If the government will give me a grant, I’m more than happy to rewild my garden

With his lawn already turning to mud and brambles running riot, Will Gore wonders if he can create a sublime wilderness in exchange for a post-Brexit dividend

Weeds seem to laugh in my face (Getty/iStock)

In the summer of 2020, I had never felt prouder of my gardening skills.

During the first Covid lockdown, when fear stalked the largely empty streets, we thanked our lucky stars that we had our own outside space: a very small patch of lawn at the front of our house, and a slightly bigger, though very steep, plot at the back.

When socialising and work travel stopped, I gave the garden more attention than ever before. I planted seeds with my children, we weeded areas that had been hitherto unmanageable and we put in a small pond, after being inspired by socially-distanced Springwatch. Within three months, frogs had arrived, and were duly named Trevor, Delores and Jaydon by the kids.

Thanks to good weather conditions and my green-fingered devotion, by mid-summer we were beginning to harvest abundant crops of runner beans, French beans, tomatoes, sweetcorn, courgettes, chard and rocket. Nasturtiums planted by my son brightened every corner; bees buzzed merrily around sweet-smelling roses and lavender. The whole thing was a delight.

After the pride however, came the inevitable fall.

Last year, I assumed success would be easy to replicate. And sure enough, after a bit of an early spring clear out, the pond returned to life, with newts jostling the frogs for space. But I planted my vegetable seeds too early and many failed to germinate. Worse still, I moved the ones that survived outside before it was warm enough: half the bean plants withered and died and the courgettes were completely destroyed by slugs. The sweetcorn was a disaster, the chard never emerged and several of the tomato plants got blight. Weeds seemed to laugh in my face and even the cat got in on the act by crapping all over the area I was about to plant spinach in. I was humbled.

If the government can stretch their grant to a whopping £10,000, I’ll even turn my compost bin into a bug hotel, my mini-greenhouses into butterfly homes and I’ll turn my shed over to any stray bison

Winter is rarely a good time to look at a garden, but now I’m anxious that even one of last year’s few bright spots – a newly re-laid front lawn on freshly levelled ground – is losing its sheen. Actually, given that it currently appears to resemble an area of First World War no-man’s land, I think it’s safe to say some serious remedial work will be required, if indeed it’s possible to avoid starting from scratch again.

What’s more, the pond is in a right weedy state, but I can’t get to it without trampling on what’s left of the grass, so I tend just to look at it sadly and hope that better weather will eventually dry up the ground sufficiently for me to gain access without turning it into a mud bath.

All of this, under the gloomy skies of the past couple of months, has been a mite depressing. Still, in light of the news that the government is planning to pay farmers and landowners post-Brexit subsidies to rewild large tracts of earth, I wonder if I can join the rush towards de-cultivation. With a grant of a few hundred quid, I’d be more than happy to bung some ferns into the lawn and turn it into a haven for snails. That in turn should encourage more amphibians to the pond, and if we’re lucky that will provide sustenance for a small colony of grey herons, perhaps even the odd egret.

Round the back, there is already a super patch of wild blackberries, and for a mere £3,000, I’ll forget my plans to put in a car parking space and let the brambles take over. My most successful flowers are already ones I didn’t do anything to encourage: primroses, geraniums and forget-me-nots. I’ll let them run riot, even if it means sacrificing the bean beds.

If the government can stretch their grant to a whopping £10,000, I’ll even turn my compost bin into a bug hotel, my mini-greenhouses into butterfly homes and I’ll turn my shed over to any stray bison that happen to be passing. Just as the Knepp Estate in West Sussex has shown the way when it comes to rewilding previously cultivated land, so I can become a beacon for others who want to turn their gardens into a grand wilderness.

Failing that, you’ll find me in a few months’ time desperately trying to coax tomato seeds into life, patiently pruning an elderly rose and tentatively manicuring my front lawn with the nail scissors. Either way, please wish me luck.