A Garden Reclaimed

A Forgotten Space

I live in a flat within a block of 12, set on a steep bank that was once part of a wealthy business owner’s estate. Before that, it was a quarry, its stone used for the grand Victorian houses nearby. After the quarry closed in the 1920s, the owner landscaped the site, creating a pond and a freshwater swimming pool. Though these are long gone, remnants of the past remain—carved stone, old tiles, ornate bricks.

The First Intervention

I only connected with the garden after a difficult breakup. Once the grief eased, I began to notice the space around me. My first act was tearing ivy from a silver birch outside my door. It was suffocating the tree, much like I had felt suffocated in my own life. From there, my awareness grew—so did my frustration at the neglect.

The property was managed, meaning gardening services were included in our fees. But the gardener, elderly and indifferent, did little beyond cutting grass and hacking at hedges. I suggested we work together to restore the garden. He just laughed.

Back fence previously covered in ivy

Resistance and Persistence

Brambles, ivy, and weeds had overtaken the steep bank. The ground was uneven, unsafe. Rubbish—some buried, some strewn under trees—dated back decades. I saw it, but for a long time, I did nothing. My love for gardening, instilled as a child, lay dormant. I planted small things outside my door, swept the steps occasionally, but kept my distance.

Neighbours scoffed at my efforts. One told me I was mad. “Why are you bothering? It’s not your job.” I worked when no one was around, telling myself: It might not be my garden, but it’s my view. Neglect breeds more neglect. Clean spaces discourage litter. I staked my effort on that belief.

When the gardener retired, the management company struggled to find a replacement. In the meantime, complaints emerged—not about the ivy or the brambles, but about brushing against overgrown hedges. I bought hand shears and started cutting. First near my flat, then further. They still laughed, but at least some appreciated the hedges being trimmed.

Small Wins, Growing Momentum

I cleared weeds, levelled ground, sowed grass. A landscaper neighbour, once frosty, admitted I’d done a good job. Another, full of unsolicited advice, offered tools I never saw. A retired neighbour bought plants for her balcony, saying she’d help in spring. Someone else offered to pay for apple trees. Even the postman, who had seen it all, remarked that if people took responsibility, the neglect wouldn’t have happened.

The neighbour who called me mad had a change of heart. “I get it now,” he said. “It’s because you’re an artist.”

Beyond the Garden

The garden had become a talking point, a source of connection. People accept decline because they feel powerless to stop it. They lower their expectations and criticise from the sidelines. But action, however small, disrupts that cycle.

One day, a landscaper assessing the garden mentioned she needed help. I asked, “Do you need gardeners?” Days later, I was working for her one day a week. Though I worked in branding, I was now a gardener too.

By autumn, the transformation was undeniable. When the management company visited, neighbours made sure they knew: “It’s not your contractor doing this—it’s Matty from number 20!” That same day, I got an email offering me the job of gardener. I accepted.

The Real Motive

From the start, my motivation was selfish—I love gardening. That’s enough. I never did it for others and never will. But when you pour your heart into something, the impact extends beyond you. That’s what truly benefits others.