Almost as soon as I expressed an interest in gardening books, blog reader Margaret Powling recommended that I try The Laskett by Roy Strong. Thank goodness she did as otherwise I would probably never have come across this wonderful chronicle of how Strong and his wife, designer Julia Trevelyan Oman, created The Laskett, “the largest formal garden created in Britain since the war.” It has not only become one of my favourite gardening books – and probably the most inspirational of the ones I’ve read so far – but also one of my favourite books of 2012.
Part of what makes this book so incredibly fascinating are the plentiful photos included in it. It is wonderful to actually see the garden progress over the years, from the bare fields that were there in the mid-1970s when Strong and his wife purchased a very ordinary early Victorian house set on four acres in Herefordshire, to the established, rather eccentric garden of the early 2000s.
Another huge part of the book’s appeal is the level of detail Strong happily goes into. I loved how specific he was. I need details (the more minute the better) and Strong provides them, getting into the particulars about cost and labour. As a reader, it is very easy to win my affection: all you need do is disclose your finances to me. Works every time. As both Strong and his wife were devoted to a poorly paid field (the arts), The Laskett was created on a shoestring budget, with many cutting and plants donated from friends. It was fascinating (but also a tad frustrating) to read how many trees could be purchased in the 1970s for less than £20 and equally intriguing to find out just how little cash there was to work with, Strong having received a paltry salary at the V&A (where he was the first director without a private income). His portrait of 1970s, pre-Thatcher Britain is bleak and the creation of The Laskett, begun in the mid-1970s, was his escape from an ever-more worrying world that seemed on the brink of collapse:
I was fully conscious from the outset that The Laskett garden was a child of its time, the middle of the seventies. When I talk to groups I am about to escort around the garden I always evoke those years on the backcloth to the making of The Laskett garden. In front of me I often see nothing but a sea of bewildered faces, as though gardening was a world apart from reality. I remind them how in January 1974 I went to the Victoria & Albert Museum and began my directorship in the midst of the three-day week, with the miners on strike and the imminent collapse of the Heath government. My secretary and I sat and worked by candlelight, for government had decreed that the lights be turned off. This was the prelude to over five years of social turmoil until, after the so-called Winter of Discontent in 1979, a Conservative government under Margaret Thatcher came to power. Even then it was not until the middle of the eighties that anything remotely resembling stability and economic prosperity returned.
Strong writes so engagingly about the creation of the garden, sharing all number of personal stories about his inspiration and adventures while making it, that you can’t help but warm to him. I did finish the book a tad envious of his diverse circle of friends, many of whom are paid tribute to in the garden. He and Julia had such an amazing group of gardening-inclined friends and acquaintances to draw inspiration from. I started taking down names as I read, eager to learn more about these people if I could. Some are well-known (Cecil Beaton and Rosemary Verey, for instance) while others sounded vaguely normal but terribly fascinating (like George Clive), the kind of people who no doubt gain mentions in all sorts of books written by their friends but who will never be the focus of one themselves. The best thing about reading memoirs (which is essentially what this is) by interesting people is how many other interesting people they know and are able to ‘introduce’ you to.
I think Strong may have also inspired a passion in me for formal garden design, which, given the spaces I’m likely to have available in my city-dwelling lifetime, is inconvenient. Where am I going to have the chance to indulge a passion for topiary, or even the chance to create garden ‘rooms’? His passion for structure, for trees and hedges creating walls and canopies, was intoxicating:
Hedges to most people are a burden. To me they are a joy. If I had to simplify The Laskett garden I would indeed sweep away everything and leave just the hedges and topiary. They endow the garden with its romance and mystery, evidence too that garden is as much about placing human beings in space as are architecture and theatre design. It is not for nothing that I sometimes like to shock an audience by saying to them, ‘Remember, flowers are a sign of failure in a garden,’ a remark that is always guaranteed to produce a reaction.
Who needs flowers indeed! Me, I would have said before I read this, but Strong has converted me (except for my beloved blubs – I could never give those up).
I think what I loved most about The Laskett is how individual it is. Strong was inspired by others but this is identifiably his garden, telling his and Julia’s story. It may not gain the approval of professional garden designers, may not follow the ‘rules’ gardeners are supposed to abide by, but it is wonderfully them, from the garish paint choices to the unexpected (and abundant) statues. It chronicles episodes in Strong’s life, pays tribute to friends and family, and celebrates both his and Julia’s professional achievements. There’s a Shakespeare Monument, erected after Strong won the Shakespeare Prize from the FVS Foundation of Hamburg, the V&A Museum Temple (Strong spent 14 years there as director), the Nutcracker Garden (one of the ballets Julia designed for) and the Elizabeth Tudor Avenue (named in memory of a book Strong wrote about her, the proceeds from which helped finance the planting). The garden is truly Strong’s masterpiece:
The Laskett garden was never to me anything other than a work of art in the making, one that called for vision, the exercise of the eye, the application of taste, discipline, patience, craft and knowledge over a sustained period of time to conjure up an unforgettable experience through the time-honoured application of art to nature. It was always viewed with that higher vision in mind, one of a kind I learnt about through studying garden history. There I read that any great garden was not only an arrangement of plants and artifacts in terms of design and composition but also a tissue of allusions and ideas. In our case to wander in The Laskett garden was a journey of associations. On a superficial level the garden sets out to delight and surprise but, on a deeper one, for us the resonances have always been far more complex.
It took decades to develop the garden to the impressive state it was in when the book was published in 2003, restricted by time and money, but the garden is truly a reflection of the gardener, of Strong’s personality and influences. Every garden should be this unique, should have its own identity, complete with a memory and sense of humour. It is an art, garden designing, and really does offer you the scope for wit and whimsy, drama and tribute. But few, I think, recognize that and are truly able to make as much of their gardens as Strong.
