Gardening is in the DNA

I was once asked, ‘How did you get into gardening?’

My answer was simple, ‘It’s in my DNA.’

I was brought up by generations of gardeners, all of whom were dedicated to their gardens and some who won accolades and prizes for their efforts.

The family originates for Birmingham and the Black Country. I have seen photos of my Great Granddad’s garden overflowing with plants and laid out to impress. My Granddad won awards for his garden and I still have the mantelpiece clock he was awarded in the 30s for his ‘Best Garden in Birmingham’. The clock no longer works but the inscription still stands proud. i recently was told that that gardening in our family goes even further back to the Victorian days and we even had a Head Gardener in our linage. 

Above is a waterclour painting I did of my Granddad debudding (www.martyndaniels.com)  

When my Granddad moved to Sheffield in the 50s, he set about establishing his garden. Borders were soon stocked, there was a chrysanthemum bed and vegetable bed, a dahlia bed and of course a shed and greenhouse. His lawn was like a snooker table and with pockets could have hosted ‘Pot Black’.

Being the youngest of three and with my dad having died when i was very young, I spent lots of time with my granddad and inevitably in the garden. I think I was his little helper although at the time I

probably didn’t realise the impact his lessons would have on me.

I remember the ritual dusting down and splitting of the Dahlias, the dis-budding of the chrysanthemum and the endless mowing of the lawn. His tomatoes and cucumbers were never ending during the summer. He swore by his John Innes 2 and 3 and at the time it just looked like soil to me. There was also that pungent smell of the greenhouse winter wash down with Jeyes fluid. All this was done with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth and Grandma just looking on.

Right is a portrait i painted of my Grandma in the garden (www.martyndaniels.com)

He also looked after my Mum’s garden whilst she went back to work. I remember well the rockery he built across the front of the house and the many admires and comments it got from neighbours and passes by. No one ever asked where he got the rocks but I bet a quarry in Derbyshire is missing some.

Later my mum finally got time to tend her garden and show that she too had picked up the art of gardening. She taught me about growing fruit and vegetables. After all and with three kids to feed, she had to be practical. She could grow crops in the smallest of space and wasn’t into giving too much room for Granddad's chrysanthemums.

The only habit both had was to take cuttings and strong belief in ‘plants for free’. I think all keen gardeners love to split and divide, sow their own seeds and take hard and soft wood cuttings, but mum went that extra mile and always had a small plastic bag in her handbag when she went anywhere near a garden. When she got home out popped along the bag full of cuttings she appears to have acquired on her journey. The windowsills were permanently full of her 'experiments'.

Granddad helped me with my first garden. Of course, I did everything wrong, but he still encouraged me and I would find little parcels of plants by the back door together with instructions.

As I moved around the country and changed jobs and homes I always created a new garden, Aberdeen, Glasgow, Hampshire, Bath. I wonder what the are like now and how much remains. Some plants travelled with me and I still have some today that have lived either inside or outside multiple homes.

When I first came to London it was a shock to not have a garden. I still had Bath, but it wasn’t the same.

My daughter then got an allotment in Leyton and asked for help. One look at the plot and she needed it! I think the rubbish tip over the back had over spilled onto her plot and the previous tenant obviously like burning anything and everything and that was without the jungle that occupied the rest of the plot. Looking back, it was a great experience and hard work especially given the water trough was a good 100 yards from the plot. We learnt about poly tunnels and grew some great fruit, but it was a trek for both of us. She got married and I got my plot 10 minutes’ walk from home.

She now has a small back garden and raids my allotment at peak season but still grows lots in two small areas. Me, well I am spoilt and enjoying being Lost in the Plot.