Powis Castle.

          I'm still very much a boy at heart, and I don't think I'm alone in saying that a good castle sets my pulse racing. What constitutes a "good" castle? Well, a good castle and castle garden should have fresh excitement awaiting on every level, from bottom to top.
Constructed in an ancient Welsh kingdom and embellished with every passing century, Powis Castle is a very good castle indeed - and its garden of many tiers revealed countless reasons for excitement on a grey September afternoon.

          Unless you are a medieval warrior assaulting the ramparts, a visit to the castle garden starts at the top.
Walking beneath wisteria-festooned gateways and between wandering peacocks (no less), you come into a central courtyard with a long stone balustrade along its eastern side. Its height has been cannily calculated - short in appearance, but just managing to screen the view beyond, compelling you to walk across and lean over it like a ship's rail.
It works beautifully - not only does the Severn Valley lie before you, but so too does a second teaser, as glimpses of the gardens below can be seen behind yew trees and hedge-lines.

                Once you have descended past the courtyard, these yews are as much a part of the castle's structure, majesty and eccentricity as the stonework - some sitting like giant bearskin hats, and others forming entire walls. One hedge is a truly colossal fourteen metres in height, and some yews date back to the 1680s which makes them older than some countries. Initially abstract in shape, the hedges straighten further down the garden (some are yew, others are crisp box hedges), and the va va voom factor moves from the hedges into what the hedges are containing: herbaceous borders.

                I'm not familiar with the climate of the Severn Valley, but clearly some magic occurs here. With the summer seemingly behind us, the gardeners here had clearly kept it a secret from the dahlias, pelargoniums, rudbeckias and ricinus plants which all stood as tall and bright as though it were a sunny day in late June - looking all the prouder for not caring that it wasn't. Whatever the trick is, it has seemingly been steadily honed over a great length of time: old photographs placed at particularly scenic points in the garden show moustached gardeners stood before the very same flowerbeds, virtually identical in appearance.
                As the garden finally descends to its lowest point the pathways are replaced by wide lawns, and the plants of these borders tumble across them - traditional, romantic choices such as hollyhocks and Japanese anemones in pinks and pale yellows. To reach these pretty squares, however, one must pass through one of the most enjoyable parts of the garden. The moustached gardeners clearly had flair for fruit-growing, creating two avenues of apple and pear trees. Their rounded forms would be charming enough, with every lichen-encrusted branch curling at its tip and revealing decades of loving pruning. However each tree is also underplanted with circles of herbs which adds further interest, splashes of colour right along the path and something marvellous which I have never seen before.

                A gentle fountain marks the end of the formal horticulture, but not the end of the garden. Ascending from the lawns into wilder banks of mature trees and shrubs, and the season's first sprays of cyclamen flowers, the pathway finishes upon a large pond. Walking along this winding stretch, the view of the castle and its many terraces (another visitor has titled it Wales' very own Hanging Gardens) naturally draws the eyes back westwards. It is, then, all too easy to pass by the quiet corner on the other side of the path which holds my favourite part of the garden: the plunge pool.

                A small sign adjacent to the pool explains that eighteenth century thinking upheld bathing as beneficial to one's health, and a bath placed out in the fresh air with beautiful views as beneficial to one's soul. Stood in the shade of the rhododendrons and charmed by the old stonework covered in moss and hart's tongue ferns, I felt it unnecessary of the sign's writer to limit the description of an obvious truth to a mere philosophy (and an apparently dated one at that)!
                Baths are one of my deepest pleasures, and the regularity with which I can be found in one has caused plentiful amusement amongst my friends. They shall certainly be my secret weapon against back and knee weariness as I continue gardening. I cannot enthuse strongly enough how much I desire to replicate this beautiful pool in my own garden one day. It marks the last in a fabulous array of wonders found at Powis Castle, a bastion of colour and vitality against the grey September skies. It does, quite naturally, raise the question as to what else can be found here in spring and summer!
I very much intend to return and to find the answer.

Albizia julibrissin.

As I walked out of Hyde Hall, I noticed a tree in the Dry Garden which for most of the year has truly appeared lifeless. Not only have its bare branches come into full leaf, but otherworldly flowers now cover it too.
       The leaves really are fantastic - ferny frondy things in lush green, although I gather a 'Summer Chocolate' cultivar has elegant bronze-coloured foliage. The flowers, wispy little pink fluffballs, give the impression that the tree - an albizia - is happily celebrating its apparent return to life.


Albizia julibrissin, "Silk Tree".
(Deciduous tree.)


Planting: Sow seeds in early autumn after collecting them from pods, soaking them in hot water and then leaving them to cool for a day.
Flowering: Late summer.
Aspect: South-facing and sheltered.
Hardiness: Not hardy to freezing point.


Notes:The albizia tree possesses an unusual habit of closing its leaves in rain and overnight. In Persian, it is thus called "night sleeper" (شب‌خسب or shabkhosb), and in Japanese it is known as nemunoki - "the sleeping tree".

A few final glances at Hyde Hall.

As he sets out upon adventure in The Lord of the Rings, Frodo Baggins draws mockery from his dear friends for endlessly looking over his shoulder, sighing and "muttering: 'Shall I ever look down into that valley again, I wonder,' and things like that." As I begin packing, it has occurred to me that there are certain views and delights of Hyde Hall that I have enjoyed a hundred times and shown my family & friends but never described on the blog. A little brief and a little late, but I thought I might make amends for that now.

Andy T's Aussie Border (or less informally, the Australia & New Zealand Garden created by Andy Tebbutt).
Anemanthele grass, white libertia, glorious eucalyptus trees - and best of all, tall blue-flowered Solanum laciniatum which appeared as weeds but being Australian were hastily added to the party's guestlist.

Amaryllis belladonna (left) and an Albizia tree (above) flower in the Dry Garden,
which naturally comes into its own during the burning heat of late summer.

Farewell to Hyde Hall.

                The first time I considered a career in gardening still seems so fresh in my memory, thus I can scarcely believe what I write next. I have finished my apprenticeship, and my time at Hyde Hall is at an end. For two years it has been my centre point, about which so much of my education, my thoughts and conversations have been - and no small measure of hard work. I have become familiar with its gardens and its toolsheds and its routines, and I have grown to care deeply for some of the people there. I'll miss it, and when I imagine new apprentices who'll work on and witness further chapters of Hyde Hall a flicker of envy shall pass across my face. Indeed, I cannot pretend I didn't try to stay a little longer. No one before me has made the leap from apprentice to horticulturist, yet I cannot fault my ambition - and the faces of those who have not appreciated me will serve as a reminder that there are aspects to Hyde Hall I shall not regret leaving behind.

                Endings are a time of sadness, but also a time of celebration. If I cannot believe I am leaving Hyde Hall, then words utterly fail to express my astonishment at the news I have passed my RHS Level II Theory exams with commendation. The staggering breadth of knowledge that I needed to retain truly dwarfed anything I battled at degree level, something which many students far more brilliant than myself agreed unanimously. I had to check with at least two sources before I believed the good news, and claim with utmost sincerity that this was a miracle of God.
As for the successful completion of the apprenticeship beyond the classroom - the two years of blood, sweat, and raindrops in the garden - I am rather proud of an engraved trowel from the RHS stating I've made it through. It's not quite a sword to put over the mantelpiece, but a lovely touch.


Somewhere a door is opening. I must lift my head and turn my eyes toward a new horizon. I wonder what it shall bring.

Trees in London.

I'm always thrilled to pass through London - I love the buildings, the parks and the museums, even the underground. Not every day of my life has been a Richard Curtis film but I certainly do experience that feel-good sensation walking through the capital. However, it encourages one of my worst habits: 'people watching'. A perfectly innocent pastime, and an understandable one given the fabulous array of cultures and jobs and individual faces you see there. However, when someone does notice me pondering their business or admiring their hat before I can look away, it does occur to me that my intentions need only be misinterpreted once for a black eye or a police caution. This week I thus resolved to channel my gaze toward another marvel of London.

The city's history of encouraging tree planting and park creation has made for a very leafy present day. In the last minute or so I've learnt that the oldest plane trees here date back to 1789, and I'm very tempted to spend my Saturday looking more deeply into all of this! Indeed there are actually walks designed to take a visitor past some of London's most glorious giants. However, I just thought I would take a few photos of some of the loveliest trees lining my way as I walked from the business district to Euston railway station.