Rye

From Derek Jarman's garden we continued on along the coast. My old Baedeker guide recommended a stop at the medieval town of Rye. When travelling I still prefer a good book for general judgement and recommendations where to go; it is also safer for areas without wifi  and no stable telephone network. A web guide can beef up basic information with opening times and pictures etc. 

 Landgate Arch (from 1329)

Picturesque Rye was certainly worth a visit. It is a pretty medieval town at the confluence of three rivers into the channel. Its harbour has been used since Roman times but has silted up over centuries. 

The main attraction is its historic centre along Mermaid Street.

Judging from the street signs and names of houses, the Rye people have an unsual sense of humour ...

 Any dogs out there who pay American Express ?

Dungeness

Dungeness with Crambe maritima (Meerkohl) on the beach

On our garden tour from Kent through Sussex we took the coastal road to Dungeness, a long-stretched street village on the pebbled shore, with houses on one side of the road only, all facing out to the sea. 

The pebble beach at Dungeness - imagine gulls' cries and a stiff loud steady wind.

We came to see Derek Jarman's garden, an open plot, quite on the beach. Although he died over twenty years ago, his garden is still looked after. It incorporates plants seen everywhere on the coast which seem to naturally grow in this difficult position with salty winds and shifting ground. I liked the extravagant leaves and flowers of Meerkohl (Crambe maritima) and lots of different Centranthus  with swathes of Escholzia poppies. He seems to have called in the natural vegetation of this coastal area to find shelter and a happy community there and arrange themselves in pleasing images on his plot. The best gardens are those that look "natural" and "easy" ...  Or is it the other way around and the plants on his plot have decided to move out and multiply to brighten up the vast lonely windswept areas outside of his garden? 

Derek Jarman's garden. In the background you can see the Dungeness Nuclear Power Station. 

Centranthus and poppies

the back side

Centranthus and Crambe on the beach - the French coast is visible in the distance

From there, we continued on to Rye (to be cont'd).

Impressions from Great Dixter

The famous garden at Great Dixter was developed and cared for by Christopher Lloyd and, before him, his parents. It is a beautiful, vivacious, treasure-packed garden, crammed with beauties and rare specimens, collected by expert plant lovers. From reading Christopher Lloyd's books, one could envision a garden full of unconventional ideas, experiments and strong opinions, well thought through, but not very mainstream; open and welcoming, not intimidating, not orderly, not built to impress but to please, and also to teach generations of gardeners, exuberantly life-hugging and continuing to thrive even after Lloyd's death ten years ago. The garden surrounds and embraces the old house with its crooked gables and uneven roof and windows. 
These are impressions from our walk through the garden.

Structure is obtained with wall-forming hedges or redbrick walls of various buildings, hardly ever at straight angles. The old oasthouses with their white tips form a splendid backdrop to many inspiring vistas. 

The entrance to the house. The great hall on the ground floor spans the whole width of the house. The garden encroaching on the house can be seen from every window combining inside and out. 


Colour combinations are often surprising - at this time of year, many poppies show up throughout the garden.

The Long Border

Astrantia and Clematis

The Peacock Topiary Garden

Aquilegia chrysantha "Yellow Queen" in front of Hedera helix "Buttercup" 

the Sunk Garden and Lily Pond

 the Horse Pond

 a meadow full of orchids

They have a well-stocked enticing nursery and plant shop  ....

The Dover Cliffs

Last week I returned to Dover, exploring and reliving a bit of personal history from forty years ago. That was the time when every English hotel had weekly fire drills, made necessary  by old creaky wooden staircases, carpeted, too narrow, too steep and too winding. A siren would sound and people had to get out of their rooms and assemble in some designated area - but this time it was unannounced and real! 
I had stayed behind,  alone in my hotel room reading, possibly a bit sick after a rough channel crossing which was before the time of the channel tunnel.  My family had gone out to explore, it was our first day on the English coast on the way to Somerset and the Exmoor. Someone knocked at the door, I opened, a waiter was standing there bringing in a burnt smell. He asked me to leave my room, so I followed him down the emergency stairs - the staircase was slighty smelling of smoke, but nothing  too serious.   He took me down to the entrance hall, I had nothing else to do and wandered off; the others from my family were out, so I did not think to stay in front of a burning hotel with strangers – I had only had a year of English language tuition then and did not want to try that out - and all the ruckus with fire engines , rolling up hoses etc. I would not want to stand in the way. Which makes me think that I would never have become a good paparazzi photographer; it is the least pleasant aspect of the profession.  

I took a walk along the cliffs and down to the harbour...  after a while, it occurred to me, that I should return to check what was happening.  The hotel looked pretty normal and inhabitable, the fire had obviously been put out, so I went back in, only to be overwhelmed by a crowd of people among them my crying clamouring mother who was clearly distraught and under the impression I had perished in the fire, inspite of the insistence of the hotel staff that they had fetched me and  had rechecked all rooms   - I still hear her “But she might be in the bathroom!  She is only ten!” ( … I was twelve, ….) … Having grown-up children now, I can fully comprehend what horror she must have felt. Apparently the firemen, after putting out a small chimney fire, aired the hotel through the windows, so that dark smoke was billowing out through windows on our floor when my parents and sisters returned. I did not see any of that, but from my mother’s reaction, it must have been pretty bad. My behaviour was rather inconsiderate and they were quite angry with me, for having totally forgotten to inform them of my whereabouts . But that was long before the time of mobile phones.   –  My father was relaxed though; at least someone knew me - he was convinced I had gone for a walk. 

So, now I was curious to go back in time and retrieve some memories: forty years later, taking an undisturbed walk along the cliffs which I had retained in good memory, this time together with my grown-up daughter. 

 Dover Harbour in the background

Dover Castle

happy and undisturbed on the island

Es grünt so grün ...

 a steep walk down

 from below

 The Bay at St Margaret's at Cliffe

 all pebbles

South Foreland Lighthouse at St. Margaret's at Cliffe

an orchid - Dactylorhiza spec. 

From Dover, we continued along the coast and on to Great Dixter and other famous gardens on our way to London.. (to be cont'd)