It's been a quiet week and rather than mope around at home I decided to make good use of my time and our continental July weather by enjoying two cultural creatively nourishing half days out.  Yesterday morning I decided to do something I've wanted to do for a very long time - take time to explore the gardens at Wortley Hall, and as I was working there last weekend, what better time to make my wish come true?  I'm a little ashamed to say I've never been beyond the centrepiece of the garden, the alluring fountain which was an eye opener up close in more ways than one and really got my imagination going with its forbidding sign warning me how deep the water is.  Thanks to the maps I was helpfully handed at reception, I set off with the intention of completing a circuit and beyond, narrowly avoiding spending all my allocated time with my ambitiously packed book in the stunning tranquillity of the sunken garden.

I ambled through dappled shade in beautifully maintained woodland and soon ground to a halt when I saw the obscure obsolete wrought iron gate which had enjoyed former glory welcoming guests to the hall.  I swear I heard the excited whinnying and clopping hooves of a horse-drawn carriage with its gigantic crushing wheels.  I looked behind me and saw a specimen that would have delighted tree huggers and haters alike, a seriously old sycamore with the deep scars and indentations of the centuries ingrained in its crusty reptilian skin.  It had so many personalities that I felt I had to keep an eye on it as I dragged myself away from its arterial texture just in case it creakily upped its sleepy roots and appointed me its newly elected Frodo.

I continued my circuit, admiring the unusual and incongruously named ha ha in the undergrowth.  I noticed the upper part of my stroll was horticulturally less well kempt. There were more fallen trees and hewn branches lying like lopped limbs in the stinging nettles.  I took a brief time out on a perfectly placed garden seat and lapped up the views of the stunning architecture and gardens from the other side and imagined a previous life as Lady of the Hall.

There was a lot to see and next on my list was closer inspection of the iconic fountain.  I spotted a groundsman and took the opportunity to congratulate him on his beautiful work.  One of a team of just three groundsmen, he was very keen to tell me the story of the gardens that opened with two telling words - Capability Brown.  I couldn't have wished for a better guide than Adrian as he guiltily offered his precious garden time to regale me with one of the most informative and entertaining guided tours I've had for a long while.  Having worked there for two years, he was unassumingly wealthy in his knowledge of the history of the hall and its rich and fruitful land (check out Wortley Hall Walled Garden and Heeley City Farm) not to mention his technical ability thanks to his hard earned chainsaw license amongst a long list of enviable skills.  I was fascinated to learn you can only use a chainsaw at certain times of day in certain temperatures, and I was unaware there was such a thing as chainsaw trousers.  I do like the sound of those.  As he told me of his background working at Chatsworth and other prestigiously grounded properties, I realised I was in the presence of a deeply passionate green fingered Yorkshire gentleman.  And a modest one too.  As I expressed how impressed I was, he told me his partner and green goddess Diane, who was tackling the long expanse of hedges I'd driven past on my arrival, knew so much more than he did about the surrounding flora and fauna. 

My tour started at a pond I wasn't even aware of.  What a surprisingly vast murky green beauty with its ducks and ducklings (so THAT'S where they've been hiding...), moorhens and yellow water irises.  I could clearly visualise the Earl's boats floating to and fro from Adrian's accurate imaginative depiction.  The pond's old stone walls were starting to fall inwards and he told me with urgent regret that the restoration would cost an eye watering half million.  We turned towards a tunnel in the undergrowth that led from pond to ice house where the frozen blocks used to be stored for the hall in winter months.  I wanted to linger to take photos but time was of the essence and there was a lot to see.  He proudly introduced me to yews, oaks and silver birch, pine and ash, chestnut, beech, and the promise of the deliciously named sequoia was enticingly forgotten amongst all the competing arboreal delights.  We arrived back at the geometrically immaculate sunken garden with its proper Old English Roses wafting their authentic pure pungent perfume, and the intriguing mystery filled caged cells above which there was once an orchid house.  You can see its heavily pinned steel base plates which still lay there in the old stone blocks.  Can you imagine an Orchidarium in Wortley?

I can't wait for my next Wortley Hall wedding in August, and I've already cooked up my excuse for lunch and a blissful walk to work it off.  What's your excuse not to visit?