Part 8
The rectangular fountain, which, with its surrounding yew hedges, and the grass walks also inclosed by thick yew hedges, divides the two portions of the kitchen garden, are also parts of the old design, added to by the late owner. The yew hedges beyond the fountain pool have been set back to allow width enough for a handsome flower-border on either side. Water Lilies grow in the pool and the flower-borders display their beauties beyond, while the fruit trees of the kitchen garden show above the thick green hedges as flowering masses in spring, and in later summer, as the taller perennials of the border rise to their full height, as a thin copse of fruit and leafage. The turf walk and flower-border swing outward to suit the greater width of another fountain-basin at the end. This has straight sides running the way of the main path, and a segmental front. Instead of the usual rising kerb, there are two shallow stone steps, the upper one even with the grass, the lower half way between that and the water-level. Except that it is less of a protection than something of the parapet kind, this is a most desirable means of near access to the water; welcome to the eye in all ways and allowing the water-surface to be seen from a distance. It is pleasantly noticeable in this pool that the water-level rises to the proper place. Nothing is more frequent or more unsightly than a deep pool or basin with straight sides and only a little water in the bottom. If the height of the water is necessarily fluctuating it is a good plan to build the tank in a succession of such steps; they are pleasant to see both above and under water, and in the case of an accident to a straying child, danger is reduced to the smallest point.
The picture shows one of the flights of steps from one level to another. To the left two handsome gate-piers and a fine wrought-iron gate lead to a quiet green meadow. Near by and just across it is the Medway, with wooded banks and groups of fine trees. The old wall is beautiful from the meadow side; its coping a garden of wild flowers. Above it is seen the clipped yew hedge with its series of rising ornaments, rounded in the direction of the axis of the hedge, but flat on
its two faces. This is seen in the picture on the upper level, above the steps to the left.
Herbaceous plants are grandly grown throughout this beautiful garden. Specially noticeable are the fine taste and knowledge of garden effect with which they have been used. There are not flowers everywhere, but between the flowery portions of the garden are quiet green spaces that rest and refresh the eye, and that give both eye and brain the best possible preparation for a further display and enjoyment of their beauty.
Such an example the picture shows. On either side is a border with masses of strong-growing hardy plants--pale Monkshood, Evening Primrose, Sweet-William, Pink Mallow--then, above the steps, only the restful turf underfoot, and to right and left the quiet walls of yew; at the end a group of great elms. At the foot of the steps, passing away to the right, is another double flower-border, passing again by a turn to the right into the quiet green walk leading to the large fountain basin.
Many a good climbing Rose, with other rambling and clambering plants, find their homes on the terraces. A _Gloire de Dijon_ or one of its class--_Madame Bérard_ or _Bouquet d’Or_, perhaps; either of these the equal of the other for such garden use--rises from below the parapet of one of the flights of steps and comes forward in happiest fellowship with a leaden vase of fine design; the dark background of Irish Yew making the best possible ground for both Rose and urn.
In olden days these lead ornaments were commonly painted and gilt, but the revived taste for all that is best in gardening rightly considers such treatment to be a desecration of a surface which with age acquires a beautiful grey colouring and a delightful quality of colour-texture. The painting of lead would seem to be a relic of the many toy-like artifices in gardening that were prevalent in Tudor times. All these are rejected in the best modern practice, though all the old ways that made for true garden beauty and permanent growth and value have been retained.
A clever way of utilising the stronger growing Clematises, including the large purple Jackmanii, is here practised. They are swung garland-fashion between a row of Apple-trees that borders one of the walks. Hops are used in the same way. It was perhaps a remembrance of Italy, where Vines are trained to swing between the Mulberries.
The beautiful pale yellow Carnation, named _Pride of Penshurst_, was raised in this good garden, where everything tells of the truest sympathy with all that is best in English horticulture. Not the least among the soothing and satisfying influences of the pleasure-grounds of Penshurst, is the entire absence of the specimen conifer, that, with its wearisome repetition of single examples of young firs and pines, has brought such a displeasing element of restless confusion into so many pleasure-grounds.
BRICKWALL
East Sussex is rich in beautiful houses of Tudor times; many precious relics remaining of those days and of the Jacobean reigns, of important manor-house, fine farm building and labourer’s cottage. These were the times when English oak, some of the best of which grew in the Sussex forests, was the main building material. The walls were framed of oak, and the same wood provided beams, joists and rafters, boards for the floors, panelling, doors, window-mullions and furniture. In those days the wood was not cut up with the steam-saw, but was split with the axe and wedge. The carpentry of the roofs was magnificent; there was no sparing of stuff or of labour. Much of it that has not been exposed to the weather, such as these roof-framings, is as sound to-day as when it was put together, with its honest tenons and mortises and fastenings of stout oak pins. In most cases the old oak has become extraordinarily hard and of a dark colour right through.
Brickwall, the beautiful home of the Frewens, near Northiam, is a delightful example, both as to house and garden, of these old places of the truest English type. A stately gateway, and a short road across a spacious green forecourt bounded by large trees, leads straight to the entrance in the wide north-eastern timbered front. The other side of the house, in closely intimate relation to the garden, has a homely charm of a most satisfying kind.
The wide bricked path next the house, so typical of Sussex, speaks of the strong, cool soil. The ground rises just beyond, and again further away in the distance. The garden is divided into two nearly equal portions by the double flower-border, backed by pyramidal clipped yews, that forms the subject of the picture, and is enfiladed by the middle windows of the house. In the left hand division is a long rectangular pool with rather steep-angled sides of grass, looking a little dangerous. There is a reason here for the water being a good way below the level of the lawn, for this is much above that of the ground floor of the house; still it is a matter of doubt whether it would not have been better to have had a flagged or bricked path some four feet wide, not much above the water-level, with steps rising on two sides to the lawn, and dry walling, allowing of some delightful planting, from the path to the lawn level.
On the two outer sides of the garden, parallel with the middle walk, are raised terraces, reached by steps at the ends of the bricked path. These have walls on their outer sides, and towards the garden, yew hedges kept low so that it is easy to see over. These low hedges run into a much higher and older one that connects them towards the upper end of the garden.
The clipped yews which give the garden its character are for the most part of one pattern, a tall three-sided pyramid, only varied by some tall cones. One cannot help observing how desirable it is in gardens of this kind that the form of the clipped yews should for the most part keep to one shape, or at any rate one general pattern, just as the architecture, whatever its character or ornament, within some kind of limit remains faithful to the dominant idea.
The picture shows a double flower-border in August dress; good groups of the best hardy plants combining happily with some of the pyramids of yew. To the right is the fine summer Daisy (_Chrysanthemum maximum_), with the lilac Erigeron and the spiky blue-purple balls of the Globe Thistle, the tall double Rudbeckia Golden Glow, Lavender, Poppies and Phlox. To the left, Phloxes and the tall Evening Primrose, the great garden Tansy (_Achillea Eupatorium_), seed-heads of the Delphiniums that bloomed a month ago, White Mallow, and the grand red-ringed Sweet-William called Holborn Glory. Everything speaks of good cultivation on a rich loamy soil, for those fine yews want plenty of nutriment themselves, and would also be apt to rob their less robust neighbours. But then the good gardener knows how to provide for this.
There is always an opportunity for beautiful treatment, when, as in
this case, the garden ground ascends from the house. The garden is laid out to view, almost as a picture hangs on a wall, in the very best position for the convenience of the spectator; and there is nothing that gives a greater sense of dignity, with something of a poetical mystery, than separate flights of steps ascending one after another in plane after plane--as they do in that magnificent example, Canterbury Cathedral. It matters not whether the steps are under a roof or not--the impression received is the same. And there is much beauty in the steps themselves being long and wide and shallow. Looking uphill we see the steps; looking downhill they are lost. It is not the foot only that rests upon the step, it is the eye also, and that is why any handsome steps with finely-moulded edges are so pleasant to see. The overhanging edge may have arisen from utility, in that, where a step must be narrow it gives more space for the foot; but in the wide step it affords still more satisfaction, giving a good shadow under the moulded edge, and accentuating the long level lines that are so welcome to the eye.
STONE HALL, EASTON
THE FRIENDSHIP GARDEN
It was a pleasant thought, that of the lover of good flowers and firm friend of many good people, who first had the idea of combining the two sentiments into a garden of enduring beauty.
Such a garden has been made at Easton by the Countess of Warwick. The site of the Friendship Garden has been happily chosen, close to the remains of an ancient house called Stone Hall, which now serves Lady Warwick as a garden-house and library of garden books.
The flower-plots are arranged in a series of concentric circles; the plants are the gifts of friends. The name of each plant and that of the giver are recorded on an imperishable majolica plaque. Many well-known givers’ names are here, from that of the very highest in the land downward. The plants themselves comprise many of the best and handsomest.
The picture shows the garden as it is about the middle of September; the time of the great White Pyrethrum, the perennial Sunflowers and the earliest of the Michaelmas Daisies. The bush of Lavender is blooming late, its normal flowering time is a month earlier. But Lavender, especially when some of the first bloom is cut, will often go on flowering, as later-formed shoots come to blooming strength. Let us hope that the giver is not shortlived like the gift, for Lavender bushes, after a few years of strong life, soon wear out. Already this one is showing signs of age, and it would be well to set a few cuttings in spring or autumn, or, still better, to layer it by one of the lower branches, in order to renew
the life of the plant when the strength of the present bush comes to an end.
Such a garden, full of so keen a personal interest, sets one thinking. What will become of it fifty or a hundred years hence? The flowers, with due diligence of division, and replanting and enriching of the soil, will live for ever. The name-plates, with care and protection from breakage, will also live. But what will these names be one or two generations hence? Will the plants all be there? And what of the Friendships? They are something belonging intimately to the lives of those now living. What record of them will endure; or enduring, be of use or comfort to those who come after?
Then one thinks and wonders--what hand, perhaps quite a humble one--planted the old apple-tree that has its stem now girdled by a rustic seat. Its days are perhaps already numbered; the top is thin and open, the foliage is spare; it seems to be beyond fruit-bearing age, and as if it had scarcely strength to draw up the circulating sap.
And then, for all the carefulness given to the making of the garden and its tender memories of human kindness in giving and receiving, the plant that dominates the whole, and gives evidence of the oldest occupation from times past, and promises the greatest attainment of age in days to come, is the Ivy on the old Stone Hall. Probably it was never planted at all--came by itself, as we carelessly say--or planted, as we may more thoughtfully and worthily say, by the hand of God, and now doing its part of sheltering and fostering the Garden of Friendship. Should not the Ivy also have its heart-shaped plate and its most grateful and reverent inscription, as a noble plant, the gift of the kindest Friend of all, who first created a garden for the sustenance and delight of man and put into his heart that love of beautiful flowers that has always endured as one of the chiefest and quite the purest of his human pleasures?
There is a rose-garden beyond the bank of shrubs to the left, where each Rose, on one of the permanent labels, here shaped after the pattern of a Tudor Rose, has a quotation from the poets. Here are, among others, the older roses of our gardens, the Damask and the Rose of Provence, the Cinnamon and the Musk Rose, the bushy Briers and the taller Eglantine that we now call Sweetbrier.
Close at hand there is also a Shakespeare Garden, designed to show what were the garden-flowers commonly in use in his time. Here we may again find Rosemary--that sweetly aromatic shrub, so old a favourite in English gardens. Its long-enduring scent made it the emblem of constancy and friendship. And here should be Rue, also classed by Shakespeare among “nose-herbs,” and the sweet-leaved Eglantine, and Lads-Love, Balm and Gilliflowers (our Carnations), a few kinds of Lilies, Musk and Damask Roses, Violets, Peonies, and many others of our oldest garden favourites.
THE DEANERY GARDEN, ROCHESTER
Those who know the Dean of Rochester,[A] either personally or by reputation, will know that where he dwells there will be a beautiful garden. His fame as a rosarian has gone throughout the length and breadth of Britain, and far beyond, and his practical activity in spreading and fostering a love of Roses must have been the means of gladdening many a heart, and may be reckoned as by no means the least among the many beneficent influences of his long and distinguished ministry.
[A] These lines were in print before the lamented death of Dean Hole.
A few days’ visit to Dean Hole’s own home at Caunton Manor, near Newark, will ever remain among the writer’s pleasantest memories. It must have been five and twenty years ago, and it was June, the time of Roses. To one whose home was on a poor sandy soil it was almost a new sight to see the best of Roses, splendidly grown and revelling in a good loam. Not that the credit was mainly due to the nature of the garden ground, for, as the Dean (then Canon Hole) points out in his delightful “Book about Roses,” the soil had to be made to suit his favourite flower. In this, or some one of his books, he feelingly describes how many of the visitors to his garden, seeing the splendid vigour of his Roses, at once ascribed it to the excellence of his soil. “Of course,” they said, “your flowers are magnificent, but then, you see, you have got such a soil for Roses.” “I should think I had got a soil for Roses,” was the reply, “didn’t I mix it all myself and take it there in a barrow?” I quote from memory, but this is the sense of this excellent lesson. The writer’s own experience is exactly the same. Of the quantities of garden visitors who have come--their number has had to be stringently limited of late--not one in twenty will believe that one loves a garden well enough to take a great deal of trouble about it.
In fact, it is only this unceasing labour and care and watchfulness; the due preparation according to knowledge and local experience; the looking out for signal of distress or for the time for extra nourishment, water, shelter or support, that produces the garden that satisfies any one with somewhat of the better garden knowledge; a knowledge that does not make for showy parterres or for any necessarily costly complications; rather, indeed, for all that is simplest, but that produces something that is apparent at once to the eye, and sympathetic to the mind, of the true garden-lover.
It must have been a painful parting from the well-loved Roses and the many other beauties of the Caunton garden, when the new duties of honourable advancement called Canon Hole from the old home to the Deanery of Rochester; from the pure air of Nottinghamshire to that of a town, with the added reek of neighbouring lime and cement works. But even here good gardening has overcome all difficulties, and though, when the air was more than usually loaded with the foul gases given off by these industries, the Dean would remark, with a flash of his characteristic humour, that Rochester was “a beautiful place--to get away from,” yet the Deanery garden is now full of Roses and quantities of other good garden flowers, all grandly grown and in the best of health. Roses are in fact rampant. A rough trellis, simply made of split oak after the manner of the hurdles used for folding sheep in the Midlands, but about six feet high, stands at the back of the main double flower-border. Rambling Roses and others of free-growing habit are loosely trained to this, their great heads of bloom hanging out every way with fine effect; each Rose is given freedom to show its own way of beauty, while the trellis gives enough support and guides the general line of the great hedge of Roses.
The Dean is not alone among the flowers, for Mrs. Hole is also one of the best of gardeners.
The picture shows a portion of a double flower-border where a curving path connects two others that are at different angles. In the
distance, rising to a height of a hundred feet, is the grand old Norman keep; the rare Deptford Pink (_Dianthus Armeria_) grows in its masonry. The ancient city wall is one of the garden’s boundaries. Another old wall, that is within the garden, has been made the home of many a good rock-plant. On the left, in the picture, are masses of Poppies, Roses and White Lilies, with Alströmeria, Love-in-a-Mist, and Larkspurs, both annual and perennial; the background is of the soft, feathery foliage of Asparagus. The Roses are of all shapes; single and double; show Roses and garden Roses; standards, bushes and free-growing ramblers. On the right are more Larkspurs, Irises in seed-pod, Lavender, and some splendidly-grown Lilium szovitsianum, one of the grandest of Lilies, and, where it can be grown like this, one of the finest things that can be seen in a garden. Its tender lemon colouring has suffered in the reproduction, which makes it somewhat too heavy.
The upper part of a greenhouse shows in the picture. It is sometimes impossible to keep such a structure out of sight, but one like this, of the plainest possible kind, is the least unsightly of its class. It is just an honest thing, for the needs of the garden and for a part of its owner’s pleasure. The fatal thing is when an attempt is made to render greenhouses ornamental, by the addition of fretted cast-iron ridges and fidgety finials. These ill-placed futilities only serve to draw attention to something which, by its nature, cannot possibly be made an ornament in a garden, while it is comparatively harmless if let alone, and especially if the wood-work is not painted white but a neutral grey. In all these matters of garden structures; seats, arbours and so forth, it is much best in a simple garden to keep to what is of modest and quiet utility. In the case of a large place, which presents distinct architectural features, it is another matter; for there such details as these come within the province of the architect.
COMPTON WYNYATES
In the very foremost rank among the large houses still remaining that were built in Tudor times is the Warwickshire home of the Marquess of Northampton. The walls are of brick, wide-jointed after the old custom, with quoins, doorways, and window-frames of freestone, wrought into rich and beautiful detail in the heads of the bays and the grand old doorway, whose upper ornament is a large panel bearing the sculptured arms of King Henry VIII.
Formerly the house was entirely surrounded by a moat, which approached it closely on all sides but one, where a small garden was inclosed. Now, on the three sides next the building, grass lawns take its place. On all sides but one, hilly ground rises almost immediately; in steep slopes for the most part, beautifully wooded with grand elms.
To the north is the small garden still inclosed by the moat. Straight along it is a broad grass walk with flower borders on both sides, leading to a thatched summer-house that looks out upon the moat. Lesser paths lead across and around among vegetables and old fruit-trees. At one corner is a venerable Mulberry.
The space within the quadrangle of the building is turfed and has cross-paths paved with stone flags. Bushes of hardy Fuchsia mark their outer angles of intersection. At the foot of the walls hardy Ferns are in luxuriance, and nothing could better suit the place. There are a few climbing Roses, but they are not overdone; the beautiful building is sufficiently graced, but not smothered, by vegetation. So it is throughout the place both within and without; house and garden show a loving
reverence for the grand old heritage and that sound taste and knowledge that create and maintain well and wisely.
From the portions of the site of the old moat that are now grass, a turf slope rises to a height of about eight feet. On the upper level is a gravel walk, and beyond it a yew hedge about four feet high, with ornaments of peacocks cut in it at the principal openings, and of ball and such-like forms at other apertures. This is on the level of the main parterre. A wide gravel path divides the garden into two equal portions, swinging round in the middle space to give place to a circular grass-plot with a sundial.