Behind an ivy-covered door in an apparently ordinary Sussex
garden is a hidden bower that's the perfect place for a
barbecue.
Oliver Hawkins leans forward, grasping the long handle of a
fork he has made especially for this job. The flattened tines hold a crumpled
foil parcel of mussels, cockles and clams over the flames raging in the centre
of the huge outdoor fireplace. His wife, Diana, looks on, occasionally glancing
nervously back towards the hidden spot where she has left her brood of ten
orphaned ducklings. Could they be in peril? This sultry summer evening has been
dedicated to the atavistic pleasures of cooking flesh under deepening skies and
the carnivores are gathering in the secret garden at the back of Oliver and
Diana's Sussex house.
"All this was part of the garden of the big house behind
ours," Diana says, looking around the brick and flint sanctuary draped with
passionflower and roses and carpeted by daisies and forget-me-nots, where
guests are sipping pink cocktails on the diminutive lawn. To her left is a
short flight of stone steps, flecked with vibrant ferns, dark mosses and pots
of scarlet geraniums, but leading to nothing other than a glimpse of the
glowering battlements of Arundel Castle. Beside the stairs is a shadowy doorway
leading to a roofless passageway, where boughs of hydrangea almost obscure the
roaring fire in the thick-walled enclosure ahead - this is the heart of the
garden.
We're here to enjoy a very sophisticated kind of barbecue.
No cans of lager or charred burgers tonight, instead we will be devouring
tender cuts of chicken and beef, complemented by Oriental-style sauces and
marinades, platefuls of garlicky seafood, and salads of bitter leaves and thick
slices of beefsteak tomato. "I used to climb up a ladder and peer over the wall
into here," says Diana, crouching to offer a lettuce leaf to the family's
tortoises, Henry and Spod. "It was filled with lupins, delphiniums, hollyhocks
and all the flowers that I love. It was looked after by a gardener from the castle,
so it was always immaculate and I used to long to have a garden like that."
Fifteen years ago, the Hawkinses persuaded the owners to
part with a section of the garden: part lawn; part shadowy passages that lead
to stone walls and bolted lichen-covered gates; and part miniature feasting
hall, open to the skies. Oliver knocked a hole through the back wall of the
conservatory he'd built at the end of their existing garden into the refuge
beyond. "I covered the doorway with ivy, so that if you didn't know, you
wouldn't see it," he says. "I think this part of the garden used to be the
laundry. When we bought it this bit was filled with junk. I expected to find
treasure, but the most exciting thing I found was a 1927 penny."
Tonight the secret garden is filled with the crackle of meat
juices dripping into the fire, while the scents of flowers, herbed salads and
aromatic sauces fill the air - treasure indeed.