THE list of plants reads like that from an established country garden: phlox, hollyhocks, delphiniums, lupins, poppies, asters and dahlias, with broad beans in the vegetable beds, pots of strawberries and apples to pick. This is only a snapshot of the brimming beds and borders that fill this private garden in Hampstead, north London, which was planted in the autumn of 2019 and, only two years later, is humming with honeybees.
When Rebecca Glassberg moved here in 2017 with her husband and their young family, the garden had been mostly laid to the terrace for entertaining outdoors, but she had a very different vision for the red-brick Arts-and crafts house, which dates from 1910. ‘I wanted something with more color and more plants and to feel the seasons changing,’ says Mrs Glassberg. ‘I like to see a garden overflow with plants—that kind of Sissinghurst madness —so it all looks unplanned and busy.’
This it most certainly is. First impressions are of massed color and cottagey beds brimming with flowers jostling for attention. In the corner behind the dining table, water trickles from a simple fountain. In all, the garden measures only 65ft by 65ft, but it is so full that it feels much bigger. The overall effect is one of simple abundance, of great armfuls of white ‘Iceberg’ roses, together with rambling, repeat-flowering ‘Malvern Hills’ roses tumbling from their cast-iron supports and paths edged with catmint and berries ripening in the strawberry pots.
This story is from the October 06, 2021 edition of Country Life UK.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber ? Sign In
This story is from the October 06, 2021 edition of Country Life UK.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
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.