Campervan Therapy

Tagoat – IOAC Camping

This is the kind of corporate campsite we’re not too fond of, by the N25 to Rosslare Port, but it’s a gift for families, with high-wires, archery, and kayaking. I decide not to partake of the axe-throwing.

Seán glues himself to MAPS.ME, essential for walking when there’s no footpath signs. We turn off the N25’s cycle path in Tagoat, past the cemetery to a quiet enough road to Rosslare and stumble across a gem.

Orchard Park Open Garden

An Open Garden sign. I can never resist a garden, even less, a random sign. We’re admiring an owl perched on a pile of books when the owners come out.

The minute I meet Laurence and Elizabeth, I know this is going to be a special visit. Laurence tells us about how the house was only a small bungalow, but they built the ‘white elephant’ of an extension onto it fifty years ago. The garden grew from small beginnings too.

Floral Bounty

Elizabeth is passionate about the flowerbeds packed with phlox, dahlias, montbretia, crocosmia, giant daisies, many donated by one of their B&B guest’s nursery in England. Elizabeth and Laurence are your original recyclers, long before it became the norm, reusing old tractor tyres as flowerbeds, rescuing plants from the tip, nothing is wasted in this garden.

Luscious flower beds

I’m in floral heaven as we wander along winding paths, under arches, and beside bowers of flowers. Divided over the years, the blooms fill the beds. The verbena Bonariensis nods tall throughout the gardens, having seeded itself over the years, the roses are luscious. The cannas and antirrhinums fill tree stumps. Hostas, with their violet blooms, cuddle up to blue agapanthus. Elizabeth’s  secret?

            “Woodchip from the tree surgeon and feed them with tomato food often.”

Woodland

The woodland garden holds surprises round every turn, including a seal, which Elizabeth tells me Laurence insisted that as a fallen branch was such a beautiful bow shape its integrity must be preserved. Next comes the hobbit house Laurence carved from a fallen oak. Everything that dies in this garden is given magical, new life.

Water-lily Pond

Water lilies riot over the pond. A heron takes off, beating his huge wings.

            “Our regular visitor,” says Laurence, slinging bread into the water.

The carp gobble them up, slurping like old men who’ve forgotten to put their teeth in.

Tall swaying grasses mark the boundary between the garden, the wheat field and blue hills beyond.

Art Gallery

The charming couple invite us in to see Laurence’s lockdown project – a grandfather clock, looking like a genuine antique, fashioned from old mahogany bedsteads and wardrobes, the face from a silver tray. Truly, we’ve wandered through Alice’s looking glass – nothing is as it seems in this house. From the outside a blocky extension, inside a grand manor house, with its grand, gilt carving surrounding a doorway, pieced together from tiny pieces saved from Johnstown Castle’s basement. Then there’s the art gallery. Elizabeth collected the paintings over the years from a visitor who sold them on behalf of the Starving Artists of Ireland, just one more piece of magic to add to today’s chance visit.