AN invitation to dine offered an opportunity to renew acquaintance with an old garden - or what might be left of it. The new occupants of the place are Dutch, with some Italian ancestry, a cosmopolitan couple who move around the world with perfect ease. I have known their new home for a very long time and the garden there has made an early impression ever before I thought of taking a spade into my own hands.
There had been a garden there from medieval times at least, and the 18th-century house which replaced the tower house - a corner of the Pale at one stage - nestled within plantings of old chestnut, ash, beech and poplar. A poet had described it as "a garden where even the spring is old", where "plum trees hold the walls erect and ivy holds the stones intact". In my youth it always seemed a busy place, lines of vegetables and rows of fruit bushes engendered diligent industry while nearer the house flowers, perennials and annuals and an array of shrubs provided colour and foliage. There was nothing especially studied about it, yet all seemed right and pleasing with an atmosphere of venerable ease.
There I first met a selection of old roses: the striped Rosa mundi and the white Jacobite rose Rosa alba maxima There were all sorts of period pieces not much seen in modern gardens such as the 12-foot Holodiscus discolor with graceful arching stems and creamy white plumes resembling the flowers of an astilbe. In July, it spilled out in profusion in a relatively shaded corner at the back of the house.
Time has moved on since that distant memory: the old people died and were followed by a quick succession of gardeners and non-gardeners. Flocks of sheep swept up to the front door, grazing and browsing on everything within reach: there is nothing quite as good as hungry sheep to clear a place out and strip it bare. For a while, there was no-one to care and no-one with the energy to garden: more practical affairs took precedence.
It was a pleasure to go back again and to see how the continentals had arranged things.
Apart from the remaining old trees and larger shrubs which formed a decent background, I did not expect anything by way of garden. The attraction was the handsome old house, the company and the evening's entertainment.
But the first glimpse on turning in the gate set the scene. Instead of an unfocused view of grass bordered by shrubby greenery, the eye immediately settled on an obelisk of dark green trelliswork rising from a large Versailles box. Driving nearer, I could discern an elegantly draped, white-flowered clematis on the trellis. The obelisk sat on the centre of the lawn, in front of the house, lined up with the front door. Further out, two bigger wooden boxes liveried in dark green - again, inspired by those made for Louis XIV - held big standard oleanders. These marked the edges of the lawn recently rescued from sheep and now mown and neat as I had once seen it. At the end of the lawn, a seat was formally placed and flanking it and giving importance and scale to it were two more of the Versailles square tubs supporting trellised obelisks. This time the tubs were planted with a plain green ivy.
Back at the house this stylish formality continued, giving a hint of grandeur and dignity. Six bay trees trained as standards in boxes stood like foot men to welcome me. Those flanking the door being the tallest, the middle ones were slightly smaller and those on the end having shorter stems again. Like most sophisticated touches, it was a simple composition. To one side a wooden seat - like all the woodwork, painted dark green - was enclosed by moire tubs of clipped greenery. The whole thing was a knockout and gave a tremendously architectural structured air to the place.
There were firm points and features to draw the eye, to rest it and then to lead it on. Here was excitement and rhythm and form, set-off by grass and background trees. Here and there bits of the old garden - a line of box hedge, a clump of day lilies and a stand of bronze fennel were miraculously recovering, the weeds were being eradicated and new plants going in, but the real impression and tone were set by those large stage props which confirmed that garden-making must be about fun and a sense of adventure.
MANY of us could try something similar. A really well-made wooden box and nice trellis work or some standard bays, hollies, or Portuguese laurels may not be the cheapest things to buy, but then we do not mind splurging occasionally on a good coat, an expensive shirt or blouse. Clothing is one thing, plants are quite different. Why? They will give much longer pleasure. Most of us are just too mean to have a bit of style.