Letters to garden makers

Dear Monty, On Spring and the merry dance of life, of art and gardens. 25/3/12 First brimstone butterfly in the garden, the chickens sunbathe and the green buds and blossom buds fatten. The cycle of life, a Ceri Richards powerhouse, like his bare bosomed women playing the piano and flowers blooming in a vase. Like passion it fades but never goes away entirely. 26/3/12 Monty don't laugh. A friend of mine in work said that I was intelligent - I replied that I am as thick as two short planks (as my mother used to say). I have no idea how thick two short planks are. The truth as always is that I know very little and am ignorant of so much. None of us can hold all knowledge - even if we give the impression that we do indeed know it all. I know, I know... you are thinking this is just all cod philosophy, perhaps you are right. But there are some truths that are eternal are there not? There are words shared which grab us inside and instinctively we identify with them, like the

Dear Montagu, 23/3/12 - I have written that date at least 25 times today.... or so it feels after sticking needles into babies and making them cry. I cannot believe that I have been a nurse for 25 years and that I now deal with all the things that made me a slave to fear as a child, illness, disease and death. I used to pray to an unknown God to stop the rot. I remember praying for friends, family, pets, soft toys and the assorted rescued animals found in the garden. I remember Star, the injured starling all speckled greens purples and gold, we fed him on worms, but he died after dad decided to wash him. (you were only doing what you thought best dad!). There was Speedy the tortoise who died in his cardboard box during hibernation. The thing that took my fear to a new and awful level was the sudden death of my grandfather, or Bampa as we called him. He was such a lovely man, our cat loved him, she used to curl up on his ample belly and purr like mad. One dreadful hot summer day a

Dear Monty, One of my greatest weaknesses is my dislike of upsetting people, it is a crippling problem because I am becoming very good at upsetting people as I get older. I respect the fact that you don't want to follow those that follow you on Twitter. I think most of us know you would not follow strangers because you are a private man, as are we all to some extent. I suspect that you need solitude. I need solitude, out of solitude comes creativity, and out of melancholy, love. The garden at Longmeadow, belongs to you and Sarah, it's a private space made public at a distance. The barrier, the safety factor is the tv screen, the digital veil. My garden is private, a breathing space as I have said before. I confess that I find it difficult when Wyn my affable next door neighbour speaks to me through the thin winter hedge ! When I am in my garden, I am away from my public persona, and can become myself unburdened by the fear of upsetting people ! You see in reality I am

Dear Monty, Strange day, started with hearing trumpets in Venice and a prophet on a donkey. What encouraged me about the prophet was that he came not from Israel but from the Euphrates - the river of antiquity. He used sorcery (smoke and mirrors, bright lights and razzle dazzle) in order to impress his clients, but on this occasion he j ust couldn't do it, he just had profound words, just words. God spoke with him. His donkey spoke with him - when he couldn't or wouldn't hear God. The razzle dazzle gets in the way of truth sometimes. Then off I went in my steel donkey to 'Voices of the Stones' film project run by Eleanor Flaherty. We did stop motion animation. The group became disparate, and the smoke and mirrors technology seemed to have the edge, and my anger reappeared ! It's just below the surface at the moment. I take this as a warning that I need to be careful, not to let the buzz of creativity carry me away from the reality of my life as a health

Monty, The garden. Design or not design this is the question. Can I have a pleasing garden without a planned design? Two contrasts on TV last night. Sir Anthony Caro never has a plan but produces balanced sculptures that look planned, they grow out of an internal sense of placement and composition. Can that be achieved in a garden ? It is how I garden, I am not a designer I am intuitive, I have an artists sensibility. Having said all that the contrast of strong design in the planning stage of a garden as discussed by Joe Swift did highlight to me how strong the elements of terrace, path and pergola (now rotten) are in my garden, all elements which I inherited. All I do is place pots and move and cut and fiddle with edges and borders and plants and trees. I look at the vista from the kitchen window which faces the garden. The current leading strong lines work for my eye.....so is it for my eyes only? It was good to hear you say that Long Meadow is a real garden with 'good'

Dear Monty, I am sorry to write to you so early on in the week. Do you listen to BBC Radio 3 ? Sometimes spiritual things seem to happen when listening to classical music, and this past Sunday morning was a case in point. 11/3/12 Here I am in Craig y Nos, romantic setting of Adelina Patti's Castle grounds. I just wanted to write about this beautiful morning, and the humility of the radio 3 presenter Martin Handley. He introduced us to a lady called Phyl who stands in her garden to breathe in the air of peace. The music she wanted played was by Gustav Mahler...'Iam lost to the world' She recognised she needs to step out sometimes. This is a busy world with its demands, responsibilities and pressures. This instantly reminded me of Moses who struggled with the burden of responsibility for the nation of Israel as they wandered in the desert having escaped persecution in Egypt. Moses was stressed out by the demands and complaints of the people (nothing new under the su

Dear Monty, It was good to see you back on our screen and good to see the garden. You did look a little tired though, I hope you don't mind me saying. Three days and three ways. 8/3/12 Sometimes I feel as though I am living in a machine, processed. Computers have revolutionised everything but can sometimes make me feel as if I am living less. I interact with my fellow humans less, and listen less because I have to concentrate on inputting information into the machine. Facebook and Twitter are interesting because they allow us to communicate with so many other people than ever before in our history, but without any personal connection. The machine monitors everything, from our sins, passions and lusts to which brand of beans we prefer. It can encourage us to act in certain ways by linking like-minded people and provoking action. The machine can be cruel just as we are cruel - it can be kind just as we are kind...but what is it doing to my soul? If you believe in a soul,

Dear Monty, As I write this short letter to you I am choked by the unpleasantness of working for the N.H.S. Which has been hamstrung by successive Governments, and their tinkering and emphasis on a business model, as though we are a factory with a product that can be measured. Gardens, thank God for gardens, and for the changing seasons, for regrowth for hope ! People now have high expectations of what can be delivered to them, unfortunately the reality is that we are probably less efficient in terms of our humanity and compassion since the number crunchers got hold of us than when we were old fashioned and hierarchical. Boundaries worked.  Boundaries like a good hedge can define purpose. We feel safe when we have boundaries because we know what our role and purpose is, once the boundaries become indistinct then it altars our behaviour and attitude, we become unsure, and that leads to anxiety and frustration. I have just stepped out into my garden after a stressful morning in t

Dear Monty, I think you may be getting a bit tired of these letters, my son thinks that I will be arrested for being a cyber stalker....but now I have discovered I can do this I just can't stop. Maybe I have a form of O.C.D ? 3/3/12 Tawny owls screech and hoot outside my window. Here our ordered and decorated dwelling takes on an Italian feel. I think I may be watching too much TV about Sicily....Montalbano...pronto....eh ? Then there is my bedside book of the moment, Italian gardens feature in that too. I wrote on Anne Warehams blog Veddw Voice, joining in a discussion about rows, as in shouting matches not neat lines into which one plants seeds. I confessed my sin of selfish absorption. Sometimes I think of many things and forget to think about Sue, for which I feel guilt, which sometimes turns to anger....I am not sure of its alchemy. Sue puts up with me, which is nothing short of miraculous. What has this to do with Italy?..well passion and a freedom to express yourself

Dear Montague Don, 1st March 2010 It sometimes feels that my destiny is to always miss the boat....oh well so be it. St David's Day. What does this mean? What do any of the 'Saint's Days' mean in this God forsaken age ? Do we still need stone versions of the Tabernacle with its high priestly altar, its ritual and liturgy ? Don't get me wrong I love all that, I love candles and the solidity of cathedral worship. The age of the stones add a solidity and the singing and reading an anchor to something ancient. Perhaps that is why so many people visit a cathedral who would not attend a local parish church or chapel. Why can't we see that faith itself is as ancient and solid as the stones? Why have we lost our faith? Last summer David (my son) and me went on part of the pilgrimage walk around St. David's head in Pembrokeshire to the well of St. Non. On the way we saw fulmars swooping and circling the cliffs around their nests - we watched for an hour lo