Some news, a dystopian fairytale garden, and some more news

Exploring the eerie beauty of Dungeness, and Derek Jarman’s Prospect Cottage

Dungeness: where landscape and gardens collide. See below for lots more photos

I’m back. Though in one sense, I was never really away. 

Despite being on holiday for the past two weeks, at no point was I ever more than a two-hour drive from my front door. For a lot of my holiday, in fact, I was actually right here in my house, in my living room, at times sitting on this very chair at this very table surrounded by these very houseplants and piles of books and neglected paperwork and half-used bottles of SPF50 sun cream and tatty children’s toys. 

But as far as my subconscious was concerned, I could have been on the moon. And come to think of it, there was a distinctly lunar quality to one of the gardens I visited during my break. More on that below…

First, some housekeeping. In my last post before my break, I mentioned that change was afoot here at The Earthworm. In the coming weeks, I’ll be phasing in a new schedule, which means that some of my content will be accessible only to paid subscribers. 

Why am I doing this? Partly, out of necessity. A lot goes into the making of this newsletter, and it simply isn’t sustainable for me to give it all away for free forever.

But more than that, it’s a matter of principle. I believe that writing has a value, and that writers deserve the opportunity to be paid for the time and thought and energy that they channel into their work. I got into the world of journalism and publishing at the worst possible time – after people had become used to consuming all of their content online; but before magazines and newspapers had figured out a financially viable model to sustain their existence, and thus the livelihoods of their writers. 

Most of the places I’ve worked no longer exist. I’ve watched as dozens of talented writers, editors, art directors, picture researchers, production editors and editorial assistants have been handed their redundancy packages. I’ve embraced sobbing colleagues, and seen others depart the industry altogether, in search of safer financial footing. And I don’t know about you, but I think that that’s a shame. 

Here on Substack, however, writers have an opportunity to connect with their audiences directly; and readers, in turn, have an opportunity to support their favourite writers in a meaningful way. (Almost) every penny of a paid subscription ends up in my pocket,¹ and enables me to bring you more of the content that (I hope) you love. No middlemen, no faceless publishing conglomerates, no complex distribution chains. I write it, you read it, and we all live happily ever after. The end. 

But I’m not asking for your charity. Within the next couple of weeks, paid subscribers will begin to receive exclusive content. The Earthworm will continue to go out twice weekly, on Tuesdays and Fridays, but only the Friday newsletter will remain free and accessible to all.

The Friday newsletters will be the beating heart of The Earthworm. (And yes, I’m aware that worms technically don’t have hearts, but rather a number of aortic arches that circulate blood around their bodies.) 

Fridays will be where you can read in-depth interviews with fascinating people from the world of horticulture and beyond, such as top designer Jo Thompson, fearless polemicist and festival organiser Tim Richardson, space-age farmer Matt Chlebek, and organics activist Clare Joy.

The Friday newsletter, too, will be the home of essays and columns, touching on everything from the power of fresh perspective and the native vs invasive plants debate, to my beef with David Attenborough and why every gardener needs to watch Disney’s Encanto. 

Tuesdays’ newsletters, on the other hand, will more often than not sit behind a paywall, and be visible to paid subscribers only. These posts will offer an insight into my gardening life: not only what I’ve been up to in my own garden, but also write-ups of gardens I’ve visited, seeds I’ve purchased, and useful recommendations for links, books, tools, plants and more. 

In other words, Fridays will be more thinky, Tuesdays more personal. There will be no difference in quality or care, and no-one is going to be short-changed. 

So, if you’d like to support my work, and are in a position to be able to do so, then please consider upgrading to a paid subscription. This isn’t a one-time deal – you’ll be able to switch your subscription at your leisure and convenience – but then again, why wait?

That’s enough of that for now. Let’s talk about gardens.

The “front garden” at Prospect Cottage. Top-left: Dungeness B nuclear power station

Speaking of which, what even is a garden? When does a patch of land earn its lofty, elevated status as a “garden”? Maybe you think that’s an inane question. I might have thought so too, until a recent trip to the seaside. 

Dungeness is a strange, and strangely beautiful place – a triangle of headland jutting out into the Channel, pointing arrow-like at the northwest coast of France. The western corner of The Ness (as locals affectionately call it) is dominated by the vast and imposing Dungeness B nuclear power station, which looms over the small hamlet of fishermen's shacks, converted railway carriages,² and upmarket holiday homes like the back-drop to a Philip K Dick screen adaptation. There are also two lighthouses, two pubs, and a toddler-friendly ride-on light railway line. The rest is just shingle, shingle and more shingle, until the shingle finally wades into the sea. 

The empty, stony landscape coupled with the power station lends the whole place a bleak, dystopian quality. But there is life here too. Loads of it. Dungeness is a nature reserve, and not just any nature reserve, but a Site of Special Scientific Interest, home to over 600 different types of plants – apparently a third of all those found in Britain – as well as a number of extremely rare invertebrate species.

Gorse is one of the most common plants in Dungeness, and also in the garden at Prospect Cottage

And there are gardens too. Though where the landscape ends and the gardens begin is not at all clear. There are no walls or fences. Nor are the buildings laid out in neat rows, with obvious boundaries between plots, let alone between what is private property and what lies beyond. And owing to a series of unique (and one might think inhospitable) environmental conditions – the salt, the wind, the shingle – there are none of your garden favourites to be seen here. No romantic roses, no delicate clematis, no blousy hydrangeas. 

And yet Dungeness is home to one of Britain’s most iconic gardens: Prospect Cottage, the home and garden created by the equally iconic filmmaker, artist and gay rights activist Derek Jarman. 

A “formal” garden detail, to the side of the cottage

The shingle garden at Prospect Cottage was in fact the inspiration for Beth Chatto’s probably even more famous gravel garden, and has been celebrated and admired by countless horticulturalists and amateur gardeners over the past 30-odd years since its inception. 

And following a major fundraising effort, since April 2020 the house and garden – the long term future of which was somewhat up in the air following Jarman’s death in 1994 – is now protected in perpetuity by a group known as Creative Folkestone, which has in turn appointed a gardener, Jonny Bruce, not to preserve the garden, exactly, but to maintain its vitality in the spirit in which it was created.

You can hear from Jonny about the experience of gardening at Prospect Cottage, and what the garden stands for, in this lovely short film (6mins), created for the Garden Museum.

When I visited Prospect Cottage last week – between carrying my son up all 129 steps of the Old Lighthouse at Dungeness, and taking him for a ride on the charming Romney, Hythe & Dymchurch railway – I kept a respectful distance, as I hadn’t formally arranged a visit. Still, it was clear to see what has made this garden such a well-known and much-loved horticultural attraction. 

Sea kale, another Ness mainstay, softens the transition between “beds” and “paths”

Much of the planting borrows from the landscape – dense mounds of gorse; umbel-headed spikes of fennel; large patches of tealy-grey sea kale, frillier than a chorister’s ruff. But even the plants that don’t “belong” have made themselves at home, and complement rather than fight their wild botanical neighbours. 

Then there are the sculptural elements. Stones, collected from the surrounding shingle and stood up on end, are arranged in circular configurations, as if placed there by some ancient pagan settlers; columns of driftwood are arranged to look like the skeletal remains of a neolithic structure; and everywhere scrap materials are recycled into eerily beautiful statuary. 

Repurposed found materials create a feeling of history, and inspire stories to take shape in your mind

You could easily drive by this garden and barely notice it was there. Not because it isn’t beautiful, or carefully considered, but because it sits so comfortably, so naturally within its surroundings. Trying to recreate Prospect Cottage in your own garden would be as misguided as it was futile (unless you, too, happen to live in Dungeness), but it’s impossible to visit Prospect Cottage, and to Dungeness, and not feel inspired. 

---

Join me LIVE and hear about the healing power of plants

The incredible charity Freedom from Torture highlights the plight of victims of torture and offers them essential support, both legal and psychological.

One of the ways that they do this is through horticultural therapy, helping people with severe and sometimes debilitating cases of PTSD to find some calm and solace.

Well, over the next few days – from Wednesday 24th to Monday 29th August – the charity is opening a popup plant shop in Shoreditch, East London, and hosting all manner of fun and informative workshops, from sessions on balcony gardening to terrarium building.

And I’m delighted to say that I’ll be chairing a panel discussion THIS FRIDAY NIGHT (6.30pm) titled Plants Can Change Your Life. Join me as I interview four fascinating people (experts and amateurs both) about the healing power of horticulture, and the benefits that gardening can have for our mental health. 

---

Have you been to Dungeness? What did you make of the shinglescape, and Jarman’s not-your-average-cottage garden? I love hearing from you – let me know!

1. OK, so not every penny of a paid subscription ends up in my pocket. Substack (this newsletter’s host platform) and Stripe (the payments-processing entity) each take a small cut. But I do get most of it.

2. Many of the cottages in the hamlet of Dungeness have evolved from (and often still incorporate) converted train carriages, which were purchased by railway workers from their employers in the 1920s and dragged down onto the beach to become their homes.