I'm so happy to have discovered the book Merry Hall by the British writer Beverley Nichols. It's a wonderful, funny book published in 1951 about Nichols' attempts to create a garden at his newly-purchased Georgian manor house by the same name. I was also excited to learn that this is the first in a trilogy about Merry Hall, followed by Laughter on the Stairs (1953) and Sunlight on the Lawn (1956). And even though he passed away in 1983, Nichols was quite prolific, leaving us with a slew of other gardening books, novels, mysteries, children's books, plays, and memoirs to read and enjoy.
"Some fall in love with women; some fall in love with art; some fall in love with death. I fall in love with gardens, which is much the same as falling in love with all three at once." So begins Merry Hall, a book that introduces us to a cast of endearing characters such as Oldfield, the gardener; "Our Rose", who is always trying to get her hands on some of the fruits of Nichols' exuberant kitchen garden which produces "battalions of leeks and cauliflowers and sprouts, and enough lettuces to supply a rabbit warren;" Gaskin, the butler; and Nichols' two beloved (and very spoiled) cats, One and Four. The book is a delightful romp through Nichols' gardening endeavors, told with biting wit and great emotion, an unusual combination in a writer. As Nichols himself says, "When I begin to write about flowers I lose all sense of restraint, and it is far, far too late to do anything about it."
There are lots of great stories in this book, such as the one describing how a huge ugly hedge came to be burned down (which of course involves good friends and a bottle of great champagne), but the thing I like best about it is the author's voice, and his gardening philosophies as he frequently spells them out in no uncertain terms. For example, he states that, "begonias are not flowers, they are a state of mind, and a regrettable one at that." He also announces that he loves geraniums and "anybody who does not love geraniums must obviously be a depraved and loathsome person." About a previous owner who had planted elms on the estate, he says, "For this alone, he should have been cursed, and so should anybody else who ever plants an elm. They are useless, hulking brutes of trees, and as soon as Constable had finished painting them they should have been rooted out of the British Isles."
But Nichols is a romantic in spite of his acerbic wit. Of the combination of plants blooming in his urn (clematis Jackmanii and apple-blossom geraniums), he says, "It is an enchanting marriage of colour, a sort of floral love-affair, and if you walk down the lane so that you see this exquisite duel against the sombre background of the copper beech, you will feel that life is very much worth living, and that you really had a very bright idea when you decided to be born." On sharing the joys of a garden, he observes, "There is a great deal of truth in the old saying that in a garden the best fertilizer is 'the shadow of the owner;' it is equally true of the shadow of the owner's friends. Even flowers need love." One of my favorite passages is when Nichols descibes the truly important things in life "such as the dew on a spider's web, or the first fragrance of a freesia on a shelf."
Nichols sums up Merry Hall near the end when he says, "This book - as you may by now have gathered - is not really a book at all; it is only a long walk round a garden, in winter and summer, in rain and in sunshine; and if it bores you to walk round gardens you will long ago have chucked it aside." What a wonderful walk it is, though; I was actually sad when I finished the book, as though I had to say goodbye to a world I would prefer to visit every day. I guess I have to console myself with the sequels, as well as his other books on gardens, including Down the Garden Path (1932) and Green Grows the City (1939).
Wishing you happiness in spades,
M.R.S.
"Some fall in love with women; some fall in love with art; some fall in love with death. I fall in love with gardens, which is much the same as falling in love with all three at once." So begins Merry Hall, a book that introduces us to a cast of endearing characters such as Oldfield, the gardener; "Our Rose", who is always trying to get her hands on some of the fruits of Nichols' exuberant kitchen garden which produces "battalions of leeks and cauliflowers and sprouts, and enough lettuces to supply a rabbit warren;" Gaskin, the butler; and Nichols' two beloved (and very spoiled) cats, One and Four. The book is a delightful romp through Nichols' gardening endeavors, told with biting wit and great emotion, an unusual combination in a writer. As Nichols himself says, "When I begin to write about flowers I lose all sense of restraint, and it is far, far too late to do anything about it."
There are lots of great stories in this book, such as the one describing how a huge ugly hedge came to be burned down (which of course involves good friends and a bottle of great champagne), but the thing I like best about it is the author's voice, and his gardening philosophies as he frequently spells them out in no uncertain terms. For example, he states that, "begonias are not flowers, they are a state of mind, and a regrettable one at that." He also announces that he loves geraniums and "anybody who does not love geraniums must obviously be a depraved and loathsome person." About a previous owner who had planted elms on the estate, he says, "For this alone, he should have been cursed, and so should anybody else who ever plants an elm. They are useless, hulking brutes of trees, and as soon as Constable had finished painting them they should have been rooted out of the British Isles."
But Nichols is a romantic in spite of his acerbic wit. Of the combination of plants blooming in his urn (clematis Jackmanii and apple-blossom geraniums), he says, "It is an enchanting marriage of colour, a sort of floral love-affair, and if you walk down the lane so that you see this exquisite duel against the sombre background of the copper beech, you will feel that life is very much worth living, and that you really had a very bright idea when you decided to be born." On sharing the joys of a garden, he observes, "There is a great deal of truth in the old saying that in a garden the best fertilizer is 'the shadow of the owner;' it is equally true of the shadow of the owner's friends. Even flowers need love." One of my favorite passages is when Nichols descibes the truly important things in life "such as the dew on a spider's web, or the first fragrance of a freesia on a shelf."
Nichols sums up Merry Hall near the end when he says, "This book - as you may by now have gathered - is not really a book at all; it is only a long walk round a garden, in winter and summer, in rain and in sunshine; and if it bores you to walk round gardens you will long ago have chucked it aside." What a wonderful walk it is, though; I was actually sad when I finished the book, as though I had to say goodbye to a world I would prefer to visit every day. I guess I have to console myself with the sequels, as well as his other books on gardens, including Down the Garden Path (1932) and Green Grows the City (1939).
Wishing you happiness in spades,
M.R.S.
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