Dunham Massey.

          In the Hackett family, you have your mug. My Dad has his mug, my Mum has her mug, my sisters have mugs and they don't even drink tea. We probably have hundreds of mugs and many of them are ceramic works of art but nonetheless I use one mug and it is my mug. Family friends Deri & Peter Fabian gave me mine, a little thumbs up before I left Chester. It's emblazoned with 'Head Gardener' - and I hope to keep it until I am indeed the real deal.

           Always an incredibly fit and intelligent man, Peter was hit hard by a stroke recently. He has a strong spirit and Deri is a rock of support, but of course my confidence in his recovery hasn't stopped him being in my prayers. He had mentioned to me that many moons ago he'd worked at a National Trust place called Dunham Massey - it's a funny old name and so it had stayed in the back of my head. This year, the family & I made the time to visit it.

The name Dunham Massey... it certainly sounds very 'National Trust', rather northern - the sort of place to which you'd take an anorak, and which might have an historic mill. No! How poor my imagination. Dunham Massey is a Georgian hall of romantic and heroic history, and has - I'm delighted to say - fabulous gardens. There is a small mill.

          If there were ever a way to set the tone of a fairytale garden, outer parkland filled with friendly fallow deer fresh from the forests of Disney does it very nicely. Having made our way through the parkland -- via the ice cream parlour - we entered through some old iron gates.
           The gardens offer a generous balance of trees (sometimes specimen trees, but often thickening into woodland), grand shrubs and informal drifts of herbaceous perennials, opening into glades or channels of water. Comparisons could be made to the wild garden at Wisley or the Beth Chatto Gardens, but this feels further along in years. The trees are more mature, creating a sense of a taller and atmospheric garden. Moreover, being a garden from centuries past there are inevitably a few extra curiosities lying in wait for the visitor walking through it. These include moss lawns and a grove of white birches, and to my astonishment a glade of Cardiocrinum giganteum - giant Himalayan lilies. Taking seven years to grow before a sudden eight-foot eruption of white trumpets, they die as soon as they have flowered and set seed. Mastering their cycle to create a display of many flowers in one year is a real feat of horticulture, and a spectacle I shall not forget. Thankfully I had a camera to hand!

          The most exciting feature of all, however, was a walled rose garden. White roses, pink roses, red roses, yellow roses, roses lining the paths, roses climbing the walls, rose tunnels, rose pergolas, roses with alliums, roses with lavender, roses with roses. The array of flowers and fragrances, the hum of bees - good golly Miss Molly. It has that magical sweet shop feel about it, and one half expects Willy Wonka to come skipping through the middle. The high old brick walls enclosing the rose garden from the rest of the world enhance the impact it has in many ways, and yet because there are these formal brick walls, and you are surrounded by roses rather than say chocolates, it retains an elegance despite this overwhelming excitement. Because of this, you walk through the garden rather than skipping, and thus you have the chance to savour every scent and every angle. And how many there are to enjoy!

          Sadly having to leave the rose garden eventually, and walk back past the Cardiocrinum glade, and then beneath the trees and past the deer herds, my family & I all knew we had just been to somewhere very special indeed. What a fantastic place Peter has worked at. We shall have to return soon - we are certainly not done visiting Dunham Massey.

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