Tag Archives: RHS

Harlow Carr Gardens – The Visit

The approach to Harlow Carr was interesting as the satnav told us to take a different route to that indicated by the brown signs. It was an interesting, and narrow route. I will follow the signs next time and suspect I will have a less strenuous drive.

There is a lot of building going on in the area, and there is a large set of roadworks at the entrance to the gardens. Despite this we didn’t have to queue for long and were soon in the car park, dodging doddery pedestrians and trying to find a space.

I think I’ve already mentioned that most of the pensionable population of Yorkshire was out in the garden. Many of them were playing slow-motion Russian Roulette in the car park whilst others formed an orderly queue at Bettys.

That still left a surprising number to fill the garden paths. Fortunately, although the unkindness of the passing years has rendered me less mobile, it has made it easier for me to formate with pensioners. I was even able to hold a few up as I paused for photography.

There are some compensations to getting old.

We only saw about quarter of the gardens. There was a big bed of heathers as we walked in. It was good winter colour, one of the things I was looking for, but not something likely to be making an appearence in our garden.

There are some great vistas in the garden which, again, aren’t likely to be repeated at our house. You need distance for vistas and that isn’t something you can buy at the garden centre.

We looked at the alpine house because Julia is looking at a cactus/succulent/alpine project this year. I suspect the Mencap version will be slightly less polished than the RHS version.

I had taken a few photos by this time, including a wicker worm and a moving sycamore sculpture.

I won’t take you through the rest of the day in such detail – just give a quick list. Spring flowers, rhubarb, dogwood, kitchen garden, scones, toilets, mosaic display, sulphur springs, foliage beds, garden centre, bookshop, afternoon tea at Bettys.

We missed the lake, the library, the arboretum, the education garden and probably some other things we don’t know about.

To be honest, my search for new winter ideas didn’t meet with much success – I already knew you could plant bulbs and shrubs and leave large areas of bare soil.

It was a very enjoyable day despite this and I’m looking forwards to the spring visit, though I might try taking a flask and sandwiches next time. That way I can save money and take up an entire bench whilst pensioners tut their way past looking for somewhere to sit.

I’m a member. I can go as many times as I like without it costing more. I’m feeling quite smug.

 

 

Snobbery and Armchair Anarchism

To be honest with you, I never went to finishing school, and etiquette lessons haven’t played a big part in my life.

I’m a bit rough round the edges, and Julia has trouble keeping me on the right side of social acceptibility.

It has been tough being a member of the National Trust over the last few years because the Trust, and most of its volunteers, actually seem to think they belong in the massive houses they look after. It’s very difficult not to point out that this is not the case.

The original owners would have sneered at them, peered through their monocles or lorgnettes, and instructed the under footman to direct the scum round to the Tradesmen’s Entrance.

My great-great grandfather, H. A. Carus, was active in the early cooperative movement and stood (unsuccessfully) in Local Elections as a member of the Independent Labour Party. I think I’ve inherited some of his outlook.

This is my ancestral home – nine members of the Carus family lived in the dark house.

Image result for clumber park

This is the house at Clumber Park before it burnt down. It’s a bit bigger than the Carus house.

One of my other ancestors was possibly a Chartist who spent some time on the run from the forces of law and order. I have to say “possibly” because I can’t, so far, prove that they are the same man. They did have the same name, and live in the same town at the same time, so there’s still a chance I can tie it up.

There are worse people to have in the family.

Anyway, back to the point.

As you may recall, I bought Julia membership of the Royal Horticultural Society for Christmas. We have just had some emails about flower shows. It seems that they think highly of themselves, even more highly than the staff of the National Trust think of themselves.

If I want to book tickets they will allow me use of the a phone line that costs 7 pence a minute, in addition to my own charges.

They also demand that I obey their rules on reselling tickets. I’m busily trying to think of anything else I buy that I have to have permission to resell. If I break the rules I will be banned from their flower shows.

I also have to take a passport or photo driving license to prove my identity when visiting the show.

Yes, that’s official. If I want to go to the Chatsworth Flower Show I have to show photo ID.

A passport to go to Derbyshire!?

Has the world gone mad?

(Note the use of the Interrobang.) It’s addictive.

It’s the last time I join something with “Royal” in the title.