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a new venture in textiles conceived by Lucy Goffin and Barbara Kennington.
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Yesterday I visited this very special place. Marchants Hardy Plants. A birthday treat. I'd wanted to see this garden and nursery ever since Carol Klein's fabulous Channel 5 show; Great British Gardens.

I remembered her interviews through all the seasons with the owner,  Graham Gough, really speaking to the heart and soul of the Gardener. Both the one talking, and the viewer. 

As Graham welcomed us on the viewing mound, his gentle bass voice spoke of the 25 year journey here, and his love affair with the garden. I was reminded of how he'd talked about "painting with plants" to create a beautiful and immersive blend of grasses and perennials. 

Yesterday the garden was just past its autumn peak, which was exactly where the TV programme had begun. And I remember how he'd reflected on  the melancholy of this season - seeming  connected to his soul. And later, with moving candour,  how he'd suffered from Depression as a young man, and how the garden here had saved him. 

I know exactly what he means. The garden for me is like a metronome - its seasonal rhythm and tempo keeping me moving and working and sane, in spite of whatever goes on outside it.

Carol rightly identified not just his immense knowledge and skill as a plantsman - his capability,  but also his groundedness, sensitivity and honesty. And a complete absence of pretension.

For a time he'd been a professional musician - a singer, and he'd talked about mirroring musical counterpoint - by weaving the threads of plants and structures through the garden. As he spoke, a soundtrack of the different harmonies of Pachelbel's Canon in turn were weaving and dancing around each other.

There's structure in mown paths,  very special specimen trees, curving fences and beech hedges. These latter two undulate in an echo of the distant South Downland borrowed landscape. And in particular I was struck by the hedge around the Eye Bed - a stunning curve of a bass clef.

Graham had seen the paths as the staves - 🎼 -  between which the planting was written. Gardening without words. And as he spoke to us, his arms waving on the mound, gave him more than just a passing resemblance to the Conducter. 

cont'd below...
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