Each 20 minutes or so, an older diesel railway carriage pulls into a spray-painted station. Nearby, a police siren pierces the near-constant traffic drone. Daily travelers rush by collapsing, ivy-draped garden fences as rain clouds form.
It is maybe the last place you anticipate to find a well-established vineyard. However one local grower has cultivated 40 mature vines heavy with round mauve berries on a sprawling allotment sandwiched between a line of 1930s houses and a commuter railway just north of Bristol town centre.
"I've seen individuals hiding illegal substances or other items in those bushes," says the grower. "But you simply continue ... and keep tending to your vines."
Bayliss-Smith, 46, a filmmaker who also has a fermented beverage company, is among several local vintner. He has organized a loose collective of growers who make vintage from several hidden urban vineyards nestled in private yards and community plots throughout the city. It is sufficiently underground to have an formal title yet, but the group's WhatsApp group is called Vineyard Dreams.
To date, Bayliss-Smith's allotment is the only one registered in the Urban Vineyards Association's upcoming world atlas, which includes more famous city vineyards such as the eighteen hundred vines on the slopes of the French capital's renowned artistic district area and over three thousand grapevines with views of and inside Turin. The Italian-based non-profit association is at the forefront of a movement reviving urban grape cultivation in historic wine-producing nations, but has identified them throughout the globe, including urban centers in Japan, South Asia and Uzbekistan.
"Grape gardens assist cities remain more eco-friendly and more diverse. They preserve open space from construction by creating permanent, yielding farming plots inside cities," explains the association's president.
Like all wines, those created in cities are a result of the soils the plants grow in, the vagaries of the climate and the individuals who tend the fruit. "Each vintage embodies the beauty, community, environment and heritage of a city," adds the president.
Back in the city, Bayliss-Smith is in a race against time to gather the vines he cultivated from a plant abandoned in his garden by a Polish family. Should the rain comes, then the birds may take advantage to feast again. "This is the enigmatic Polish variety," he comments, as he cleans bruised and rotten grapes from the glistering bunches. "We don't really know their exact classification, but they're definitely hardy. Unlike premium grapes – Burgundy grapes, white wine grapes and other famous European varieties – you don't have to treat them with chemicals ... this is possibly a special variety that was bred by the Eastern Bloc."
The other members of the collective are also making the most of sunny interludes between showers of fall precipitation. At a rooftop garden with views of Bristol's glistening waterfront, where historic trading ships once bobbed with barrels of wine from Europe and the Iberian peninsula, Katy Grant is harvesting her dark berries from about 50 vines. "I love the aroma of the grapevines. It is so reminiscent," she remarks, stopping with a container of fruit slung over her shoulder. "It's the scent of southern France when you roll down the car windows on holiday."
The humanitarian worker, 52, who has devoted more than two decades working for charitable groups in war-torn regions, unexpectedly inherited the vineyard when she moved back to the UK from Kenya with her household in 2018. She experienced an overwhelming duty to maintain the vines in the yard of their recently acquired property. "This vineyard has previously endured three different owners," she explains. "I deeply appreciate the concept of environmental care – of handing this down to future caretakers so they can continue producing from this land."
A short walk away, the remaining cultivators of the group are busily laboring on the precipitous slopes of Avon Gorge. One filmmaker has cultivated more than 150 plants situated on terraces in her expansive property, which tumbles down towards the silty local waterway. "Visitors frequently express amazement," she notes, gesturing towards the tangled grape garden. "It's astonishing to them they are viewing rows of vines in a urban neighborhood."
Currently, Scofield, sixty, is picking clusters of deep violet Rondo grapes from lines of plants arranged along the hillside with the assistance of her child, her family member. The conservationist, a documentary producer who has worked on streaming service's Great National Parks series and BBC Two's Gardeners' World, was motivated to cultivate vines after observing her neighbor's vines. She's discovered that hobbyists can produce intriguing, pleasurable traditional vintage, which can sell for more than seven pounds a serving in the growing number of establishments focusing on minimal-intervention wines. "It is deeply rewarding that you can truly make quality, natural wine," she says. "It is quite on trend, but really it's resurrecting an old way of producing wine."
"When I tread the fruit, all the wild yeasts come off the surfaces and enter the liquid," says the winemaker, ankle deep in a container of tiny stems, seeds and red liquid. "This represents how vintages were historically produced, but commercial producers add sulphur [dioxide] to kill the wild yeast and then add a commercially produced culture."
A few doors down active senior another cultivator, who motivated Scofield to plant her vines, has gathered his friends to harvest white wine varieties from one hundred plants he has laid out neatly across two terraces. Reeve, a Lancashire-born PE teacher who taught at the local university developed a passion for viticulture on regular visits to France. However it is a challenge to cultivate this particular variety in the dampness of the gorge, with cooling tides sweeping in and out from the nearby estuary. "I wanted to produce French-style vintages in this location, which is somewhat ambitious," says Reeve with amusement. "Chardonnay is late to ripen and particularly vulnerable to mildew."
"I wanted to make Burgundian wines here, which is a bit bonkers"
The unpredictable local weather is not the only problem encountered by winegrowers. The gardener has been compelled to install a fence on
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