Every 20 minutes or so, an ageing diesel railway carriage arrives at a graffiti-covered stop. Nearby, a police siren cuts through the almost continuous road noise. Daily travelers rush by falling apart, ivy-draped garden fences as rain clouds gather.
This is maybe the least likely spot you expect to find a well-established grape-growing plot. But James Bayliss-Smith has managed to four dozen established plants sagging with plump purplish grapes on a sprawling allotment sandwiched between a row of 1930s houses and a commuter railway just above Bristol downtown.
"I've noticed people hiding illegal substances or other items in the shrubbery," says the grower. "But you just get on with it ... and keep tending to your vines."
The cameraman, 46, a filmmaker who runs a fermented beverage company, is among several urban winemaker. He has organized a loose collective of growers who produce vintage from several hidden urban vineyards tucked away in private yards and community plots throughout the city. It is too clandestine to possess an official name yet, but the collective's WhatsApp group is called Grape Expectations.
To date, the grower's allotment is the sole location listed in the Urban Vineyards Association's forthcoming world atlas, which includes better-known city vineyards such as the eighteen hundred vines on the hillsides of Paris's historic Montmartre area and more than 3,000 vines overlooking and within the Italian city. The Italian-based non-profit association is at the vanguard of a initiative reviving urban grape cultivation in traditional winemaking countries, but has discovered them all over the world, including urban centers in Japan, Bangladesh and Central Asia.
"Vineyards help cities remain greener and ecologically varied. These spaces preserve open space from construction by establishing long-term, productive farming plots within cities," explains the organization's leader.
Similar to other vintages, those created in urban areas are a result of the earth the plants thrive in, the unpredictability of the climate and the individuals who tend the grapes. "A bottle of wine represents the beauty, community, environment and history of a city," adds the president.
Returning to the city, the grower is in a race against time to gather the vines he grew from a plant abandoned in his allotment by a Eastern European household. If the precipitation arrives, then the birds may seize their chance to attack again. "Here we have the enigmatic Eastern European grape," he says, as he removes bruised and mouldy grapes from the shimmering clusters. "We don't really know their exact classification, but they are certainly disease-resistant. Unlike premium grapes – Pinot Noir, white wine grapes and additional renowned European varieties – you need not spray them with chemicals ... this is possibly a unique cultivar that was bred by the Eastern Bloc."
Additional participants of the group are additionally making the most of sunny interludes between bursts of fall precipitation. At a rooftop garden overlooking the city's glistening waterfront, where historic trading ships once floated with casks of wine from France and the Iberian peninsula, Katy Grant is collecting her dark berries from approximately fifty plants. "I adore the aroma of the grapevines. It is so evocative," she remarks, stopping with a basket of grapes slung over her arm. "It recalls the fragrance of southern France when you roll down the vehicle windows on holiday."
The humanitarian worker, fifty-two, who has spent over two decades working for charitable groups in war-torn regions, unexpectedly inherited the grape garden when she returned to the United Kingdom from Kenya with her family in 2018. She felt an overwhelming duty to maintain the vines in the garden of their recently acquired property. "This vineyard has previously endured three different owners," she says. "I deeply appreciate the idea of environmental care – of passing this on to someone else so they continue producing from the soil."
Nearby, the remaining cultivators of the group are hard at work on the precipitous slopes of Avon Gorge. Jo Scofield has cultivated over 150 plants situated on terraces in her expansive property, which descends towards the muddy local waterway. "People are always surprised," she says, indicating the tangled vineyard. "It's astonishing to them they are viewing rows of vines in a urban neighborhood."
Currently, the filmmaker, sixty, is picking bunches of dusty purple dark berries from lines of plants slung across the hillside with the assistance of her daughter, her family member. The conservationist, a documentary producer who has worked on Netflix's nature programming and BBC Two's Gardeners' World, was inspired to plant grapes after observing her neighbor's vines. She has learned that amateurs can make interesting, pleasurable traditional vintage, which can sell for more than seven pounds a glass in the increasing quantity of establishments focusing on minimal-intervention vintages. "It's just deeply rewarding that you can actually create quality, traditional vintage," she states. "It's very on trend, but in reality it's reviving an old way of producing wine."
"During foot-stomping the grapes, all the natural microorganisms come off the skins and enter the liquid," explains Scofield, ankle deep in a container of small branches, pips and red liquid. "This represents how wines were historically produced, but industrial wineries introduce preservatives to kill the natural cultures and then add a commercially produced culture."
A few doors down sprightly retiree Bob Reeve, who motivated Scofield to plant her grapevines, has assembled his friends to pick Chardonnay grapes from one hundred vines he has arranged precisely across multiple levels. Reeve, a northern English PE teacher who worked at Bristol University developed a passion for wine on regular visits to Europe. However it is a difficult task to cultivate Chardonnay grapes in the dampness of the gorge, with cooling tides moving through from the nearby estuary. "I wanted to make French-style vintages in this location, which is somewhat ambitious," says the retiree with amusement. "This variety is late to ripen and very sensitive to mildew."
"I wanted to make Burgundian wines in this environment, which is a bit bonkers"
The unpredictable Bristol climate is not the sole problem encountered by winegrowers. Reeve has been compelled to erect a barrier on
Elara is a seasoned writer and digital storyteller with a passion for exploring diverse literary genres and empowering others through words.
