CHAPTER V

FORMAL AND LANDSCAPE PLANTING

A certain sense of responsibility attaches to those who plant timber, quite out of proportion to that incurred in the pursuit of the minor and more transitory forms of garden arrangement and design. The builder oak, the vine-prop elm and sailing pine, which to-day are so small that we can carry them unaided, will develop into mighty trees, silent witnesses of the times and doings of generations yet unborn. We are planting for posterity, and shall be held accountable for the good or evil that we do. Tree planting calls forth certain motives of unselfishness, for it will be given to others than ourselves to see the full beauty which only maturity can show. All honour, then, to those old designers, to whose thought and care we owe the stately avenues, the pride and glory of many an English home. A beautiful tree, Nature’s gift of shade and shelter to man and beast, is the most precious picture in a fair landscape, and we are doing good work when with care and foresight we increase, even in ever so humble a way, the timber supplies of our country.

Avenues are perhaps the most important example of formal planting, but as they concern park and woodland effects rather than those pertaining to the garden, their discussion is somewhat outside the scope of this book. Of recent years, however, a practice has arisen among designers of making an approach of this kind to quite unpretentious dwellings. Even in suburban grounds we frequently see an avenue, perhaps no more than fifty yards in length, leading to a modern villa. Against this we protest, as a form of pretentious imitation, foolish to the last degree. The avenue, which should never be less than one hundred yards long, is essentially associated with a house and estate of considerable size and some measure of importance, and to attach it to a small residence is merely to cast ridicule on the owner. Plantations of shrubs, with a few bold groups of deciduous trees, will give the needed shelter to carriage drives, and at the same time allow of far greater freedom of design than is permissible with a style of planting which is both formal and exacting.

As regards the use of clipped yews for garden hedges, much diversity of opinion exists among designers. On the one hand, we have men who employ them in nearly every garden they undertake to lay out, and argue that, far from being objectionable, every opportunity should be embraced for planting them; on the other, a class who regard them as wholly foreign to the ideals of beauty and the picturesque. Which is right? Certainly not the former, for of all things tending towards monotony both in summer and winter, an undue proportion of evergreens—clipped evergreens especially—must be considered the most likely. If people must have topiary gardens, such as exist at Levens and Elvaston, by all means let them; but, at the same time, they should not fail to realise that these are gardens of deformity, mere curiosities in no way connected with the teachings of Nature. Yew hedges are the great delight of the “office designer,” whose thought is less for the true beauty of the living plant than for the elegant completeness of his deftly-drawn plan. An ill-kept hedge is a wretched sight, thin at the bottom, full of holes, and generally decrepit, and the labour of keeping some hundreds of yards of clipped yew in repair entails an amount of labour not easily realised by those who have not attempted to do so. There can be no doubt, too, that the near presence of hungry evergreens is prejudicial to roses and tender plants on account of the nourishment they demand, and the idea that they act as harbourage to insect and other pests is also well founded. Their merit consists in the fact that they form an admirable shelter, certainly the best obtainable after walls and fences, and a certain old-world air of picturesque dignity which they impart. Despite this, their use is constantly overdone; they are planted to distraction, dividing the garden into chess-board squares and alleys leading nowhere; they render the soil sour and cold, exclude sunlight, and sooner or later wear an appearance of gloomy desolation, especially in the cheerless days of winter and late autumn. Had they been used sparingly, instead of to excess, it is possible they would still be regarded with the favour they once enjoyed, for we must not forget the charm of the old manorhouse gardens, where yew hedges were, and still are, true ornaments, because highly appropriate. It is all a question of environment, and the greatest discretion is needed when transferring a feature of this description to modern surroundings, depriving it in the process of its old traditions—a relic of the past in a new and often incongruous setting. A yew hedge sometimes looks well when used as a boundary between the flower and vegetable garden, a convenient arch or archways being cut to afford communication from one to the other. A level top is preferable to one cut into semi-circular hollows or crenelations; and any further embellishment, such as standard trees with oddly-shaped heads planted at intervals, is certainly to be avoided.

Isolated trees, whether yew, box, mopheaded acacias or holly, are objects of pity to the lover of natural beauty, when he sees them transferred by the shears into cones, umbrellas, and other stupid shapes. There are many reasons, some practical, others sentimental, for refraining from this barbarous practice, which is carried on mainly at the instigation of the architect, who is apparently ashamed of associating his walls and terraces with any but mutilated forms of plant life. The cost of maintenance, as in the case of clipped hedges, is an item not to be disparaged; the loss of form and individual character is scant compensation for well matched regularity; and by the absence of varied colour, the rich tints of maturity and the delicate green of budding branch, the clipped tree is reduced to the level of an unresponsive object, dull and inanimate. If formality is needed, why not make use of such trees as have a naturally well-defined outline—the Irish yew, cupressus, and the hardy junipers, they give a better effect with a tithe of the trouble.

The bower walks, once so favoured, are now seldom made in gardens, though as an example of formal planting they are not without a certain charm. Adequate protection from hot sun and cold winds is afforded at all times, and the garden scenes are not hidden from view, as is the case with evergreen hedges. In the neighbourhood of the orchard, a filbert walk would be a pleasing object, and even on poor soils, heavy crops of nuts may be obtained after a few years.

The “mirthful maze” is but a stupid survival, and has no place in gardens intended for other purposes than beanfeasts, or for the edification of any who would not derive equal satisfaction from a Punch and Judy show. The pity is that places which have none too much space for flowers and the rational arrangement of trees and shrubs, should be cumbered with anything so utterly unproductive of either beauty or satisfactory achievement.

[Illustration: SUNDIAL IN GARDEN WALK]

Natural planting as opposed to that which is guided by the laws of geometry, is infinitely more pleasing in the majority of English gardens. The effective grouping of trees, either in the form of isolated clumps or boundary plantations, is a matter requiring great skill and artistic perception, and it is only right that the designer should have a hand in their disposal, even if they occur outside the strict boundaries of the garden. A mistaken idea, prevalent among certain owners of property, is that garden design affects only that piece of ground which it is proposed to lay out with beds, lawns and walks. This is not so, for the beauty of certain gardens lies not so much in their own attractiveness, as on the distant views obtainable from them. Of course there are limits to this theory, as for example the hill gardens of Italy, with their extended vistas of rolling mountains and fertile valleys—the hand of man is not responsible for scenery of this type. But in English gardens, especially those which are set in a small park, or paddock, we expect that the same mind that designed the garden shall also have the direction of such of the surrounding property as is observable from it. Unsightly objects, factory chimneys, ugly buildings, or workmen’s cottages can usually be screened from view by suitably disposed groups of hardy trees. The attainment of some measure of beauty in the home landscape will also provide an excuse for the opening out of the garden, the reduction of boundary walls and hedges, letting in air and sunlight, without of course rendering the place wind swept.

In forming boundary plantations, there is seldom any need for making them continuous, a form of planting which becomes exceedingly monotonous, at the same time defining the limits of the property in an unmistakable fashion. Privacy and shelter are of necessity considered, but if without defeating these objects we can secure a vista of distant country, rich meadowlands and purple hills, it would be waste of opportunity not to do so. As the outline of boundary plantations will in many cases cut the horizon, leaving the tops of the trees showing clear against a background of sky, great attention should be paid to making this outline as attractive as possible. It is a mistake to use trees of only one kind, as this results in a level monotonous outline anything but pleasing. The tall spire of a poplar will give variety and point to a plantation composed almost entirely of trees with rounded heads; a graceful birch with its feathery outline would break the level of a smooth belt of shrubs. Colour too is all important, a judicious mixture of evergreen and deciduous trees is generally preferable to a plantation composed entirely of one class. There is no need to make the boundary plantation straight on the inner side, whatever may be required on the outer, and the formation of well marked swells and bays will lend an air of charm and indefiniteness. It is usual to plant trees of large growth on rising ground, reserving dwarf varieties and bushes for the hollows, but this is a rule which must be modified according to circumstances. By a continuous system of grouping the eye may be carried from the garden itself to the very outskirts of the property, and this is much more satisfactory than the plan of treating the outer plantation as a mere fence, quite independent of what may lie within it.

The indiscriminate dotting of specimen trees about a park or garden is much overdone, and in the greater number of cases irregular groups of trees having somewhat similar characteristics would be far more satisfactory. Certain trees, as the tulip tree, and the wych elm, are well adapted for isolation on the lawn, and are welcome for the shade they afford; but thorns, the flowering crabs, and the Scotch firs should always be planted in groups. As these smaller plantations are often required to hide some unsightly object, care must be taken when marking out the ground that the eyesore is hidden from every point of view. This can generally be contrived by small subsidiary plantings, dependent on the main group. Having staked out an area of ground which when planted will hide the object from the principal point, proceed to view the site from all quarters, adding and remodelling as may be necessary. For this, and work of a similar character, the use of ranging poles of various heights is helpful. Supposing that it is desired to make a small plantation with the object of concealing an ugly building, the designer will take up his position at the principal vantage point. An assistant will move the poles from place to place until the necessary width of the plantation is determined. To decide the class of trees needed, and their height, which should not be greater than absolutely necessary, poles of varying heights may be raised perpendicularly, noting the particular one which just clears the object. Supposing this to be twenty-five feet, then trees twenty-five feet high will be required, and knowing this it remains to select those which are most in keeping with the surroundings, or supply the special effects desired.