A hot sunny morning, you would think it was June as trees have fresh leaves and the fields are coloured in a patchwork of brown to acid yellow and every shade of green, after heavy rain a couple of weeks’ ago. Row cover glints on a distant ridge, a reminder that the ground is still needing to warm up, and that’s not the only place that needs warming, the coach has hyper air conditioning. To the south flat fields gather below the ridgeway, but to the north is heavily wooded leading to Winfrith Heath and Bovington, tanks flash by their crew in high viz jackets, also visible are acres of farmed solar panels.
Valued members can sit at reserved tables while deciding upon which of the two routes take through the 15 acres of gardens, outside is a bubbling carp pond nourishing by waterfall a smaller hidden one below, its’ banks dotted by deep purple-blue and yellow-white violas and one tiny pink petalled pom-pom type plant. A good place for a sunny or shaded lunch.
Through the garden gate borders of pink and purple tulips abound with peonies in bronze leaf and a tall cherry tree is in full blossom, before passing through a gap in the high hedged performance lawn to the Wedding Borders walk having a sprinkling of asparagus and cardoons in its beds. A picturesque white lattice and blue seat is set off by a pedestal urn of primrose yellow wallflower, white saxifrage and pansies beside a Camelia Thansrd Koense, whose new leaves of copper add to the colour arrangement. At the further end a smattering of pink tulips takes the eye beyond the circular tree seat to Palm Garden.
Around the edge of the ‘Holme Henge’ are lilac, unusual Robina Pseudoacacia Lace Lady, the false acacia tree with twisted limbs, mauve honesty and a beautiful rich red crab apple, Malus Toringo Scarlet. Nearer the centre a shocking white birch stops me in my tracks, the stones surrounded by heather beds in a flat setting reminds me of golf courses. To the Grass Amphitheatre and a yellow Magnolia Daphane stands slender and tall, while Malus Candymint is short and spreads like a dancer’s tutu, borders of apricot rhododendrons, tulips and iris lead to more naturalised gardens and the Apple Orchard in full blossom, where rusting farm machinery poke through from the hedge side grass and bramble. Approaching a bird viewing hut and decking which overlooks the Butterfly Valley’s Pond, rich in algae and where winter rainwater is harvested for summer drought. The trail then winds through wild flower seeded and mounded valleys to a formal avenue bordered by Elaeagnus with a gothic urn and tall pedestal as view point at the garden’s eastern border. Along this, a narrow green lane between broken high banks topped with hazel offer a glimpse of farmland and woods beyond, leading to shade under a large oak and bamboo clump of Woodside. Yellow umbrella primulas, wild garlic leaves, cyclamen, euphorbia, acacia, hellebores are ditch side with a sleeper bridge to Jim’s Wood of bluebells and overgrowing holly bushes below the tall trees. At its centre is a restful seat below red and pink camelias, (a place for elderly to rest while others explore). Out in the sun and another crab apple Malus Barbara with restful seat at the end of a blossoming Hanami Avenue of Japanese Ichyio cherry trees with another urn is focal point beyond a wisteria arched walk and in the afternoon breeze the blossom floated like confetti above pink tulips and dogs tooth violets.
Beyond is the Pear Tunnel, the Kitchen and Cutting Garden with regular beds, and the Lavender Avenue, which I thought as the best approach to Holme Henge. Finally, sat amongst the pink tulips of the Palm Garden it becomes apparent that Holme is home to vociferous wildlife. A fight broke out between a blackbird the other side of the hedge and a tiny bird being bounced around on a branch above me, but with a voice as big as the goliath opposite.
With a deceased phone and rusty shorthand, notes are awry and plants maybe incorrectly named (more than usual). My thanks to Julia Williams, Pat Cornick, Heather Thomson and Ann Brown as without them there would be no photos.
Sarah Herring