WHEN he’s not posting portraits of his beloved bantams or the glorious abundance of jewel-coloured, wildlife-attracting annuals, half-hardies and bulbs that he grows in metal troughs and dolly tubs at home in a tiny courtyard in Hucknall, Nottinghamshire, Arthur Parkinson treats his 19,000 Instagram followers to selfies wearing a head-dress he has made from hydrangeas or giant dahlias, or clutching a hen.
His posts are accompanied by captions that are full of information and engaging opinions about gardening for wildlife (hens included—they’re very good at weeding between paving cracks). Last year, an appearance on BBC Gardeners’ World whetted his appetite for presenting and, this year, he will, hopefully, be making his first garden for the RHS Hampton Court Flower Show, postponed to September from July. The stage is set for Mr Parkinson to step into the limelight.
‘Arthur has a seam of spectacular flamboyance, which I absolutely adore,’ says the flower grower Sarah Raven, with whom he works on a regular basis. He’s not only a handsome face, however, but a talented gardener, too: ‘He is an intensely creative person and has a genius for making a flower border feel as rich and intense and integrated as any arrangement in a vase,’ says Miss Raven. ‘It’s an exceptionally difficult skill, which is a product of great instinctive understanding, with a lot of hard work and knowledge of how plants behave.’
We meet on a bleak winter’s day at Perch Hill in East Sussex, Miss Raven’s home and business hub, as Mr Parkinson is here to help with a photoshoot.
Denne historien er fra April 22, 2020-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra April 22, 2020-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent? Logg på
Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.
