While standing in my kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil I see Hidcote Manor is now appearing this month on my calendar of English Gardens. As far as Hidcote is from my home in Kiribati, both geographically and climatically, and in every possible way different, my visit there last year is very clear in my mind. I and a friend called in on our way back from the national poultry championship in Warwickshire. Now there is a day out - if you happen to be in Warwickshire that is. There they all were in their magnificent finery, from the Lincolnshire Buffs to the very proud and highly-decorated Rumpless Cock; each and every bird groomed to within an inch of its manicured talons.
Hidcote is close to that other regular on English calendars, Chipping Camden, a classic display of what the Cotswolds does best; ancient lop-sided inns, 17th century market halls, bow-fronted tea shops, and more examples of the manicurist’s work, the exquisite thatch roofs and garden topiary.
Lawrence Johnston, when he designed and planted the garden was very much in tune with the current style of the arts and crafts garden. The garden is one of the finest examples in Britain of the use of garden ‘rooms’. Finely clipped hedges of holly, hornbean, beech and yew separate the rooms, each with their individual planting scheme, patterns and design emphasis.
At another time views across the Vale of Evesham would be enjoyed, but for us it was a darker, quieter, almost eerie walk through the garden as the November afternoon closed in and long shadows moved across the garden. Twinkling lights twisted through the shrubbery added to the ethereal beauty of the garden. The tiny lights combined with the berberis berries and rose hips provided a reminder that Christmas was not too far away.
We nearly didn’t have Johnston’s completed work at Hidcote to enjoy, as a story is told that after he was injured while fighting in the First World War he was laid out ready for burial. It appears he moved an arm, or perhaps flickered an eyelid just in time for his comrades to realise it was not time, just yet, to send off the telegram.
