Kate Joynes-Burgess

I expected to swap catchy prose for cabbage rows when I signed up to volunteer at Chastleton House in March. Instead, I’ve developed an entirely new addiction: sculpting century-old box hedging.

Topiary is tantalising for perfectionists, control freaks, and impatient sorts. Guilty on all counts. What other form of gardening offers instant results and the chance to bend nature to one’s whimsical design in a matter of hours? Me and Buxus sempervirens are becoming bosom buddies.

But staying true to the ethos of this 17th century property, and its sprawling grounds, is the most powerful motivator. Head gardener, Anna Derrett, ensures we grow in the right direction as aspiring National Trust horticulturists.

Cross-checking with the Trust’s photographic archive, an eight-strong group of volunteers is restoring these wildly overgrown hedges to their original form as far as possible. When shrubs have evolved beyond recognition they become new creations, inspired by what they most closely resemble today. Thus a geometric shape is now a squirrel, an erstwhile goblin (now headless) may become an octopus. And this one-time bijou cockerel is now a monstrously fat chick.