WALKS AND LAWNS
Directly we leave the public road and enter upon the precincts of the
dwelling, the question of suitable walks and paths at once demands
attention. According to the size of the house and its surroundings,
we may have to traverse a stately drive bordered with noble trees,
or simply a flower-fringed pathway, to reach the entrance door. The
subject of carriage drives must necessarily be somewhat outside the
scope of this little book, which is destined as a guide for those
possessing grounds of small or medium extent. We find, however, that
the desire for an imposing approach is by no means confined to those
whose property demands a certain amount of pretension; the owners of
quite small places will often sacrifice anything, that they may have
a drive of even humble proportions. It is to attain this object that
the most fantastically contorted approaches are devised, many actually
running parallel with the main road for almost their entire length. It
may be taken as a fixed rule, only alterable under rare circumstances,
that a drive should be as direct as possible in its course; the idea
that needless twistings will give an air of importance and dignity
to a place is totally erroneous. I remember once visiting a house of
quite unpretending dimensions, the approach to which was by way of a
drive of astonishing length. In driving up, one actually passed twice
within close view of the house before arriving at the front door; each
time, instead of taking a direct route, the drive meandered away into
a wilderness of shrubs. The effect, needless to say, was supremely
ridiculous. If the public road be straight, or nearly so, the entrance
drive should leave it at right angles, an oblique juncture only being
permissible when the road is decidedly curved. Privacy should be
secured by suitable planting, as it is by no means desirable that the
best parts of the garden or the windows of the house be overlooked by
persons using the general approach.
Another point which must necessarily be borne in mind when
contemplating a feature of this description is the expense of
up-keep—no insignificant item in the case of a considerable length of
drive. Nothing looks worse than ill-kept, weedy pathways, and unless
constantly tended and regravelled from time to time, they soon present
a spectacle of dismal neglect. The small house is generally better
approached by a short direct route, omitting even a carriage court
or turn, unless ample space can be allowed. The seclusion afforded
by a drive is easily obtainable by other means, and the feeling of
pretentious importance which this feature often imparts is scant
compensation for loss of needed ground for lawns and flower-garden.
Garden walks are capable of great variety of treatment; they may be
laid in several materials, and by their presence, both utilitarian
and artistic ends may be compassed. The most common fault with
designers is the formation of too many walks, a style of arrangement
which is particularly objectionable in small gardens. An artificially
constructed pathway is rarely in itself a beautiful object, though
it may often appear so owing to the nature of its surroundings. For
this reason a walk should generally be made to serve a useful purpose,
rather than act as a mere foil to surroundings of a different type.
The walks nearest to the house will, in many cases, form part of a
terrace scheme, and it is well that these should be made a distinctive
feature. Stone flags look extremely well, much better, in fact, than
cobbles, which are tiring to walk upon. Dressed stone is expensive,
but it is often possible to obtain suitable material at fairly cheap
rates from the town authorities who have the disposal of old street
pavements. Terrace walks are necessarily both formal and artificial,
and remarks as to natural levels have no application where they are
concerned. A fair width is advisable, but care must be taken that
the house itself is not dwarfed by an undue expanse of terracing.
If different levels are attempted, steps should be employed to give
access from one to the other; a sloping path is quite out of place in a
terrace scheme. I do not care for the practice of working in different
coloured materials to form a mosaic; there should be sufficient
variety, both of colour and form, in the living contents of the garden,
without having to face the necessity for embellishments in stone and
brick.
[Illustration: A PAVED WALK]
When contemplating any special features in the way of design, always
consider whether it is possible to approach them conveniently by a
suitable pathway. All the best views should be readily accessible
without the necessity for traversing possibly wet lawns, or pushing
through heavy undergrowth. Paths leading direct from the stables to
the flower-garden must be broad and well made, as they will be in
constant use for heavy traffic, carting manure, water barrows, etc. The
lesser frequented walks need not be so wide, and providing that they
do not lead through highly cultivated portions, and are dry and well
made, need not be kept scrupulously gravelled. A degree of wildness is
quite in keeping with certain parts of the garden, though an ill-kept,
weed-grown path is never permissible. The walks which traverse the wild
garden, orchard and woodland, will destroy much of the charm of these
sylvan retreats if they betray signs of too constant attention—their
surface smooth, the grass edges rigorously trimmed, and evidences of
the line, shears and roller everywhere apparent. A prim pathway would
be a sad eyesore on the ragged face of the hillside, the mountain track
equally ridiculous winding among shaven lawns and glowing flower-beds.
It is often necessary to effect a satisfactory transition between
these two styles, and this can only be done by means of a well-marked
boundary. Either a broad hedge, a small gateway, or a short pergola may
be depended upon in most instances to render the passage from one to
the other free from incongruity. Two walks should never be seen running
parallel to one another for any considerable distance; one or other
is almost sure to appear needless. If the second path is a necessity,
it should be screened from its fellow by suitable planting. In the
same way, the junction of two distinct paths should be so arranged
that there is no reason to suppose that either one or the other is
superfluous. Repton’s ideas on this and kindred matters relating to
walks are worthy of study and imitation. He makes it a rule that in
the case of two walks branching off from one another, each should take
a decided outward turn, as though there were no possibility of their
meeting again.
Paths which lead “nowhere” are usually a failure, and we can most
of us recall the annoyance experienced after following a walk for
some distance only to find that it ended in a cul-de-sac. If such
arrangement be necessary, as it sometimes is, some compensating
influence should always be provided at the end. A small summer-house,
a curved seat and sundial, a well grown tree inviting rest and shade
beneath its branches—any of these will remove the pointless appearance.
There are absolutely no rules regarding the formation of serpentine
walks, unless they be those of a negative quality. Such walks are
always permissible and often charming if they are made in deference
to the natural form of the ground. Divergence from the straight line
is necessary to avoid a group of trees, to skirt a piece of water, or
to embrace some particular view, but not for the purpose of deceiving
the visitor as to the extent of the property. Twisted walks look very
foolish in a place which obviously possesses straight boundaries, and
however delightful it may be to lovers in the twilight to linger thus
lovingly on their homeward way, the majority of us are merely annoyed
by the mazelike contortions which the average “landscape gardener” sees
fit to inflict upon us. So long as the curves are pleasing to the eye,
there is no need to make them equal, rather the contrary; the great
point to avoid is the creation of a hard line between two neighbouring
bends.
Grass forms a delightful edging to garden paths, but it requires to
be well kept, otherwise it is unsightly. To afford facilities for
mowing, a level breadth of turf sufficient in width to accommodate
the lawn-mower should be laid along either side; this is especially
necessary if sloping banks rise immediately from the sides of the walk.
In the wild garden, natural edgings, ground ivy, cotoneaster, or St
John’s wort will look more appropriate than either mown turf or tiles.
Walks and pathways must always be considered as part of design, but
their utility and convenience should be the first point studied. It is
disappointing to see in many places the arid stretches of gravel, walks
of more than necessary width, and carriage sweeps large enough to turn
a coach and four: all this lessens the space available for turf and
flowers, and offers nothing in return, as the cost of up-keep is in no
way decreased.
As a recent garden artist has declared, the lawn is the heart of the
British garden. It is the centre of the social life which, in our too
brief summer, is enacted out of doors; it is the setting for the
host of beautiful flowers and shrubs which come to gladden our hearts
as the warm sun dispels the snows and mists of winter. That style of
design must be accounted best which spares no pains to give a fair
spreading lawn to every garden, no matter what its size. Nothing tends
to give greater breadth and dignity to a place than a stretch of well
kept turf, and nothing is more restful to the eye than the prospect of
cool greensward. The lawn, or a portion of it, should always be seen
from the best parts of the house; not even the choicest shrubs, or the
richest terrace gardens, will satisfy in the same manner. On large
lawns there may be recesses at intervals, in which tender plants or
choice colonies of lilies, backed with rhododendrons and azalea, will
receive comparative shelter.
The size and shape of lawns intended for croquet and tennis
will necessarily be determined by the rules of the game, often,
unfortunately, to the detriment of the general effect. The sunk lawn,
surrounded with a low bank, which is often made for croquet, is by no
means beautiful, and the banks, unless made with an easy slope, are
difficult to keep evenly trimmed. For both games the designer would
do well to consider the comfort of spectators, who are frequently
compelled to sit in the blazing sun. A shady pergola with convenient
openings would be very welcome if covering a path running parallel to
the lawn; or a clipped yew hedge, though somewhat heavy and lacking
both colour and variety, might add considerably to the pleasures of the
onlookers. At any rate, a shady cloister of living plants would be far
preferable to the stuffy little summer-house which is often the only
form of shelter.
The impression of space is very ably conveyed by a good lawn, and
this is the more easily attained if there are but few walks in the
vicinity. An irregular fringe of shrubs, with taller trees behind,
the whole gradually merging into the distant vista, is one of the most
satisfactory ways of closing in the lawn from the rest of the garden.
It is often a temptation when space is limited to sacrifice a large
portion of greensward, so that more flowers may be grown. It would
be best to consider matters very carefully before removing a single
sod of turf. If more room is needed, a few bold masses of herbaceous
plants near the edge of the lawn will probably give the best results.
There is no defence for the barbarous practice of dotting the grass
with flower-beds, cut in a variety of ill-considered shapes, neither
should clumps of shrubs be placed so that they destroy all sense
of perspective. The softly undulating meadow lands of the English
landscape, with their rich fringe of native woodland, will teach the
designer much of the beauty and value of the garden lawn; and in the
planning of the best effects, he may with safety study the lessons
which Nature provides in almost every direction.