Abstract

Abstract It is gratifying to come upon a book about the making of a garden in England that is so full of disasters. Not for Elizabeth Smart the soigné pleasures of saying to the rhododendrons go and they goeth. ‘The weeds are giant sized & Thistles are all over the vegetable beds’, she writes in her garden diary early in her career. A year later she is lamenting the destruction ofher garden by the local hunt: ‘Compensation? What's that in gardening? It's the time’.

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