Author: PETER

Gardener, writer, stage manager of the soil. I plant with intent, prune with prejudice, and believe a border should whisper, argue, and occasionally scandalise. Roses, ferns, and fools welcome.

POGLE’S WOOD: THE REWILDING OF A LEGEND

On By PETERIn DESIGN & NARRATIVE, GARDEN JOURNAL, HISTORY & MEMORY, PHILOSOPHY OF THE GARDENLeave a comment

A deeply personal reflection on childhood belief, memory, and the quiet rewilding of a lost garden space known as Pogle’s Wood.

When I was young, everything was black and white — except the Wellingtons were red.

Black-and-white still from Pogle’s Wood showing Mr and Mrs Pogle, Pippin, and Tog outside their tree home with tea set.
Mr and Mrs Pogle, Pippin, and Tog outside their woodland home. Image reproduced with kind permission. © Dragons Friendly Society.

Skipper was a fox terrier, and I belonged to him. If either of us got a biscuit, we ran to a secluded part of the garden and shared it. It was a quiet pact between species, unspoken but absolute.

I was small, and young, and I could read and write, though badly. But I could listen. And I did — every day — with ‘Listen With Mother’ on the wireless: “Now children, march around the room like little soldiers,” and we did, obedient to the voice from the box. Later came ‘Watch With Mother’—before 4pm, always on the old rental black and white television. And one programme in particular held me entirely: The Pogles. Later renamed Pogle’s Wood.

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FAREWELL TO THE IRIS BORDER: A FINAL LOOK BEFORE THE TRANSFORMATION INTO THE BENTON BORDER

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The Border as It Stands

Here it is, in full—May 2025, in a blaze of purple, mauve, acid yellow, and soft steel.

View of the Iris Border in full bloom with Allium Gladiator and bearded irises in May 2025.

The back is lined with dark tulips (Queen of Night, still clinging on), and the stone wall gives it a whiff of a Roman ruin. There’s something restrained, almost architectural, about this year’s display. A final nod to its original formal intention before we let it get a little looser, a little loucher.

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DESIGNING A SHADE GARDEN BORDER: HOSTAS, FERNS & STUMPERY STRUCTURE IN A NORTH-FACING WOODLAND SPACE

On By PETERIn BORDERS & BEDS, DESIGN & NARRATIVE, GARDEN JOURNAL, PHILOSOPHY OF THE GARDENLeave a comment
The Great North Border viewed from the lower slope, with stone walls, obelisks, and developing planting along the path.

A planting philosophy for the cloistered summit of the Great North Border: structure, shadow, and the poetry of repetition.

There is a hush at the top of the Great North Border.

Down below, roses rise and shout, clematis jostles for grandeur, and paths wind between drama and delight. But up here—up here—something older stirs. The light is green. The ground is dark. And everything is listening.

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GERTRUDE JEKYLL ROSE IN FLOWER: A SCENTED START TO THE SEASON

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Rosa ‘Gertrude Jekyll’ bloom just beginning to open, showing rich pink petals in early light.

It was only a matter of time.

Rosa ‘Gertrude Jekyll’ has opened her first blooms here in the garden, and with them, the curtain rises on what promises to be a thoroughly operatic performance.

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PLANTING ROSA ‘ROSERAIE DE L’HAŸ’: A DRAMATIC ARRIVAL FOR A RUGOSA ROSE

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Rosa ‘Roseraie de l’Haÿ’ in her pot, unwrapped with visible nursery tag

Rosa ‘Roseraie de l’Haÿ’ arrived not with grace, but with grandeur.

Unboxed beneath a rare Aberdeenshire sun, she emerged from her cardboard carriage with the slow disdain of someone well aware of her own myth. Known here simply as Elektra, one word suffices, but her full name commands respect. One bloom. One warning.

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THE PEACE LILY FROM TESCO THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING: EVELYN’S STORY

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Peace lily in a white ceramic pot, standing upright with dark green leaves and a white bloom.

She came from Tesco.

Not a garden centre.
Not an emporium of scented promises and curated moss.
Tesco—between discounted daffodils and a shelf of limp parsley.
Wrapped in silence, in cellophane, in clearance.
She sat in a white ceramic pot. Once £12, now £9.

No one looked twice.
But we did.

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FIXING A WATER BUTT HOSE: THE TALE OF BARRY, TWINE, AND TRIUMPH

On By PETERIn CHARACTERS & COMPANIONS, DESIGN & NARRATIVE, GARDEN JOURNAL, PHILOSOPHY OF THE GARDEN, SEASONAL NOTESLeave a comment
Front view of black water butt connected to a greenhouse, showing the outlet tap and full body profile.

We regret to inform readers that Barry’s initial performance was, by his own admission, a little underwhelming. The connection hose—thin, brittle, barely up to the task — was cruelly split by a jubilee clip in what can only be described as a tragic act of early optimism. Emergency measures were taken: twine was applied, muttered apologies exchanged, dignity somewhat preserved.

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SHADE GARDEN DESIGN: ACT II OF “MY NAME IS RED” WITH ROSA ROSERAIE DE L’HAŸ AND RHEUM TANGUTICUM

On By PETERIn BORDERS & BEDS, CHARACTERS & COMPANIONS, DESIGN & NARRATIVE, PHILOSOPHY OF THE GARDEN3 Comments
A freshly mulched garden border beneath a weathered stone wall, with a young tree on the right.

If Act I of My Name is Red was the border in its prime—bold, declarative, and upright with conviction—then Act II is the hinge between certainty and doubt. This is not a collapse, but a complication. Not an ending, but a reckoning. And like any good second act, it enters not with a shout, but with a shift—music that leans, tilts, sways. The cello opens the curtain this time, not in triumph but in tension: a low thrum of Piazzolla’s ‘Libertango’, not yet reaching its climax, but already circling something unresolved.

It’s worth noting that ‘Libertango’ is more than just ambience. It is also the melodic seed of Grace Jones’s “I’ve Seen That Face Before”—a song of confrontation, disguise, and memory. Here, too, it becomes a leitmotif. A tango between Rheum and Rose. A dialogue without resolution. And like the border, it asks questions but offers no easy answers.

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MY NAME IS RED: ACTS I & III — MIRROR AND ECHO

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Close-up of pink blossoms on Malus ‘Laura’ against spring foliage.

A garden border as a stage—divided not by theme, but by tone. This post introduces Acts I and III of ‘My Name is Red,’ a narrative planting with theatrical intent and emotional depth.

This is not a linear telling. (But then again, what gardener ever planted anything in a straight line—narratively or otherwise?)

The border does not begin at one end and finish at the other—it breathes in three acts, each with its own rhythm, palette, and emotional register. This post introduces the two outer chambers of that unfolding structure: Act I, the entrance, formal and upright; and Act III, the close, shaded and solemn.

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MY NAME IS RED: DESIGNING A GARDEN BORDER AS LIVING NARRATIVE

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Prologue: The Broken Border

An overgrown compost heap and toppled archway with a weathered football nestled in weeds below a stone wall.

Every garden has its secret shame. Here, it was the back border — the stretch beneath the old stone wall that separates us from the local primary school. A wilderness, really. Brambles. A compost heap verging on sentience. Turf stacked like a geological layer. Even a football. Watching me. Always watching.

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