The Bolton Street Cemetery is my idea of a Southern Hemisphere gothic garden. It's the oldest cemetery in Wellington and sits on a hill overlooking Wellington Harbour and Te Ahumairangi Hill.
It's the perfect place to see exotic and native plants growing in harmony in a place that is barely tamed. It's my kind of garden.
The main entrance to the cemetery is next to the Sexton's Cottage. Beside it is a small cottage garden with several roses that are over 100 years old.
There are roses growing that date back to the early settlers. Some are still flowering, albeit a last burst of summer, hanging on despite autumn soon to be turning to winter.
There are around 210 heritage roses of national significance growing at the cemetery. With species and cultivars with names like: 'Archduke Joseph', 'Blushing Lucy', 'Old Blush China', 'Tuscany', 'Cornelia' and 'Honorine de Brabant' - marvellous names from the times of the early settlers.
Most of the roses are bare sticks, like ancient fingers, echoing the cracks in the graves and the gnarled limbs of the old trees that cast shadows over them.
The Bolton Street Cemetery was opened in 1840. It joins up with the Wellington Botanic Garden. The gardeners at the botanic garden look after plants at the cemetery. They've have allowed the cemetery to age gracefully, with very little, obvious, tinkering and manicuring. It tells the botanical story of early Wellington.
Before the Europeans arrived, most of Wellington was covered in thick forest. The early settlers cut down the trees, which they used for building, and slashed and burned everything else. Exotic trees and shrubs were planted in the 1840s to green the bare, windswept hills. Oaks, pines, yews and roses were planted in the cemetery along with other traditional cemetery plants.
Over time those pioneering native plants: ferns, tree-ferns and quicker growing shrubs quickly grew back once there was shelter and shade (and gardeners who left them alone). The modern gardeners have planted the bigger native trees, I'm guessing, and allowed the birches and oaks to keep on growing. They've looked after the heritage roses, which, because of their general wildness and cragginess look beautiful, even in autumn without their leaves and flowers.
Here is proof that roses and other exotics can grow with kowhais, pohutukawas, rengarengas, tree-ferns and cabbage trees in the most, apparently, natural way. Natural is a 'contentious' word. 'Natural' is a look, a garden style, not a state. 'Topiary' and 'cottage gardens' are a particular garden style too. When people say that a garden looks natural they mean it mimics nature if left unchecked. So, instead of natural, I'll call the garden style at the Bolton Street Cemetery 'Southern Gothic' - that seems more fitting.
'Southern Gothic' is a term I've stolen from the USA. 'Southern Gothic' is a literary style. The books are set in the decayed and derelict ruins of a colonial post-civil war past. The characters are victims, villains, ordinary people, moneyed people, people with connections, people without connections, thwarted indigenous people and slaves - all with sad or mad or ordinary or heroic stories and struggles.
The Bolton Street Cemetery has it all: Maori chiefs, a Prime Minister, whalers, shopkeepers, a sister of a famous writer, sailors, soldiers, mothers, fathers and lots of children and babies. It's a place full of real life stories of shipwrecks, house fires, disease, fighting and untimely deaths. It's a place where plants and people come together harmoniously.
The Bolton Street Cemetery was split in half in the 1960s when the four lane motorway was built. The roads and noise are hidden and muffled by the stone wall and heavy planting, visible, in the photograph above.
To be honest I'm guessing that the large tree in the photo above is a pohutukawa, it could be a rata. I'm ignorant of the differences and many differences there are. Something for a future blog.
And look what arrived in the post!
Now, thanks to Koanga Gardens, I'll be able to grow sweetpeas that were grown by the New Zealand early settlers, those hardy folk who dared to dream.