The glories of front gardens

I’m sure we all play the “when I’m supreme ruler” game. In my version, anyone who ripped up a front garden to park a car would be summarily executed. Not because I dislike cars or motorists, but because anyone who voluntarily replaces a flowerbed with a Nissan Qashqai clearly lacks a soul, and deserves to be entombed under the tarmac of their own front drives. 

I am not a monster. The sentence could be commuted in exchange for a strip of lawn or even a couple of pots of lavender. 

The reason I dig front gardens so much is because they are one of the few parts of a home that can be enjoyed by strangers. Roses spilling over walls, lavender buzzing with bees, a window box overflowing with pansies — none of it is planted for the sole benefit of the owner. The message these small acts of cultivation send is that someone cares enough to make their neighbourhood a little more beautiful. Gardens make an area feel settled, safe and loved. It gives people confidence that the street is somewhere worth putting down roots. 

And a front garden is a gift to wildlife too: the Royal Horticultural Society estimates that a well-planted front garden can support up to 260 species, from pollinating insects to birds and small mammals. Hedgehogs and earthworms might not be as exciting as big cats or wildebeest, but they are a vital part of the ecosystem and in desperate need of habitat.

Today, more than a quarter of Britain’s front gardens have now been completely paved over, while over half of all front garden space is covered by hard surfaces. This is not only selfish, immiserating neighbourhoods but self-defeating, offering householders a view of their own car’s backsides. In my regime, landlords who rip up gardens so they can let out every room of a house would be first up against the picket fence.

If someone is in the fortunate position where they can afford a house, then they need to plan where they park. Unless someone is disabled, there is no excuse for not walking to a spot on the road. But over recent years supposed green grants and initiatives have made this worse, with some councils offering incentives for people who want to charge their environmentally friendly electric cars where there was once a habitat for wildlife and run off for rain water. 

Tending a front garden is an act of stewardship

Earth also performs countless jobs that tarmac and concrete slabs cannot. For example, soaks up rain instead of sending it streaming into drains. Replacing soil with paving can increase rainwater run-off by around 50 per cent. Gardens cool streets during hot weather, reducing the urban heat island effect created by brick, asphalt and concrete. 

Tending a front garden is an act of stewardship. We cannot all restore ancient woodland or save the Amazon, but almost all of us can tend the few square metres outside our front door. Collectively, Britain’s 20.6 million domestic gardens cover more than half a million hectares and contain around 19 million trees. Taken together, they form one of the country’s largest networks of wildlife habitat. 

It might sound grandiose, but societies function because millions of people quietly take responsibility for their own little patch. When front gardens are buried beneath concrete to make room for cars, or become dumping grounds for unwanted junk, the effect is stiflingly bleak, not simply because it is ugly, but because it sends a message: nobody cares enough to make things better. Taking fewer steps before seating their arses in a car matters more than creating something beautiful that can be enjoyed by everyone.

All of us with a patch of earth outside our front door have a choice. We can see it as ours to trash and neglect, or as a small piece of the environment entrusted to our care. We don’t need to wait for government schemes to make our streets more beautiful or our neighbourhoods more liveable. We simply need to decide that what people see from the pavement matters just as much as what we see from the sitting room window.