Gardening - the English passion

One of the differences between the French in the Dordogne and the English -whether in the Dordogne or elsewhere - is the attitude to gardens.  We were always amazed by the way in which newly-constructed pavillons remained surrounded by a desolate waste of land, edged with chainlink fencing: the new owners seemed to have no interest in cultivating the outside space.  When it occurred, gardening appeared to take one of two forms: either the cultivation of vegetables in immaculate plots, or the establishment of what was known as a parc - this being an expanse of grass with a series of specimen trees or shrubs dotted at intervals, without relation to each other.  The influence of Gertrude Jekyll - let alone Alan Titchmarsh - has not extended to Périgord.

In England, on the other hand - and I make a distinction between the English and the Scottish, Welsh and Irish - gardening is a passion that stretches across all classes and regions.  Nowhere is this more evident than at Wisley, the gardens of the Royal Horticultural Society, which I had occasion to visit today.  Admittedly Wisley is in the commuter belt of London, surrounded by the well-heeled.  But on a Friday morning at 11 am the car park was packed.  The entrance to the gardens, seen in the picture above, reminded me of Vietnamese temples we have visited - and in some ways the worship of the garden has taken over from other established forms of religion.  It has the advantages of blending nature with consumerism and - above all - avoiding any reference to God.  The closest you would get would be a statue of Buddha or some wind-chimes.

In Hastings we are about to embark on Old Town Week, which has a wide variety of events to cater for every taste.  Among them are a number of gardens that are opened to the public.  Hundreds of interested people will wander through these miniature Edens, making mental notes and returning to their own plots to make improvements.  The French in the Dordogne still live in the shadow of their country past, when ordinary gardens were places to grow food, rather than what are referred to as jardins d'agrément.  The English, on the other hand, largely buy their food in packages from supermarkets, and their gardens are small works of art, little temples to a nature that they have largely lost touch with.  As so often happens with comparisons between the two cultures, one is neither better nor worse than the other: they are simply diverse.  But I confess that my English side revels in this profusion of plants.  Our own garden is so tiny that a pocket handkerchief would seem vast by comparison.  But we are doing our best to make it a little Eden - pictures in due course!

Antony Mair