Tintern Philosophy Circle Event 2005. Ray Billington and Hatti Pegram.© Charles Hawes

Financial Times 1998

The Visitor Species by Anne Wareham

Opening your garden to the public is a bit like holding a party. You invite lots of people that you would really love to spend some time with but you end up rushing round being so busy that you only ever get to say hello and then goodbye. Though you do get glimpses of them having animated conversations and long to know what they're talking about.

It's also like a party in that it involves a lot of housework. If the County Organiser (the person from the National Garden Scheme who organises), is trying to persuade you to open your garden, do bear in mind that it helps enormously if you really enjoy clearing up and tidying, because I think you really do have to do it. Some people brave it out, saying that their garden is basically for the family and should be seen in that light, but most of us feel terribly inadequate and hope that perhaps people won't notice the planting plans that didn't quite work, and that the star plant is over/dead/covered in greenfly, if at least the garden is tidy.

Mulching is a good trick, hiding a multitude of sins, and even disappearing the weeds if you pile it on heavily enough, but we have now invested in a vacuum cleaner. I cannot quite credit that we hoover the garden, but there it is. We do. Or at least we hoover the paths. And they even look better for it, which is worse, because I've had to stop being rude about people who do outdoor housework. I draw the line at doing teas, though. That is a party too far.You do inevitably hope that people will come and say nice things about the garden, especially about whatever it was that you did last. When you've just finished building the pergola and can't stop admiring it from every different angle, it's hard to bear in mind that other people may be more interested in the rose that you've had for years.

And it does seem to be the plants people come to see. I think for most people gardens are plant catwalks, where they come to see what their garden might like to be wearing next season. We have a tendency to stick our necks out and make startling objects for our focal points, as garden centre ornaments don't appeal very much. Our objects have the curious habit of becoming invisible when people visit. Visitors will walk right past a brightly coloured wooden parrot, or an enamel fish, and they clearly cannot see them. It is possible that it is because the parrots and fish are so embarrassingly awful, but we get quite a lot of visitors and you might think that there might be some with the same gruesome bad taste as ourselves. But it may just be that that they only see the plants.

The other thing you need to be good at when you open your garden, besides housework, is orienteering. Visitors come to me trying to explain the whereabouts of this wonderful plant that they saw and must have and what is it and where can they get it, and it's just the same as when I get lost and ask for directions. As they painfully describe the topography I find myself glazing over and losing all track of what they're saying. So then we have to go and play hunt the plant, which is not as straight forward as it sounds, as the visitor cannot always remember where it was. And the finding can be embarrassing - one gentleman explained to me that he had never seen anything like this before, and from his description it did sound a truly amazing plant. It turned out to be a geum growing out of a lavender, a result of my chaotic planting not my plant sourcing.

Tintern Phiosophy Circle Event 2005 .© Charles Hawes

But at least the visitor hunting for a plant has managed to find the garden. We had a great deal of trouble when we first opened with the village delinquents turning our signs round and dispatching our prospective customers off on a frantic tour of our wonderful countryside. We now have chains and padlocks on our signs, and putting them out is a major chore. Very frustrating, too, to go to collect them and find you've forgotten to bring the keys.

It seems to be a universal custom, for some reason which is beyond me, to charge less for children. This amazes me. Adult visitors do not usually climb on statues, wander about hitting things randomly with a big stick, or prodding the cat with the said big stick. They don't tend to rearrange the plumbing for your fountain so that the water comes out at funny angles. We keep wondering about charging £10 admittance for children, or asking that they be muzzled and kept on a lead at all times.

For all this, there are great compensations. I have never stopped feeling delighted to see people walking round our garden, looking, pointing and having earnest conversations. Sometimes someone will sit on one of our many seats in silent contemplation for so long that after everyone has gone I have to go and sit in the same place to find out what they were seeing. Perhaps they weren't actually seeing anything. It's clear that many people simply enjoy being in a peaceful green place, having a rest, and that for others it's a place to go with a friend and catch up on the gossip. (I haven't yet spotted anyone having a row in our garden, but from personal experience I can recommend Hidcote as a background for a major spat.)It's good to see the garden being used so much, when mostly it's being relentlessly made.

It can be odd overhearing conversations. When someone remarked to their friend that "they are very fond of hostas" it was disconcerting to realise they meant me. And the man who stomped out muttering that it "was a total rip off" put me off opening in September for a long time. But occasionally there are wonderful moments, compliments you know are sincere because they were not addressed to you and you weren't supposed to hear them. And that compensates for the times when you put up the signs in the pouring rain and nobody comes.

Published in the Financial Times June 7th 1998

Tintern Philosophy Circle Event 2005.© Charles Hawes