The Walled Garden at Blackford Glen

My first garden happened to be right on my doorstep in the stunning area of Blackford Glen. On the south-facing slopes of the Glen lies a quiet, layered sanctuary — not quite hidden, but easy to overlook.

Once an overgrown plantation and later, an abandoned plot left to brambles and balsam. In 2012, the Natural Heritage Service of the City Council and The Friends of the Hermitage of Braid undertook an ambitious project to develop part of the walled area into a Community Garden and Wildlife Garden. The construction work involved restoring historic walls and entrances, installing proper drainage, improving paths and steps and building new raised beds... no small feat.

The City Council, once involved, gradually stepped back leaving the maintenance of the garden to the Friends of the Hermitage of Braid and Blackford Hills, and it was some of their members I was off to meet. 

Thursdays are usually a studio day for me, but on a typical April showers kinda day I set off on my bike in the opposite direction from my studio to meet Goff, secretary of the Friend’s for over 20 years and long-time volunteer and custodian of the Garden.

Pulling into the western entrance to the glen, I locked up my bike as the heavens opened. Instantly regretting not bringing my ‘good’ waterproof. Scotland is spectacular in this kind of weather however, bright sunshine after a downpour causing every bit of green to glisten and shine as the light ricochets off the water droplets, the whole place is so verdant and bright

Blackford Glen became a haven for me during my years as a student and the, achem, many subsequent years thereafter. I am not a city person. Although I grew up on the outskirts of Oxford, it is arguably the most uncity-city there is. I tried living in larger cities, spending a few months in London and a year in Birmingham, but my mental health took a plunge in both. Edinburgh has been different. Blackford Glen has played a key role in this. In the Glen you can forget you’re in a city, it is a magical haven in the middle of Edinburgh.

The Glen is tucked beneath the slopes of Blackford Hill and the Braid Hills, the glen itself is a lush green corridor that follows the course of the Braid Burn as it winds its way through woodlands, meadows and open glades. A Nature reserve since 1938, the glen is home to a huge variety of wildlife including herons, kestrels, kingfishers, sing thrushes and even tawny owls.

Taking the path to the left of the Braid Burn I’m hit with the smell of wild garlic, it’s just about past its peak, their flowers beginning to wilt, but the smell still permeates the humid air around me, so fresh. It really feels like spring.

As I walk along the green tunnels created by the trees that border the burn, I feel as I always feel when I’m here, transported, I could be anywhere. In some magical gem on the West-coast or highlands that tourists spend hours getting to, or straight out of one of the fairy and folk tales that made up my childhood, but no, I’m in the centre of a city. A city that has become so dear to me it has relocated me away from my childhood home, my friends, and my family. But despite having explored Blackford glen innumerable times… I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve never walked this particular path, and I find myself excited by the prospect of not knowing what I’m going to come out to.

After five minutes or so I come to an old wall, it hits you head on, blocking your way. I’m almost surprised to find the traditional sandstone and lime mortar that is a feature on a lot of these old estates hidden in the middle of this valley, I shouldn't have been, it was after all what I was looking for. The wall stretched up the hill to my left where it is met by another wall of the same design, the path leads me down to the right where I begin to get a glimpse of the landscape within the walls... It’s not much different to the one on the outside. Big established beech trees and a carpet of wild garlic with a couple paths crisscrossing through it. Through the trees I catch a glimpse of a stone building, the Doocot.

The Doocot (Scots for Dovecot), I knew from my research, sits within the walled garden that was once part of the late 18th century estate owned by a local lawyer named Charles Gordon. Gordon commissioned the construction of Braid House which stands just to the east of the Doocot and Walled Garden. However both are older than the house. It is believed that they were built in the 17th century predating the house by over a hundred years. The Walled Garden and Doocot, which is the second largest in Scotland, would have once been an incredibly important source of food, with the Doocot having a whopping total of 1965 stone nesting boxes.

Continuing my way along the wall, I began to wonder how on earth I was going to get in and whether I’d taken a wrong turn and should go back, when I rounded a corner and literally, there was a stump in the path, stumbled upon a gap in the wall. Not a gap of stones missing, or removed, but a huge open entry, inviting any passerby to enter. I’m here.

Tucked beneath the watchful stone gaze of the old Doocot, lay a three terraced garden enclosed by an old and decaying woven hazel fence. Despite the intermittent downpours three volunteers were in the garden, on a good day, I’m told, there are 5-6 volunteers that work every Thursday in the garden from April-December. They were, Goff, a medium built man who gave of warmth and kindness, Paul an elderly woman, and Phil an extremely tall elderly man, all were eager to share their enthusiasm for the Garden.

Since 2018, Goff has led the charge, initially supported by grants from the National Lottery, Scottish Natural Heritage (now NatureScot), and the Council. Now, the work continues thanks to sheer dedication.

“The council backed off,” Goff recalls, “and I just got on with it.”

That’s how most things happen here: not through directives, but through steady, muddy-handed commitment.

Today, the garden is arranged into three primary terraces, each with a focus on wildflowers: one for pollinators, one for culinary herbs, and one for medicinals. Whenever possible, the team sticks to native species. But there’s room for character — a splash of southern honeysuckle here, a towering bistort there. And yet, the plants themselves often have their own plans.

“We put them in one place and they won’t grow,” laughs Paul, another volunteer, “but they’ll pop up somewhere completely different and thrive.”

Volunteers once tried to keep up with labelling them, but the plants kept migrating. Eventually, the signs were removed. “It’s interesting to see what they do,” Goff says. “How they get from the bottom beds to the top is always fascinating.”

Phil adds, “Whether we like it or not, we are guided by the plants.”

And it’s true. This garden, with its scabious and mint and crimson bistort, its mice nesting under the soil, six varieties of bees, and robins hopping between tools, is not controlled. Despite the human touch, this is very much a partnership with nature — a careful, respectful kind of cultivation. The volunteers introduce plants each year, nurture what survives, and respect what doesn’t.

The Walled Garden also serves as a quiet meeting point for cultures and generations. Several community groups maintain beds at the bottom terraces — including the RSPB Phoenix Group and, in the past, a Bangladeshi community group, which initially began planting but withdrew due to planting restrictions and management challenges. Volunteers now maintain the bed as best they can.

Phil has worked with primary school children, introducing them to herbs like Tansy. “They used to make tea out of it,” he says with a wince… and after offering me a bit to try I understood why! It is definitely an acquired taste, a bit bitter, but not unenjoyable.

“The kids love it here,” Goff adds. “There’s this little path we made as a maintenance path, but it’s grown up on either side — it becomes this magical tunnel.”

There are wooden animal sculptures nestled in the terraces, a popular feature among young visitors. Unfortunately, made from plywood, they’re already decaying. Goff and the team hope to secure a grant to replace them.

However, sadly not all visitors are kind. The garden has had plants stolen and occasional vandalism. “You can’t stop people doing things,” Goff shrugs. “You just get on and repair it.”

But despite the setbacks, the garden is loved. Paul mentions chatting with someone in a shop who visits just to find peace. “It’s really helping people’s wellbeing,” she says.

Even during the pandemic, the garden provided continuity. “You’d have to work hard to be within two meters of each other,” Goff notes. “It was business as usual for me.”

Like all good gardens, this one is evolving. The old hazel fencing, now rotting, is slowly being replaced with live hedging: hawthorn, maple, beech, crab apple, hornbeam. In a few years, these plants will form a living border — bird-friendly, pollinator-rich, and beautiful. Gardeners, after all, garden for the future.

But what is the future for Blackford Glen’s Walled Garden, with its dedicated but dwindling team of volunteers. Goff, Phil and Paul are all retired, the sad reality of an aging community group that exist in all but name nowadays. The primary school children adore coming here and learning from the plants and the people who tend them, so what happens next? Why do some of these same open-minded individuals end up vandalising the very spaces that once inspired them? There is a disconnect in our culture, never seen more keenly than between the generations making use of the garden. For the younger there is magic, while for the older there seems to be a duty of stewardship.

There’s something poignant in that gap — the one that opens slowly between the wonder of childhood and the responsibility of adulthood, where the magic of nature fades into something abstract, bureaucratic, or burdensome. Children love the garden’s tiny paths, enjoy its riot of colour and scent, spend time watching bees hover at wildflower heads. But somewhere along the line, many lose that connection. Perhaps it’s not just about age, but about how society teaches us to value speed over slowness, consumption over care. Stewardship becomes rare, even radical. And so we find ourselves in this strange dissonance: a place adored by schoolchildren, sustained by pensioners, and too often ignored or vandalised by those in between. If we want the Walled Garden — and places like it — to survive, we must ask not just how to protect it, but how to rekindle that early sense of wonder and responsibility before it's lost.

The Garden, is a garden within a garden, a walled spaced within a walled space, it is both separate and communal, inviting all to enjoy it, and despite theft, decay, and weather, the garden flourishes. The Walled Garden at Blackford Glen is a deeply human space, shaped by seasons, and the tireless efforts of a few, and perhaps that’s the lesson of this tucked-away terrace garden: we garden not for ourselves, but for the future—for others, human and non-human alike.