Outfit used
2007 Swift Charisma 624 towed with 2007 Mitsubishi Shogun Elegance
Have you ever noticed that when you go back to an area you haven't visited since you were a child, everything seems smaller? As the towing mirrors of my new Mitsubishi Shogun clipped the hedgerows on either side of the roadway, I wondered whether the lanes I was negotiating had shrunk. Narrow lanes flanked by tall hedges are as much part of south-east Cornwall as coves and fishing villages. The area has seen a lot of change in the years since I last visited, but it has retained its character.
I was heading for the caravan site at Treveague Farm near Gorran Haven. This site is a real treat, being near the peninsula of Dodman Point it has fantastic sea views. But there's more to Cornwall. The mild climate and fertile soil have spawned spectacular, sometimes exotic gardens within a 30-mile area. You'd be hard-pressed to find a greater concentration of horticultural achievement.
After a good night's rest in the Charisma,
I was ready to explore one of the most famous, the Lost Gardens of Heligan. But they were
a doddle to find. I didn't understand how anyone could lose a garden.
Behind the Lost Gardens lies an intriguing story, and it is this story as much as the exotic plants that draws people here. At the end of the 19th century, the 1000-acre Tremayne family estate of Heligan was at its most opulent. But a few years into the 20th, it fell into neglect and was lost to the world. Many of the estate's gardeners enlisted to serve during World War I and few returned. The house became a convalescence hospital for shell-shocked officers. Over the ensuing years the house was periodically tenanted out until death duties forced its sale in the 1970s.
Although the house was sold, the Tremayne family retained ownership of the gardens, which were overgrown during the ensuing decades. In 1990, when Tremayne descendant John Willis inherited the gardens, he, Tim Smit and John Nelson began to hack their way through the jungle of growth. They discovered a tiny room buried by fallen masonry in what was once a walled garden. On the whitewashed walls in barely legible pencil was a motto: "Don't come here to sleep or to slumber." The words were accompanied by the names of those who worked in the gardens under a date, August 1914. By some of the names, 'enlisted' was written. It was this poignant discovery that inspired the trio to restore the gardens to their former glory.
I was given a map at the entrance; I needed it. The gardens stretch over 200 acres, and you could get lost. I followed it to the Melon Yard. There, on the whitewashed wall of the 'thunderbox', you can still see the scribbled words. I hadn't expected the words that had reached across the generations to inspire such a massive project to be written on a toilet wall.
The Heligan story is not just about the men who shaped the gardens. Each plant, each tree and building had its part to play. The large-leafed rhododendron Sino Grande, near the entrance to the gardens, was brought back to Britain in 1912 by a George Forrest, who was
a botanical Indiana Jones. One tale involved his party's being attacked by lamas (warrior priests) in the Salween Valley, in China's Yunnan Province, near the Tibetan border. Twenty-five men in his party were killed and ten women committed suicide by jumping into the Mekong River rather than be captured. Forrest escaped and evaded capture by hiding in the forest and river valleys of the area. The indigenous Lissu people helped him escape the area disguised as a Tibetan. He gave himself little time for recovery, before joining his friend George Litton from the British Consulate in another hunt for new and exotic plants. As a member of the public read the plaque recounting Forrest's adventures, she told her family: "I just go down to the garden centre to get my seeds."
There are all sorts of secluded corners in
the garden. My favourite was the northern summerhouse. Dating from 1770, it is the oldest building in the garden, with a floor made of pebbles and red brick. I wondered how many romantic assignations it witnessed.
Elsewhere, I found a similar summerhouse, built in Italian style. On the wall is a picture of
a squire sitting in the summerhouse, enjoying its peace and tranquillity. There is a sense that the gentleman in the picture has just left his deckchair and will be back at any minute.
The jungle area of the garden, as you would imagine from its name, is full of exotic plants from far-off places. There is even a rope bridge you can cross to experience some of the thrill of being an explorer. There is a massive monkey-puzzle tree. The name has always puzzled me, but apparently, when it was first introduced to Britain, a gentleman looked at the tree's squiggly branches and exclaimed: "It would puzzle a monkey to climb that."
Heligan is haunted by the past, but not in
a scary way. You get the feeling that ghosts may be walking the gardens' paths. If so, they look on approvingly to see their original creation restored to its former glory. In a way the garden is a testament to that previous generation of gardeners. To do Heligan justice you should really spend a full day there.
Cornwall is not only home to great historic gardens; after his success at Heligan, Tim Smit set about creating the Eden Project in an abandoned china-clay pit. After another good night's sleep on the Swift's fixed bed, I set off to find Eden. I was amazed at how big the place is. There are umpteen car parks and, rather like airport parking, there is a shuttle bus that will take you to the entrance. One man visited the site with his caravan in tow. He just pulled up with some motorhomes in the coach-park. Wherever you park, make a note of your location or you won't find it after your visit.
|
