Some English Gardens — Background and Themes

Reading the Garden as a Composition

Jekyll approaches each garden with an eye for its underlying structure. At Campsey Ashe, she describes a garden that is 'somewhat bewildering' because 'traces of the older gardening constantly appear; but their original cohesion has been lost.' She notes how the moat 'ends suddenly at four points' and how garden-houses 'seem to have strayed into their places.' The effect is a place 'impossible to gather together or hold in a clear mental grasp, from the absence of general plan.' Yet she finds the garden 'not the less charming in detail.' This tension between lost order and present beauty recurs throughout the excerpts. Jekyll does not simply praise; she diagnoses. At Levens, she observes that clipped yews, originally cut as a thick hedge with a roof-like top, have grown into irregular rounded masses because of 'varying vigour' and 'continual clipping without reference to a fixed design.' The result: 'symmetry has been lost, the place has gained in pictorial value.'

The Role of Water and Boundaries

Water features appear repeatedly as defining elements. At Campsey Ashe, the moat is 'always an important feature' that now 'ends suddenly.' Jekyll notes a ferry-punt 'propelled by an endless rope, such as is commonly used in the fenlands,' and a raised walk 'some ten feet above' the moat, backed by an old yew hedge. The hedge's line is 'interrupted to give a view into the park, with a vista between groups of fine elms.' Boundaries—hedges, walls, moats—are not merely enclosures but part of the visual and experiential sequence. At another garden, she describes a 'broad walk opposite the house, on the further side of the moat,' with busts on column-shaped pedestals ranged along the hedge. The walk ends at 'a curious seat with a high carved back, that looks as if it had once formed part of an old ship or state barge.' Such details anchor the garden in a specific history of use and craftsmanship.

Plants as Characters, Not Just Decor

Jekyll gives plants distinct personalities. At Campsey Ashe, she singles out 'a grand pink Hollyhock of strong free habit, with the flowers of that best of all shapes—with wide, frilled outer petals and centres not too tightly packed.' The description is precise, almost botanical, but also aesthetic. She values 'good hardy flowers' that are 'everywhere in abundance.' In other passages, she notes orange lilies, larkspur, purple campanula, and Michaelmas daisies, often linking them to the season or the garden's character. The plants are not mere fillers; they contribute to the garden's 'pictorial value.' Jekyll's eye for colour and form is evident, but she also considers how plants interact with hardscape—the yew hedge, the old orangery, the box-edged beds. Her observations are grounded in practical knowledge: she knows which flowers thrive and how they shape a space.

The Puzzle of Historical Layers

Several gardens in the excerpts present a historical puzzle. At Campsey Ashe, Jekyll writes that 'it would be interesting work for some one with a knowledge of the garden design of the past three centuries in England to try to reconstruct the original plan.' She notes that 'the various remaining portions of the older work cannot be pieced together' on the ground, but suggests that if they 'were put on paper to proper scale, it might be possible to come to some general conclusions.' This is not a complaint but an invitation. Jekyll treats the garden as a palimpsest, where later additions and neglect have created a new kind of beauty. She mentions an old orangery that 'probably was in connexion with the scheme of the yew hedges' and whose presence 'might possibly throw some light on the mystery of the garden’s former planning.' The book thus becomes a record of both what is seen and what is inferred.

Jekyll's notes reward a slow reading, preferably with Elgood's illustrations at hand. The gardens are not presented as perfect examples but as living compositions shaped by time, weather, and human intervention. Readers interested in design principles will find sharp observations on structure and scale; those drawn to plants will appreciate her eye for individual flowers. The book is best approached as a series of essays, each illuminating a particular place and its particular challenges.

Jekyll and Elgood understood that a garden’s true character often emerges where the original plan has softened or slipped away. It’s rather like watching a seed catalogue’s promises dissolve into the honest quirks of a kitchen plot. Both books whisper the same fond secret: that age and neglect can be gentle editors. I keep The field and garden vegetables of America — A Closer Reading beside them now, a quiet companion to that same patient transformation.