Bodnant - part one
The sunlit uplands
31 March 2024
By: James Lennox
They say you should never meet your heroes. That way lies inevitable disappointment. Expectations are set ridiculously high - no mere mortal could possibly meet them. And that's all our heroes are at the end of the day - mortals, all too humanly fallible.
What of those gardens, then, that loom as large as heroes in the horticultural pantheon? Is it better to steer clear and allow them to retain their lofty status, unencountered and unchallenged? Or should we put to one side our preconceived notions, gathered from dusty tomes or blemish-free social media, plan a trip and see for ourselves what all the fuss is about? In other words, shouldn't we just man up and face our heroes?
Some gardens woefully fail to live up to the glossy hype; some perfectly conjure up the mental image I'd formed in advance; others fully deserve their reputations as planting or design exemplars, such as York Gate. (Others still lurk below the radar, waiting to bowl over the unsuspecting visitor, like Stoneleigh, but that's another story entirely.)
So my first visit to Bodnant, a mecca for lovers of all things woody and Himalayan, was a high-stakes gamble. Would it be everything I'd hoped for? Well, rest assured - it didn't disappoint, in fact if far exceeded all my high expectations, and an early spring trip has since become something of an annual rite.
What makes Bodnant so special? The scale of the undertaking, obviously. But the overriding impression is of boldness, confidence and bravado, all qualities arguably lacking in the country (and the gardening world) today. Who but a Victorian industrialist would have had the vision to set about such a project, to re-imagine a Himalayan valley in a Welsh ravine? And to create moments of exhilarating drama simply by respecting and enhancing the natural lie of the land?
How fortunate was Mr Pochin from Salford to have descendants to preserve and expand his masterpiece, the Italianate terraces being a bravura later addition, an early 20th century demonstration of how to transform a slope. And how blessed was Bodnant to reap the efforts of three generations of dedicated, knowledgeable head gardeners (the Messrs Puddle) to actually, you know, do all the work.
The first dramatic moment, a showstopper if ever there was, is the view from the top terrace looking west - the snow-dusted peaks of Snowdonia seemingly within touching distance. Rose beds and that erstwhile favourite, a rockery (in this case, rather modest), play second fiddle to a somewhat tortured but still striking Arbutus x andrachnoides that has clearly been stroked once too often.
A narrow strip of lawn below provides a breathing space and the perfect spot from which to look down on the next terrace with its semi-circular lily pond flanked by a cedar of Lebanon and a blue Atlantic cedar. Unlike the strawberry tree above, a Schima argentea is in fine fettle up against the retaining wall - testament to the heat-absorbing qualities of the stonework and the benign, humid climate of the Conwy Valley. Lush growth is the norm in these parts.
A trelliswork pergola follows, a period piece if ever there was one. Adorned with roses, Solanum crispum and ceanothus, it eases the transition down to the final terrace while no doubt requiring its fair share of maintenance - wooden fixtures and the wet Welsh weather aren't exactly made for each other.
The final, bottom terrace is restraint itself - a long canal set into a lawn flanked on one side by a yew-backed herbaceous border, nothing but mounds and spears of zesty lime green new foliage at this time of year. At one end there is a raised stage complete with yew ‘wings’, at the other the celebrated Pin Mill.
This early eighteenth century building was moved here from a garden in Gloucestershire and provides a fitting climax to the sequence of terraces. It also marks a significant switch in visual focus - the eye is re-directed through 90 degrees from the hills facing the terraces to the woodland garden that lies behind the building.
As garden features go, it does the job very stylishly, even if (whisper it) it doesn't quite blend with the substantial stonework of the retaining walls or the house looming far above. It's a far more delicate creature, a reminder that architectural styles evolve almost as quickly as garden fashions.
It's probably best at this point to keep the house firmly behind you. Given the dramatic drop from one terrace to the next, the house is pretty well hidden from view by now. For the most part, it bears little relation to the garden and has variously been described as ‘elephantine’ and reminiscent of a hotel in a staid Victorian spa.
Having grown up in just such a staid Victorian spa, I find it reassuringly solid, a familiar touchstone in such exotically planted surroundings.
It does have its moments though, for example when viewed across a swathe of daffodils or through the bare branches of a flowering magnolia.
The house is at its finest when glimpsed from the far side of the valley, where it sits in proportion to the conifers on the hillside beyond and the finer details, or lack thereof, are obscured if, for whatever misguided reason, unabashed Victoriana isn't quite your cup of tea.
All of which is a mere prelude to the main attraction. For me, anyway. Some visitors, I imagine, never make it beyond the terraces and the relatively flat parkland to the south of the house. There's a decent shrubbery to one side of the lawn, flowering cherries to the fore in early spring.
And, for the brave souls who venture out no matter the season, on the other side is a garden dedicated to all those goodies that shine in winter - sweet-smelling daphnes, the spicey vanilla and chocolate notes of Azara microphylla, no-nonsense heathers and the inevitable dogwoods.
Ancient oaks are dotted around the lawns and a sunken, sheltered pond awaits its turn in the spotlight, destined to display tropical hothouse treasures in summer. Close by but standing in splendid isolation is a majestic Wellingtonia (Sequoiadendron giganteum), one of the first specimens to be planted at Bodnant. In stark contrast to the native oaks and beeches, this one tree gives a first inkling of what lies below.
If you venture no further, you're missing the whole raison d’être of Bodnant - the woodland planting proper. And just around the corner, tucked behind the Pin Mill is the second, possibly most dramatic moment in the entire garden - the descent into the Dell.
To be continued…
More information here: https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/visit/wales/bodnant-garden
