Garden view
our obsession with a pristine green sward isn’t always a good thing, says helen Billiald
“The perfect lawn needs a few daisies,” says our columnist Helen Billiald
Afew years ago I took two students from Barcelona to visit Hidcote Manor Garden, and promptly lost them. I finally tracked them down lying side by side on the lawn. They’d taken off their shoes and socks and could only say to me in awe “but it’s so green”. Complain about our weather all you like, but thanks to our rain-sodden climate and middling temperatures we Brits do a mean lawn. Few things beat running barefoot over soft grass, or the memories lawns hold as an arena for childhood games. The unmistakable scent that follows the first spring mow still gives me butterflies. So, do I have a lawn that’s weed free, thickly textured and as flat as a billiard table? Of course not. You’re unlikely to find an immaculate sward anywhere in my garden since, for a start, I’m not willing to use herbicides or fertilisers on my grass. Run off is enough of a problem on this planet without me adding to the issue. I mow, I edge, I dig out thistles (because they really, really hurt), I scarify with a rake in autumn and I spike the ground but that’s where it ends.
Flowery turf
The nearest I get to a good lawn is in our walled garden. I know it’s odd to find grass in such a productive part of the garden, but my two children like to play near me, and I prefer to spend my time in the walled garden. The result is a square of lawn in prime veg-growing territory. Pop-up tunnels, water play tables, a picnic bench, blankets and in summer a bright blue paddling pool all take their toll on the grass. Despite this (perhaps thanks to all the spilled water) the lawn remains impressively lush, albeit thick with clover and daisies. These might technically be weeds, but I love a flowery turf – another reason to leave the herbicides alone. Daisies make wonderful necklaces and the clover is alive with noisy bumblebees that bounce about like furry dodgems and nest in the gappy stone walls. (I’ve learnt to keep antihistamines to hand for stung toes.) The grass in the orchard is far less pristine. Here, my three chickens work tirelessly to transform grass into a cratered landscape approximating the moon. Their electrified enclosure is circulated around the area, an approach that in practice simply ensures that everywhere has its share of dips and pits. Each spring I barrow in topsoil in an attempt to smooth things out, but wobbly divots remain. Combine these pot holes with an ancient ridge and furrow system and you can be forgiven for feeling a little motion sick. To traverse the whole orchard means meandering up and down these parallel waves while trying not to turn an ankle. Instead of striving for an orchard lawn I’ve come to embrace these undulations and allow the late spring and early summer grass to grow unchecked, albeit within a network of mown paths. The ground is fertile and the growth rapid, culminating in magical days where the flower heads bob and dance, looking for all the world like ripples of water. It wouldn’t pass muster at Hidcote, but a lawn unleashed can be a very beautiful thing.
Helen Billiald is a garden writer with a Phd in ecology and an Msc in Pest Management. she’s currently ignoring her dandelions
“With our rain-sodden climate and middling temperatures we Brits do a mean lawn”