The one-car-at-a-time Munstead Wood Lane

April, 2025

Those who have read the opening pages of Gertrude Jekyll’s ‘Wood and Garden’ (1899) will appreciate I referenced Jekyll in the opening paragraphs of ‘Cloudehill: A Year in the Garden’. I tried to make my text a tribute rather than a lazy borrowing and I hope this comes across. Jekyll was a formidable personage and not someone to be messed about with.

I first became aware of Jekyll back in the mid-’70s. And in 1979, a Perth antiquitarian bookshop was kind enough to spend months tracking down for me a copy of Jekyll’s long-out-of-print and most important book, ‘Colour Schemes for the Flower Garden’.

A couple of years later Valerie and I were staying in Godalming for three days attempting to find Jekyll’s garden, Munstead Wood. We were hoping to barge in and convince the owners to allow us to wander. However, instead, we became lost for lengthy periods in a maze of one-vehicle-at-a-time lanes with names like ‘Foxburrow Hill Road’. We found no sign of Munstead and, as it eventuated, were wasting our time anyway. In 1981 the gardens had been turned into lawn and no longer existed. Those three days were not a complete waste of time, mind you, a few minutes down the B2130 we did find ‘Tigbourne Court’, one of the best of the house/garden projects Gertrude Jekyll and Edwin Lutyens collaborated on shortly after Munstead Wood. Sadly, for its present owners, Tigbourne turned out to be so jammed against the B2130 I had to cross to the far side of this busy road and wait for a gap in the traffic to take a photograph of its wonderful fascade. I’m sure it was a peaceful lane with the occasional sulky clip-clopping past when Tigbourne went up in 1901.

Gertrude Jekyll was at the heart of that famous garden-making epoch from around 1890 to 1914. Born in 1843 to a well-off family and studying at the South Kensington School of Arts, in her 20s Jekyll travelled widely through Europe and North Africa, and like many in those genteel times, she journeyed with her paint box. One can see more that a hint of impressionism in her paintings of this period and this was to be expected. Early in her travels, she had met with a Hercules Brabazon (and no, he was not a detective, rather) someone with cutting edge interests in art, and the use of colour. Brabazon had for years studied the works of Turner, then developed a serious expertise in the early impressionists. He had devoted much of his life to developing theories on the use of colour when Gertrude met him and she became something of a disciple. Ruskin was another in this rather heavy hitting avant-garde circle and thus one sees there were some artillery behind Gertrude’s use of colour, at first in her painting and later in the garden.

In her 30s and 40s (as with her exemplar, William Morris) along with her painting Jekyll made herself expert in a wide range of arts and crafts from textiles and embroidery, to silver smithing and furniture making, to ceramics and leather work. However, seeking advice in 1981 for deteriorating eyesight, she was advised to give up all ‘close work’, things such as embroidery and inlay work. Now the myopia she was diagnosed with was much the same as Monet’s and whereas he ploughed on to make in his later work a positive of his poor sight (some argue ALL the best impressionists were myopic) along with needle work Gertrude gave up painting. A shame and also a wasted opportunity. No eye specialist today would recommend such a thing. And if she had carried on with her art in conjunction with her planting of gardens, I’m sure the world would be the richer.

Above: Portrait of Jekyll by William Nicholson, painted October 1920; commissioned by Edwin Lutyens, donated to the Tate Gallery in 1921.

Above: Miss Jekyll's Boots, also known as Miss Jekyll's Gardening Boots by William Nicholson, painted at the home of Gertrude Jekyll in October 1920; presented by the artist to Sir Edwin Lutyens, donated by his widow to the Tate Gallery in 1944.

Lutyens had barely completed his architectural studies (also at the South Kensington School of Arts, Jekyll’s old alma mater you may notice) when he first met Jekyll for tea one sunny afternoon in the spring of 1889. (He later wrote of the rhododendron flowers reflected in the silver tea pot.) Almost immediately they hit it off, and they were to stay unshakeable friends and collaborators until her death in 1932.

Jekyll was critical to Lutyens career. She was his greatest proponent, and perhaps his most useful critic. (More on this anon.) From 1893 Lutyens and Jekyll collaborated on several small projects, however, their first serious joint house/garden venture was Munstead Wood. And collaboration is very much the proper word. Jekyll opinions on architecture, particularly domestic architecture, were as ardently held as her thoughts on all arts and crafts. Certainly in regards to architecture, she leaned heavily towards the straightforward, and as her house went up she did not hesitate to haul Lutyens into line if any signs of frippery appeared in his drawings. Building commenced in 1896, and despite the builders strictly keeping to old ways of doing things, Munstead was completed the following year. Curiously, the gardens were also complete by then. Visiting days after Jekyll moved in, the Scottish architect Robert Lorimer noted, Jekyll had been working on Munstead’s gardens for several years “and had left a hole in the middle for the house”. Something architects warn clients against, though in Gertrude’s instance no doubt the builders were on their best behaviour.

Jekyll has a number of lovely passages in ‘House and Garden’ on the building of Munstead, the steady rhythm of crosscut saws working the green oak beams and the visceral squeal of masons applying mortar to each piece of ‘Bargate’ stone. She was a great one for language, was fascinated by words. Towards the end of her life, after seeing the garden her visitors would be invited in for tea and scones, and then soon find themselves deep in etymological word games, their history and derivation. These were the years of the first Oxford English Dictionary, the 24 volume original, illustrating words with quotes from literature demonstrating how each was used over the centuries (some of these go back to King Alfred) and I’m sure Jekyll was eagerly buying each volume hot off the press.

From 1897 Lutyens and Jekyll collaborated on a famous series of ‘Surrey’ houses, he on the structure and she on the gardens, and Tigbourne Court among the finest. Lutyens now is looked upon as the great architect of his generation. Frank Lloyd Wright, for instance, followed in his footsteps. While Jekyll’s reputation is that of the single most-important garden writer of her generation. And in Australia, Edna Walling was a fan. Her most prized possessions were signed first editions of Jekyll’s books.

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Early 2023 I heard that Munstead Wood was for sale. And later that the English National Trust had succeeded in purchasing the old property. Now Valerie and I were already visiting Wisley, not far away, and we thought why not also Munstead Wood? So I sent an ingratiating letter on our misadventures in 1981, and also mentioning some of Cloudehill many owing’s to Munstead, to the newly appointed National Trust manager for Munstead Wood, Kate Mills, and kindly she invited us to come and see.

After seeking instructions on how to find the place and (gingerly) driving down the (extremely narrow) Munstead Wood Lane, we parked one side of the turning circle and almost the first thing we saw was an Australian Hills Hoist. Probably the only one in England. We were flabbergasted. What on earth was this doing here? We were soon to discover it had been put there by Australians, by the Clark family from Sydney, who had owned Munstead from 1969 to 2023 to get away from those cold and nasty Sydney Harbour winters. I must add that when the Clarks moved in, the garden had already been lawn for 20 years. After the big storm of 1987, which tore down some 200 trees, their gardener suggested rather than simply replant why not restore Jekyll’s original garden? After all, plans existed for every inch of the property in libraries all around the world. So, thinking of posterity, the Clarks set about remaking the old gardens and though the detail is never up to Jekyll’s exacting standards (Lutyen’s would joke she employed 27 gardeners) the garden’s bones were then reinstated to much as they were in Gertrude’s time.

My first glimpse of this wall was a very memorable moment. Lutyen’s wall wonderfully encapsulates motifs he worked into many of his early houses, the use of local stone, roofing tiles laid in narrow courses to enliven an otherwise blank wall, and the pattern directing the eye to the entrance. What may not be so obvious is how Lutyens positioned the arch as something of a tease for first-time visitors. There’s confusion as to whether it’s the entrance to the garden, or the house. One tends to stand and ponder. Now I was fully aware of Lutyens reputation for a light-hearted approach to arranging the elements of his buildings. I knew to watch out for ambiguities yet, darn me, if I didn’t stop in my tracks puzzling things out. I noticed eventually there was no other entry point (without doing that very country Australian thing of wandering around to the kitchen entry) and, as said, after considerable consideration I strode through Lutyen’s archway to find I was but the last in a long line of people who for 127 years have been caught out.

Above: Stepping into Munstead’s porch and turning right, all is revealed. The door from which Jekyll would have welcomed her visitors.

Above: We were met by Kate who gave us a tour of the house. Here we have the kitchen, and though the furniture is does not go back to Jekyll (her nephew sold all of her effects in the 1940s, sadly) it would be similar. By the standards of the time, the house was modest. She would never have had more than two or three people at her table.

Above: Kate Mills and Valerie. Kate in full flight. I have to think hard to remember anyone with so much enthusiasm for her task as Kate. Walking through the garden and discussing all the difficulties she had been asked by the Trust to deal with, I actually caught her skipping.

Above: The sitting room. Notice the oak beam supporting the ceiling. Also Lutyens’ fireplace, the design probably a modified version of something he saw in a nearby farmhouse. The corner cabinet with the ivory (or bone) inlay work is almost certainly by Jekyll. Also notice the curious conjuncture of the main flight of steps beside the fireplace. So typical of Lutyens, and a famous feature of Munstead. The landing six steps up leads to Jekyll’s ‘book room’.

Above: The upstairs gallery overlooking the garden ‘court’. This gallery was so successful it became a feature Lutyens used repeatedly in his subsequent projects.

Above: From the other end. Notice the width of the oak floorboards.

Above: More of the sitting room, at present doubling as a lecture theatre.

Above: Lutyens’ windows. Kate was saying they all must be removed and made draft proof to bring the house up to 21st Century requirements. A very expensive project.

Above: Valerie and Kate.

Above: Apologies for including this blurry photo. It was snapped in very poor light and so-much-so the pencil inscriptions to each side do not show up. The reason for including the image is that this is one of Lutyens original plans and all in his own hand. One can look at it now and see that at some point it must have been sitting in the middle of Jekyll’s kitchen table, she on one side, Lutyens on the other. In their discussions, he was putting down pencilled thoughts on one or two modifications, while on the far side of the plans (and this pencilled text upside down compared with the former) Jekyll was (rather sharply and somewhat tersely) pulling Lutyens back into line. One cannot help noticing these after-thoughts without smiling. Their relationship was to continue in this mould for years. Jekyll’s influence on Lutyens thinking was both profound and decisive.

Above: A corner of Jekyll’s workshop. The shot a bit gloomy, however, the house was designed around Jekyll’s myopia. Her doctor strongly recommended all light should be indirect.

Above: One of Lutyens’ architectural flourishes, shelving between a range of windows for Jekyll’s most precious possessions.

Above: An inbuilt cupboard I guess by Jekyll. The inlay work must be hers.

Above: Steps to the Gertrude Jekyll’s woodlands. Notice how generous they are.

Above: The walk through the woods, birches to one side. Mainly shade, though open enough for judicious patches of sunshine. Something that Jekyll almost certainly put much thought into.

Above: A late-flowering rhododendron.

Above: Notice the debris left to one side, plants scrambling across. Probably not the sort of thing Jekyll would have countenanced, however, now it is best practice, Great Dixter and Wisley in mind.

Above: A woodland scene. Birch to the left, probably the trunk of a Scots pine and, I think, the glossy leaves of a beech in mid-summer’s foliage. The shade encouraging a tabulating growth habit. I’m positive Jekyll would have felt very much at home in this part of her garden.

Above: Another shot of the long woodland walk along Munstead’s south boundary.

Above: The house from the woods. An electric fence to control deer, an all-too familiar problem.

Above: Again from the woods. A carefully controlled glimpse of the house.

Above: Lutyens’ chimneys and his ‘hipped’ roof, the latter a traditional feature of Surrey.

Above: An angle showing the ambiguous entrance porch. It could well be the way to the garden but is really the entrance to the house.

Above: Munstead’s garden courtyard. The windows in the upper storey lining the gallery, mentioned previously. Wisteria to each side and clipped box balls. Notice the millstone let into the paving, something of a motif of the Jekyll/Lutyens gardens.

Years ago and landscaping around our newly-built rammed earth house in WA, I heard there were several millstones beside a flour mill built on a farm an hour’s drive north-west from us. I drove off to see, wondering if there might be one to spare, Munstead Wood in mind. Arriving at a lovely red-soil valley on the western edge of the Dandaragan plateau (we called it ‘the sandplain’, native plants loved it but the soil might as well have been beach sand) there were innumerable springs which merged into a sizeable stream just right to drive a water mill. And there it was, the old mill, however, smashed to pieces. A few years earlier it seems some national trust people had told the owner his mill was important, one of only two or three in Western Australia, so historical and must be conserved. As soon as they were gone, he fetched out his bulldozer, knocked the building down, and drove over it repeatedly to be sure there was nothing to reconstruct. I could just make out the shattered millstones.

Above: A collection of woodlanders in pots enjoying this shady spot. Notice the rippled paving slabs. These were Jekyll’s pride and joy.

Above: Jekyll’s conveniently sited garden workshop.

Above: The west side of the house, the waist-height hedges to each side, from memory, are made from spinossima roses (Scotch briar roses).

Above: Jekyll’s very famous ‘long border’. The first of many all over the world through to the present day. This mind you was not the first-ever herbaceous border. The ones we saw at Arley Hall a few weeks later go back to the 1840s, however, Munstead’s absolutely set the mould. I was checking on its dimensions when we were setting out Cloudehill’s borders in the winter of 1992. Jekyll’s is around 12 feet deep, with a narrow access path immediately behind and then a narrow two feet wide bed to grow climbers on the 14 feet high wall which runs the full length of this border.

Above: Red hot pokers, Lychnis and hollyhocks. These plants are no more than a ghost of the borders from Jekyll’s time, however, I’m sure Kate will be soon onto upgrading them.

Above: Valerie inspecting the flowers. An old chestnut to the left rear.

Above: The plan of Jekyll’s Long border’ as printed in my copy of ‘Colour Schemes for the Flower Garden’. Now many of these plants are still available, and those that are not have modern equivalents, so it should not be too difficult for Kate to exactly reinstate Gertrude’s famous planting. Something to look forward to.

Above: The famous garden door let into the wall behind the border. Bergenias to the left and Yuccas to the right, very much as Jekyll would expect them. I intend planting one of the best of the yuccas, Yucca gloriosa ‘Nobilis’ into Cloudehill’s cool borders this autumn. This was originally from Great Dixter, souvenir of that day in 1988 all those years ago. Yucca gloriosa ‘Nobilis’ comes very close to the plant Gertrude Jekyll used at Munstead 130 years ago, and in fact is still there more-or-less where she planted it.

Above: Most of the rest of the garden beyond the wall was sold off back in 1949. One or two fragments remain, including this dry stone wall which (I think) was laid by Gertrude herself.

Above: The door from behind. Various climbers on the wall, including Clematis montana, one of the rugosa roses to the left and the lovely Rosa glauca syn. rubrifolia to the right, something I have several times tried to grow and never succeeded with.

Above: The view back to the house.

Jekyll intended that visitors would first notice her long border from the other direction through this opening. After walking through the woods they would first notice an inferno of yellows and oranges and reds, the plants in the central part of her border. As they approached and more of her planting coming into view, colours would soften as the eye moved away to mauves and blush-pinks and creams at one end, and blues and creamy-whites at the other, emphasizing distance.

If you look closely to the left beside the begenias, you will spot a tuft of what appears to be grass marked with stakes. These mark a historic primrose which goes back to the nursery Jekyll was operating more than 100 years ago. For years Jekyll was selecting what became ‘Munstead Bunch Primroses’. In the old books, one sees that a little garden to one side of the house was devoted to primroses and in her lifetime these were famous. Though but one of several ‘Munstead’ selections of such things as a dwarf English lavender, and a rosemary, etc. The primrose garden is long gone, however, Kate noticed the occasional primrose corresponding with Jekyll’s old selections scattered widely around the garden. She has been collecting them and hopefully Munstead’s ‘Bunch Primrose’ will soon be back in nurseries.

Above: A birch tree at the end of one of the little paths behind the house.

In the shade of this birch, there was once a block of elm set on a stone as a garden seat, wryly christened by Jekyll’s friend, Charles Liddell, as the ‘Cenotaph of Sigismunda’. Sigismunda’s cenotaph was to become a running joke all through the housebuild. Charles, I might add, was Alice Liddell’s cousin, the Alice of ‘Alice in Wonderland’. (It was a very small world.) Sigismunda was probably a reference to King Tancred’s tragic daughter, Sigismunda, mentioned by Boccaccio in ‘the Decameron’, which rather gives a hint of the flavour of kitchen conversation at Munstead in those days, don’t you think? Years later, in 1920 Lutyens was commissioned by Lloyd George to design monuments to the fallen of WW1. Among them was a catafalque, or a unused tomb. Lutyens, thinking of those golden days at Munstead Wood, suggested ‘cenotaph’ as a better term for a vacant tomb. This immediately was accepted, and in this way Jekyll’s lovely birch tree inspired England’s most important memorial to the fallen of those terrible years.

Curious that it is still so vigorous after 130 years. And Kate assured us this is the original. Running the Cloudehill nursery, I was forever telling customers birch are very short-lived and good only for 30 – 50 years.

To open Munstead to the public, Kate has been charged by the English National Trust with any number of jobs and restoring the garden is the least of them. There’s upgrading the old windows to 21st Century standards, pulling apart the roof and installing insulation, sorting the drainage problem (every time it rains, the cellar fills with huge amounts of water) and the fact there’s parking for only two vehicles, plus the claustrophobic laneway in. Now Munstead is so important, to architecture as well as gardening, that the National Trust paid for the old property outright (rather than have it willed to them with lots of funds attached, the usual way these things happen). So the funds required to cover the improvements need to be raised, and the gist of this is outlined in the diagram above. So, apart from all her other duties, Kate must raise eight million pounds…and if anyone is up for supporting a very worthy cause, please get in touch.