Am I the only one on the planet who was truly gobsmacked this week when Monty Don admitted to TWO full-time gardeners beetling away behind the scenes at his beautifully maintained two-acre garden in Herefordshire?

Monty Don interview

The crazy comment pile-on on an Instagram reel posted this past Sunday by @thisgardenwanderer (who filmed Mr. Sexy Knickers at RHS Malvern discussing his retirement from BBC Gardener’s World) would suggest that thankfully I do have a few, equally naïve, companions out there collectively having a Eureka moment;

“I KNEW it! He has 2 fulltime gardeners! This makes me feel much better about the chaos in my garden.” @macfunky

“Shame he never acknowledges the fact that he has full time gardeners whilst on GW..” @richard.izzy

But if the defensive flame war waged by adoring fans was anything to go by, my companions and I just haven’t been picking up on the signals.

“He had acknowledged it, many of us have known for years. Not Monty’s fault if you didn’t know” @suechristianweaver

“I’m dumbfounded that anyone believed that he could single handedly manage a garden of that size single handed! Get real people.” @lazeelady

“Do you watch with the sound off or something?” @gallopchristopher

As it happens, I don’t watch with the sound off. And I wonder if someone who rejoices in the Instagram handle @lazeelady is fully qualified to judge what a determined workaholic gardener and writer is capable of achieving in their garden. But I admit, I don’t watch every week.  In fact, I don’t even watch every month. 

Nevertheless, I still feel my naivety has been passively – maybe actively – encouraged over the years. I first came to Monty Don as a reader of his columns and many of his books, and I’ve watched enough episodes of Gardener’s World to know that even as Don introduces the next segment or other gardeners and their plots on Gardener’s World, he completely neglects to introduce his own. 

And that matters – because without that constant visual acknowledgement of something as significant as 70-80 hours of professional gardening help a week, the BBC is peddling fantasy. And it is a fantasy against which a good number of gardeners have judged their own puny efforts, and found them wanting – if they hadn’t felt that way already after scrolling Instagram. (#blessed anyone?)

Putting Two and Two Together

Two. Full-time. Gardeners.  Oh sure, I knew he must have some help.  And I knew that from my own desperation as a garden writer/speaker/podcaster/founder of a tour company juggling a Triple A personality and an 11-acre plot with a yearly average of 2 hours of help a week that sometimes decides not to show up.   

I’m currently writing this at 12:15 in the early morning hours before my deadline, having not touched my garden for three full days during a remarkably insane work week.  (And then it was only to race down in slippers looking like a crazy woman with a knife to grab some squash before a dinner party.)

So yes, I knew he had to have some help.

But when the birds sing and the camera pans to a solitary, attractively grubby Don walking through Longmeadow’s two acres of well-tended raised beds, and carefully trimmed topiary and deadheaded dahlia, and talking about the work ‘I’ and ‘we’ have done this week, idiots like myself assumed he meant his gardening wife Sarah, and perhaps a four-hour-a-week gardener that filled in the gaps.

After all, Longmeadow may be shared each week with the world, but it is an intensely personal garden loved by both of them, and Don has always said as much. The truth was more than a little shocking, and once again brought to mind annoyances I’ve wrestled with over the last few years: Why aren’t gardeners (and more importantly, garden writers) more transparent about help in their gardens? And at the same time, realistic about what everyday gardeners should be expected to do without it?

Well of course you have help, don’t you?

I remember a discussion I had recently with a very posh gardener who had taken on the renovation of an old garden as an amateur in her thirties. When I asked her if she had a gardener from the very beginning, she replied, “Well of course I had a gardener! I had small children!”

It was all I could do not to reply “Oh, THAT’S why my thirties were a blur, I forgot to hire a gardener!”  Silly me, I was wasting that money on food and clothing.

Or another discussion with a garden writer who was condemning a fellow gardener for his use of glyphosate to paint the stems of cut Ailanthus. “Just dig them out!” she protested indignantly.  Further strategic questioning uncovered that it was not, in fact, her doing the digging of the offensive root and stump, but one of two regular gardeners with machines for that sort of thing.  Was she really begrudging a gardener with fewer resources the strategic assist of a tablespoon of glyphosate? Yep.

I’m not the only one who has such thoughts – two weeks ago on the podcast I co-host with Leslie Harris, The Garden Mixer, I mentioned the fact that I had two hours of help weeding, and the ears of a listener and fellow garden writer Kathy Purdy pricked up.  She brought the discussion over to our Substack chat community to ask other listeners what kind of help they might be paying for – as she wasn’t.

Hearing about those two hours made her feel better about the state of her own garden.  The result was a non-judgmental discussion between listeners about where help makes sense, where it doesn’t, and when not to beat yourself up.  

If only…

A close relationship with a well-trained professional gardener on even a part-time basis is a thing I think many of us long for and wish we could afford, but even then, the word ‘afford’ is a tricky one.  No matter how shamefully little a professional gardener might make, one man may see the expense as a luxury, whilst another views it as a non-negotiable necessity. Our own Ben Probert discussed the difficulties of life as a professional UK gardener in a recent post, and I know it resonated with professionals on both sides of the Atlantic.

Perhaps I feel quite comfortable discussing the issue because I reside in another shamefully underpaid profession: writing. I pay my untrained gardening help more than I make an hour, and spend a fair amount of time helping her learn the job as she goes.

Keeping Up Appearances

For all of us naïve gardeners shocked by how much help Don actually has at Longmeadow, that’s not where most of the outrage lay last Sunday. 

A few moments into the conversation, Don confessed that for all these years, the BBC was contracted to contribute to the wages of these two full-time gardeners (a professional gardener in the UK averages £25-30K /$34-40K annually); and that without that subsidy, Don could not afford their salaries and would have to think of ways to make money from the garden or the government to keep the team together next year.  “How dare he!” many cried, as if his fame translated into a magical and inexhaustible supply of cash, after the Beeb’s fees dry up.

There’s that word ‘afford’ again. We’re so good at using it to tell others what we think they should do. At the end of the day, he’s a writer with an old house, a big garden, familial responsibilities, and retirement looming. He’s also a man who lost his first dream garden to bankruptcy, and lived hand-to-mouth for years with a wife and small children. He probably has a damn good idea of what he can afford and what he can’t. I respect the acknowledgement that his garden’s needs will change once the cameras leave – and that he will have to find new ways to make it pay for itself when help is required. 

To Monty Don, I am grateful for last week’s honesty. But he could have propelled the careers of his beloved “Caroline” and “James” by showing their faces on camera a few times over the last ten years — and helped gardeners in the process to manage their expectations.

We need more reality these days, not less. —MW