Succulent in Newent

The George Hotel in Newent today was amazing value: only £2 for a pint of beer, plus a two-course lunch for £5. How different from pubs in the Cotswolds (hardly 15 miles distant). Though succulent wasn't perhaps the first word that sprang to mind to describe the meal, it fitted well the splendid Yellow Book garden we visited this afternoon.

I hadn't come across the Land Settlement Association before. During the 1930s, 21 estates of smallholdings were created by the Association - with government funding - for unemployed men, some of whom were coal miners. Prophetically, you might now say, the scheme was promoted by those who believed that post-industrial society in the UK meant a permanent “surplus” of men from heavy engineering occupations, shipyard workers and engineers as well as coal miners. The only alternative to long-term unemployment and perhaps social unrest was thought to be a return to the land.

John and his wife Linda came as tenants in the 1970s, growing three-quarters of an acre of tomatoes hydroponically under glass. When the LSA scheme was wound up in 1982, they were able to purchase their holding, subsequently (with retirement) turning it from a market to a pleasure garden.

The result is "Schofields": just a mile from the Newent bypass, but down a narrow lane, it's not open except by appointment, and really only for groups. It was kind of John to spare us two non-experts so much of his time, as he and Linda certainly have full hands: their two and a half acres of woodland, underplanted with hellebore and daffodil, must be best in the Spring, but the three-quarters of an acre round the house was a mass of colour. Best of all, one of the vast tomato houses (1000 square metres) is full of cacti and similar exotica, a mini Eden Centre in West Gloucestershire.

Bredon and Overbury

Colin and Jessica Russell generously took us out to lunch yesterday at the pub in Bredon. Very good it was too. Although it's only about 10 miles from home, and we must have driven past on the M5 a hundred times, I had never before discovered what went on in the village itself.

It seems Bredon has quite a number of houses of character, as well as the Tithe Barn and St Giles' Church - two stars in Jenkins. I photographed (see above) one of the scenes depicted in a locally-made tapestry which hangs in the nave of the church. It tells a story, along the lines of the Bayeux Tapestry. A monastery was founded in Bredon in AD 716: its Abbot Tatwin – splendid name! – became one of the earliest Archbishops of Canterbury. But in the mid-ninth century, Vikings sailed up the adjacent River Avon, burning the monastery and murdering or deporting the monks. A touchingly related tale: Burma in 2007 had its precedents.

After lunch we drove a couple of miles East. We had made an appointment to visit the garden of Overbury Court, which is in the Yellow Book. Again, we had driven past many times, but I had no idea what lay behind the high Cotswold stone wall that runs beside the road round Bredon Hill.

Until we caught sight of the enormous, partly-ornamental swimming pool in front of the house, it felt rather as if one was back in the 18th Century. Here we were, permitted to stroll in this beautifully landscaped garden, and to admire the prospects towards the Hill and Southwards to the Cotswolds. Nobody else was about – not even one of the three gardeners that it hardly surprised me to hear were needed to look after it all.

It wasn't a surprise either that it should start raining hard before we had seen it all, given what a wet month this has been. We took refuge in the pretty village church, St Faith's – an unusual dedication. It stands just alongside the garden. The narrow nave is flanked with fat, squat Norman columns, each adorned rather incongruously with what look like bedside lights. I liked the 11th Century goblet-shaped font, with strong carving. At the other end of the historical spectrum, there is Victorian stained glass with unusual subjects: Jesus stands barefoot in a garden, weeping at the death of Lazarus: a richly-clad Noah cradles his ark, which appears to be fitted with gun ports. Was he expecting Vikings?

O to be in Herefordshire

We drove through Herefordshire yesterday morning, almost to the Welsh border near Presteigne. Then we returned a different way, with the evening sun over the Marcle Ridge. What a beautiful county it is! From the moment I near the end of the M50, coming down into the Wye Valley, my heart lifts.

Leaving the motorway, we took country lanes towards Weston-under-Penyard to visit Mr. and Mrs. Hughes's garden at Kingstone Cottages, which I had found in the Yellow Book. Though it didn't look very exciting from its entrance, we were rapidly captivated. Not least by the stunning vista Westwards towards Ross Church, with Garway Hill in the distance. The garden itself represents thirty years' labour of love. I took this photograph from the grotto, created by Michael Hughes. A narrow path leads down to the entrance: you think it leads nowhere. Eventually there's a tiny room, its walls lined with bottles and shells. Sitting on a stool, the window gives you a frog's eye view over a pond. An entirely secret place.

Monet's Garden at Giverny is the nearest thing I've seen to Kingstone; but we had this one all to ourselves. The National Collection of old pinks and carnations resides in a parterre - important, but really the least magical part of the garden for me.