime green Euphorbias and lady’s mantle, purple allium, and silvery artichokes grew below towering blue Echiums and brilliant yellow giant fennel. There was even a very orderly vegetable plot by three overflowing compost piles, a surprising site in central London.
My plan was to explore London one more day but I became anxious to head south to make a pilgrimage to the gardens of Vita Sackville-West and Harold Nicholson at Sissinghurst. I got on the train bound for Staplehurst. I assumed there would be WiFi available on the train to use to contact my next host. Wrong. After a pleasant train ride I arrived at a small one-room country train station with no WiFi again. I was seven miles from my Airbnb lodging in Sissinghurst. Outside the station was a taxi with a sleeping driver. I went out and knocked on his window, asked if he would drive me to Sissinghurst, and was told that the fare would be 50 pounds. While I tried to figure out how badly he wanted to overcharge (75 dollars for seven miles), he found a better fare. I picked up my small bag and started for the village hoping to find a cafe with WiFi. After a short walk I came upon a bus stop where I was told a bus was arriving soon that could take me to Sissinghurst for a pound and a half.
At my new Airbnb I introduced myself and said that I wanted to go right away to Sissinghurst Gardens. The directions for the two mile walk were followed for the next five days: walk up the road; take the first left by the field of sheep; climb over the stile; follow the path through the woods where the bluebells still bloomed; turn left at the road; and walk towards Vita’s tower in the distance.
Vita Sackville-West and her husband, Harold Nicholson, bought the Sissinghurst property in 1930 when it consisted of several standing structures amidst piles of rubble and trash. At its height in the 1500s there was a substantial mansion on the property but through the centuries it was reduced to a ramshackle wreck. A series of gardens were created around the surviving buildings and fragments of walls and newly planted hedges. The entrance is through an archway in an existing wing of the mansion, then again through a passage in the tower, gateways to a lavish profusion of horticultural wonder. Sumptuous plantings include the purple borders, rose and herb gardens, the white and silver paradise, and the hot colors of the cottage garden. Walls of centuries-old worn brick are covered with roses and clematis. Doorways through hedges and walls lead to more and more. Planted containers are set about. A huge dented copper washing pot with a verdigris patina, bronze vases with bare-breasted sphinxes originally belonging to Marie-Antoinette, stone sinks pulled from a pig sty, and a massive Chinese urn are all packed with gorgeous plants. Vita’s exuberance shines through.
“Cram, cram, cram every chink and cranny.”
The tower was Vita’s writing rooms. In her time few were allowed access. Now visitors can climb past her rooms to the rooftop to view the surrounding gardens from a different perspective and read posted quotes from both Vita and Harold and listen to a recording of her poetry.
I haven’t mentioned that these gardens are usually packed with admirers, one of the most visited gardens in the world. But it is worthwhile anyway. My last day in Sissinghurst was windy and rainy. I walked through the bluebell woods nonetheless. I arrived and spent hours with only the gardeners as companions.
England is a land of gardeners. Next time I’ll continue my reminiscing; more gardens, castles, and getting lost on the footpaths.
“The wise traveler is he who is perpetually surprised.”—Vita Sackville-West
January 2021