Bodnant - part two
The descent into the Dell
7 April 2024
By: James Lennox
When last we parted, we were about to plunge into the abyss, the second moment of drama at Bodnant. More prosaically, this is the valley of the Hiraethlyn, a relatively modest watercourse but one with innate ‘capabilities’, as a certain Mr Brown might have said.
In these surroundings, the river assumes the air of a raging mountain torrent powered by glacial meltwaters. Yet again, Bodnant proves that there’s no greater weapon in the garden designer's repertoire than respecting the genius loci - and then enhancing the qualities Nature has bestowed on the site.
Depending on your chosen route, reaching the river involves either a vertigo-inducing descent down a narrow, slippery path or a calf-tightening drop down a 1-in-5 wheelchair-friendly slope. (And if granny somehow made a miraculous recovery from her ‘accident’ at Kiftsgate, you could alway have another go here.)
This is where the real action is. The formal, obviously man-made garden of hard-landscaping is left behind. The terraces disappear from view, obscured by mass plantings of dense camellias hugging the top of the accelerating downward slope, a stylish transition from the horizontal to the vertical. A good showing of Williamsii hybrids (‘J.C. Williams’, ‘Donation’, ‘Anticipation’, ‘China Clay’) nods to another prominent twentieth century gardening family with similar interests to the Aberconways of Bodnant.
Many of the camellias have recently been cut back, quite adventurously in places - a reminder that a firm hand is needed to stop an exotic woodland turning into an impenetrable thicket.
The overstorey is composed of magnolias (including two enormous Magnolia x veitchii ‘Peter Veitch’ combining the best traits of its campbellii and denudata parents, and champion M. sprengeri var. sprengeri and M. campbellii var. mollicomata), eucryphias for summer interest and the odd conifer or pine (P. montezumae a standout) to carry the rest of the year.
The view of the Old Mill and the torrent at the bottom of the valley from the narrow contour-hugging path above is a classic of the genre, a mirador if ever there was one. An understated, moss-laden architectural focal point, low-slung and partially obscured by magnolias (in particular a stunning M. denudata in full sail) exaggerates the depth and natural grandeur of the drop.
Man's mastery of the elements comes to the fore with the waterfall halfway along the valley floor, a perfectly controlled curtain of water positioned beneath a clifftop folly-cum-mausoleum. And it was a brave gardener who decided to offset it with a particularly fuchsia-pink form of Rhododendron arboreum.
Quite the eye-catching combination and a fitting culmination to this beautifully judged garden sequence, a perfect demonstration of horticultural ambition, energy and optimism. This is a long-term prospect only now, a mere 150 years after its conception, coming to maturity, faith in the future writ large.
It does no harm at all to be reminded sometimes of our place in the scheme of things. Just stand on the bridge over the thundering waterfall, look downstream and marvel at what man and nature combined can create.
Because of course this isn't a natural scene at all - it's a heightened vision of nature, the finest plants available to humanity (to adapt a phrase) set in the ultimate picturesque landscape.
Either side of the stream is enlivened by rhododendrons. Species such as Rh. sutchuenense var. giraldii, praevernum, oreodoxa, praestans, russatum, augustinii subsp. chasmanthum and the hybrids ‘Titness Triumph’, ‘Endsleigh Pink’, ‘Rosalind’, ‘Snowy River’ and ‘Maya’ were all putting on a show at the end of March.
Towering over them all is a breathtaking assembly of champion trees, including the love-it-or-hate-it Sequioadendron giganteum ‘Pendulum’, Sciadopitys verticillata, mighty Douglas and Greek Firs (Pseudotsuga menziesii and Abies cephalonica) and a rarely seen Pinus ayacahuite.
And we even have a welcome sighting of a champion Pinus muricata, to remind us of our recent jaunt to Portmeirion.
I know, I know - size doesn't matter, and all that. But the first glimpse of these giants is awe-inspiring, whether peering over the lip of the valley side from above or seeing them emerge from the shadows one after the other while walking along the valley bottom.
The intention here is to inspire awe in the visitor, to transport him to a different world, the wonders of Nature served up in a skilfully edited collection. (And no doubt the baser motive of showing off to visiting horticultural grandees played a part in the garden's early history.)
In its most elemental guise, garden design can be boiled down to one basic concept - seeking to create specific visual effects, primarily with plants, occasionally combined with water, statuary, buildings and so on. Eliciting an emotional response from the visitor must rank as the highest compliment that can be paid to the garden designer's art.
Nothing quite beats this section of the garden. Further upstream is, inevitably, something of an anti-climax. Romance gives way to engineering here. A sequence of sluices and a reservoir disguised as a pond ensure a constant supply of water at just the right level of intensity.
As for the planting, does anyone really have a thing for alders (Alnus spp.)? Relatively recent magnolia additions (including M. ‘Galaxy’, ‘Heaven Scent’ and x soulangeana ‘Picture’) are worth their weight in gold here, livening up proceedings no end.
The side of the valley furthest from the house is crowned with a shelterbelt of Victorian favourites (Pinus radiata, P. sylvestris, Cryptomeria japonica, etc.) intermingled with more unusual offerings such as particularly fine Nothofagus alpina and obliqua. This area is less densely planted (it's all comparative - some would still find it congested) but the specimens just keep on coming. Occasional losses to storms and old age temporarily open a space which all good gardeners know is just an invitation to get digging.
The Yew Dell, an offshoot of the main valley, is filled with, you guessed it, more rhododendrons, such as Rh. ririei carpeting the ground with fallen petals, a further reminder of the days when messing around with plants and creating gardens were competitive sports indulged in by the super rich.
Who knows? Perhaps today's electric car gurus and tech billionaires are all quietly spending their Sunday afternoons hybridising ericaceous beauties and re-directing rivers. Perhaps we're in for a deluge of new hybrids to rival Bodnant's Viburnum x bodnantense and Rhododendron ‘Elizabeth’, No, me neither.
But there are still people out there being won over by this type of gardening. Arabella Lennox-Boyd at Gresgarth Hall springs to mind - her growing collection of flowering trees and shrubs in a steep-sided river valley in Lancashire strikes me as the perfect modern response to the desire to cultivate these particular plants.
And on a much, much smaller scale (and in a more challenging, hotter, drier climate and with much shallower pockets than the Aberconways or the National Trust), I'm giving it my best shot as well at La Corolla.
Is there anything the humble modern gardener can take away from a visit to Bodnant? Definitely. The most important lesson is first and foremost to respect the particular qualities of the site, the genius loci. Choose the style of gardening and the type of plants that appeal most to you - and stick with that choice no matter what the fashionable crowd might say. And then commit fully to your creation - no half measures allowed.
Hillsides can be something of a mixed blessing when it comes to creating a garden. I should know. Parterres and formal layouts are best left to lowland-dwelling gardeners, but in exchange we mountaineers are gifted a potential for creating drama that only a change in elevation can provide. We are not confined to thinking in horizontal terms of upper, middle and lower levels of planting. With a hillside, mid-level planting, for example, can be seen above the tops of the trees below. The scope for shaking up the conventional arrangement of plants is endless.
And nowhere exemplifies this design creativity and sense of drama better than Bodnant. Whether it's views out to distant mountains or being able to peer into the tree tops from above, heart-stopping moments of high drama abound. All gardens should aspire to inject some sense of drama, even awe, into their design. It just comes easier, I think, when there are hills and valleys involved.
Now I just need to remind myself that the climb is worth it the next time I forget the secateurs in the tool shed all the way down at the bottom of my very own hill.
More information here: https://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/visit/wales/bodnant-garden
