Garden view Gnomes and bunting are a no-go at Chelsea. Helen Billiald on the strict RHS rules that govern the show gardens
The rules are super-strict at RHS Chelsea Flower Show, as Helen Billiald discovers
“If it doesn’t follow the brief, you can kiss a gold medal goodbye”
My current bedtime reading is a fascinating page-turner. More enthralling than any novel, and more mind-boggling than any encyclopaedia, it’s the ‘Exhibitor Applications RHS Chelsea Flower Show 2017 Garden Factsheet’. A bit of a mouthful I know, but if you’ve ever visited Chelsea Flower Show or seen it on TV, I’d wager you’d find its contents equally gripping. The factsheet is designed to help garden designers apply for a show garden space. Guiding them through the application procedure, it covers showground etiquette, restricted items and a breakdown of the judging process. While only a handful of garden designers will ever experience the wonder (and trauma) of creating a show garden at Chelsea, we can all walk a little way in their shoes by understanding the path they must tread. For instance, everyone knows that gnomes are a no-go, but so too are brightly coloured creatures, balloons, flags and feather flags, all presumably on the grounds of good taste. Even storage areas must be ‘discreet, tasteful and in harmony with the design of the garden’. Banners, bunting, live animals, mirrors or artificial plant material need special permission from the show manager. Silence is golden at Chelsea too: audio and visual media, music and sound effects all require special clearance. And apparently garden teams should exist on inspiration and passion alone since ‘exhibitors must not smoke or consume food or drink on their stands in view of visitors.’ I was bemused by the news that ‘dormant bulbs and corms’ need special permission too. I can understand why the showground wouldn’t want errant bulbs left behind, but why would a designer plant something that couldn’t be seen in the first place? I like to imagine a swathe of autumn crocus appearing months after the show has finished, perhaps arranged in a cheeky symbol. No exhibitor hoping to return would dare! At least the judging criteria make sense. Each designer must submit their client’s brief before the garden is built, in which they communicate their intentions to the judging panel. They must detail the garden’s purpose, function, inspiration and how materials and plants will be used in its construction. This isn’t something to be dashed off one night in the pub; its contents are referenced again and again by the judges. You can build the most excellent, original garden in existence but if it doesn’t follow your brief, you can kiss a gold medal goodbye. After that, it’s hats off to the RHS for thoroughness. The gardens are assessed by a team of judges on the Sunday, judged again on the Monday, then receive a visit from a moderator to ensure things are consistent. Nine criteria yield a score, but only three of these include plants. You need to excel at design, spatial composition, quality of construction, ambition and realisation of the client’s brief. It’s all points based and, should you finish with 28-36 points, you’ll secure a gold medal. Simple. Well, sort of. It turns out you only receive an engraved gold medal the first time you win. If you win gold again, you have to buy your own. And I bet you didn’t know that.
Helen Billiald is a garden writer with a PhD in Ecology and an MSc in Pest Management. She’s currently puzzling over last year’s Chelsea points