Guest Post: Helmsley Walled Garden Through the Seasons: A Year in a Yorkshire Eden by Andrew Jackson
Foreword by Helmsley Walled Garden.
Andrew Jackson is an insightful writer and accomplished gardener who has been featured on BBC Gardeners’ World. He excels at nurturing diverse plants and designing striking gardens that showcase his expertise and profound bond with nature. Andrew imparts his experiences and wisdom through his writing, motivating readers with actionable gardening advice and thoughtful reflections, fostering a deeper appreciation for natural beauty and a meaningful sense of place.
Andrew regularly visits Helmsley Walled Garden and has written a captivating account of the seasonal changes the garden undergoes through his perspective.
Over to Andrew…
Helmsley Walled Garden Through the Seasons: A Year in a Yorkshire Eden
The first time I passed through the weathered gate into Helmsley Walled Garden, it felt like crossing a threshold not just into another place, but another pace. Just beyond the bustle of the market town and under the brooding gaze of the ruined Helmsley Castle, five acres of enclosed serenity lie cupped in brick and bloom. Here, the seasons pass with a soft-footed clarity — each one casting its own spell, transforming the garden into a living poem penned in petals, scent, and birds
Winter – Bones and Breath
In January, the garden sleeps beneath frost and stillness. The crisp air carries the low croak of a raven circling above the castle, and the dry rattle of last season’s seedheads whispering in the wind. Winter strips the garden to its bones — revealing the disciplined lines of espaliered fruit trees against the high brick walls, the sculptural forms of dormant perennials, and the skeletal beauty of teasels standing sentinel in the borders.
There is a peculiar magic in this bare landscape. The sun, low and slanting, paints long blue shadows over the frozen paths, and here and there a robin flits close, emboldened by hunger and human kindness. Volunteers still come, wrapped in scarves and purpose, gently pruning, mulching, and preparing — whispering their faith in spring into the soil.
Spring – Awakening and Wonder
By March, hope begins to unfurl with the crocus and snowdrop. The garden, so long hushed, begins to hum. The air is filled with promise: damp earth, warming stone, and the distant chatter of blackbirds reclaiming territory. In the orchard, tight buds on the old apple trees begin to swell with quiet urgency, and a veil of blossom is not far behind.
April is exuberance. Narcissi nod in buttery drifts, and tulips start their riot — some bold and blousy, others fine as flame. The glasshouses, once spectral in winter, glow now with the vitality of seedlings and the industry of gardeners coaxing colour from compost. Bees return, drunk on nectar, bumping clumsily from bloom to bloom like happy vagrants.
In the physic garden, ancient herbs — sage, angelica, lovage — stretch towards the light. Each plant a whisper from history, once used to soothe and heal, now quietly commanding their place among the vibrant palette.
Summer – Fullness and Celebration
By June, the garden reaches its crescendo. Each bed bursts with abundance, paths edged with lavender buzzing with bees, and roses ramble with determined grace up old brick. There is a kind of joyful excess here — cosmos tossing their delicate heads above the vegetable beds, dahlias standing proud like showgirls in lipstick and coral.
Visitors meander slowly, as if hypnotised by scent and colour. The garden room by room — the Clematis Garden, the Long Borders, the White Garden — offers scenes of painterly perfection, each a world of its own. At the height of summer, even time seems to wilt in the heat. It is easy to lose hours here, sitting beneath the pear arbour or watching swifts scythe across the sky in screeching arcs.
It’s not just the beauty that captivates but the sense of place. The garden, lovingly restored since its rebirth in the 1990s, is both curated and wild-hearted. There’s a generosity to it — not just in flora but in spirit. It invites lingerers, thinkers, and those who need quiet.
Autumn – Reflection and Richness
Come September, the garden changes her dress once more. The light softens, amber-hued and gentle. The riot of summer gives way to something richer, more contemplative. Seedheads are left to stand proud; grasses take on a burnished sheen; and asters and sedums bring a late flush of colour, like a final curtain call.
Apples begin to fall in the orchard — each one a thud of abundance — and the gardeners gather them in great crates, their skins shining like treasure. Pumpkins, knobbly and characterful, sit heavy in the vegetable beds. There’s a mellow fullness to everything, as if the garden, like the year, exhales.
And yet there’s no sense of ending here, only transition. The garden doesn’t resist the turning seasons — it flows with them. Even as leaves drop and petals wither, the garden remains deeply alive.
Timeless Magic
What makes Helmsley Walled Garden so extraordinary is not merely its beauty — though it is certainly beautiful — but its deep rootedness in time, place, and care. It is a garden of memory and hope. Once neglected, it has been restored not just as a heritage site but as a sanctuary for people and plants alike. The volunteers, the lifeblood of the place, tend with both hands and heart.
There is magic here, undeniably. Not the sudden, showy magic of illusion, but the quiet kind that creeps into the soul. You feel it when a butterfly lands on your sleeve without fear, or when the scent of old rose, warmed by sun, catches you unaware. You see it in the dappled shade beneath the quince tree, in the murmur of a gardener humming as they water the sweet peas.
In every season, Helmsley Walled Garden reminds us that beauty is not only found in bloom, but in patience, resilience, and gentle stewardship. It is a living calendar, marking time not with numbers but with snowdrops and strawberries, with frost and fallen fruit.
As I leave through the same gate, now with autumn rustling at my heels, I glance back at the quiet geometry of the beds, the old walls glowing in the soft light. It feels less like saying goodbye, and more like pressing pause — knowing the story continues, petal by petal, in its own time.
Words and photography by Andrew Jackson
Follow Andrew’s journey via the links below
Scribehound Gardening
@thenewbuildmanifesto
Andrew Jackson
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