*Buckets of cut Flowers from West Dean’s gardens*

On one of the hottest days of last summer, Paris and I stepped through the old gates of West Dean Gardens, just a short drive from our own growing field but a world unto itself. The sun was high, the air syrupy and slow, and everything shimmered with that particular stillness that heat brings. We had come to walk the garden with Tom Brown, West Dean’s Head Gardener; someone whose work we’ve quietly admired for years.

Tom’s plantings speak in a language we love: full of movement, texture, contrast and light, there’s always a sense of plants in conversation - with one another, with the season, and with the hand that’s guided them. At both Parham House, where we first encountered his work, and now at West Dean, he creates borders that never feel static. They shift as the months unfold, full of thoughtful structure and many an unexpected pairing.

That afternoon, the garden was drenched in sun. We passed down into the sunken garden, newly laid out, its paths tracing the old geometries through young plantings that hinted at what was to come. It felt bold and delicate at once, a garden still finding its feet, but already brimming with presence. The borders leading us onwards, feeling like paintings just tipped into motion; spires of Veronica swaying in dappled shade, the walled garden pulsing with colour from the snapdragon and sweet pea trials.

We lingered in the greenhouses, too hot to stand in for long, but glinting with possibility. That heat, that light – it made us think about how much gardening asks of us now. The shifts we’re learning to navigate with a changing climate. Tom spoke about all of it with honesty and warmth, about the adaptations, the failures, the learning. His reflections made us feel steadier somehow.

As Head Gardener, Tom is tending not only to one of the UK’s most storied landscapes; its Victorian glasshouses, kitchen gardens, meadows and formal corners, but also to a future where gardening must meet the moment. His background in rigorous plant trials and his clear delight in beauty, texture and form felt deeply aligned with the work we’re doing in our own field.

What followed was a long and wandering conversation, about trials and textures, about finding a creative voice in the garden, about sweet peas, resilience, and the gentle power of experimentation. Tom was generous, thoughtful, and quietly joyful, just like the gardens he tends.

His new book, The Greenhouse Book: Make the Most of Your Greenhouse Throughout the Year, is out now. We’re delighted to share this glimpse into his world.

*Dactylicapnos scandens and Clematis viticella ‘Flore Pleno’*

The speaker is denoted with their name. Questions are in bold italics. Actions to set the scene for you are in plain italics.

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IN CONVERSATION WITH TOM BROWN

Paris
Hi Tom! Thank you for having us here, at the beautiful West Dean Gardens!

Milli
Can you start by telling us a little about how you started with your plant ‘trials’?

Tom
When I started at Parham, I began looking into sunflowers. Once you start digging, you realise there are hundreds of commercially available varieties, and they’re amazing plants. I gathered around a hundred and trialled them there.

Then Sarah Raven got involved, and we started a conversation with The Telegraph. That led to more trials the following year: sweet peas, alliums, tulips — all the crowd-pleasers. I was particularly interested in finding plants that would flower over a long period.

I do get a bit nervous when people call them “trials,” because they’re not especially scientific. We just plant everything, pick our favourites, and grow those again. The RHS, for example, records things like height, spread, and flowering type. We don’t do any of that. It’s much more intuitive.

So, the whole thing evolved from Parham. When I moved here, people kept asking, “Are you going to do more trials?” I hadn’t really planned to, but there was clearly a demand. And they’re great for encouraging repeat visits — they give people something fresh to see.

Milli
What I love about trials is how subjective they are. What gets chosen is down to personal taste, and everyone’s taste is different. It’s lovely to give people the chance to explore what they like, especially when they can see everything growing side by side.

Paris
I think they help broaden the horizons of what’s possible in a home garden. It helps people realise just how much variety is available.

Tom
Yes, and the internet can be really misleading. There are so many airbrushed, pimped-up pictures. You’ll see a "Blue Dahlia" and think, “I’m buying that!”, and it turns out to be a muddy pink. Or just another purple one. But when you see it in real life, you know what it’s really like.

That’s why it’s so helpful for us to grow and observe things ourselves here at West Dean. We know how they behave, and when we talk to the public, they can say, “Actually, I really like that,” without being misled by Photoshop. It’s worked well for us.

And now, for the first time, the Sweet Pea Society approached us. They wanted a publicly accessible garden for a trial, so we’re growing their sweet peas here this year.

*The sweet pea societies sweet pea trials, and ‘King’s Coronation’ on the right*

Paris
Did you choose which sweet peas went into the trial?

Tom
No, the varieties in the trial aren’t commercially available yet. They’re all seedlings bred by different people. Each one has a number instead of a name, which is really frustrating. “What’s number three?” It’s like — no idea. It doesn’t have a name yet! Frustrating in an exciting way, because the best will likely make it to market one day.

I helped judge them with Roger Parsons and others from the Sweet Pea Society. It always makes me laugh, as a gardener, being on these judging panels alongside exhibition growers who care about totally different things. I’ll say, “Why would you grow this? It’s so ugly.” And someone else will say, “It’s perfect for a vase on a bench!” We’re just coming from completely different angles.

Paris
I read in the Sweet Pea Society annual that you can tell whether a sweet pea plant is ‘right-handed’ or ‘left-handed’ depending on the side the bottom flower appears, the bottom flower dictates whether it's a left-hand or right-hand bloom. If the bottom flower faces to the left, it's a left-hand bloom; if it faces to the right, it's a right-hand bloom - that really charmed me.

Tom
That blew my mind too! And I didn’t realise sweet peas are self-fertile, which makes them much easier to grow for seed. I always wondered how you could maintain a collection if they were constantly hybridising. But they actually pollinate themselves before they open.

Paris
Rogues do still come up, though, so they have to be ‘rogued’ out. We spoke with Roger Parsons recently and saw how he removes any off-type flowers to keep the variety pure — but mostly, they come true.

Tom
We’re not growing them for seed here, just for display, so we’ve left them as they are. But we’ll do it again. I’m really interested in these multiflora types you grow under glass, I’m hoping to trial some soon.

Milli

You’ve held Dahlias trials over the years too? Tell us a little more about them!

Tom
Yes, and with dahlias, context is so important. We’ve got this big, open grassy field, and some of the varieties that Sarah Raven chose have bronze foliage and smoky colours. People were critical, saying they were too muted. But I said, “Hold on — if you place a bright orange waterlily dahlia in the middle of a grassy field, that’s one thing. Put that same smoky orange one in a courtyard pot, and it’s a whole different story.” Texture, placement, and environment all matter.

When you grow things en masse, your eye starts to seek out the oddities — the unusual ones really pop. The judging process can be long, though. You have to wait for each plant to reach its peak. You can’t rush it. Though sometimes I joke, “You’ve got 30 seconds — go!” And really, it can be a case of one, two, three... which one grabs you?

Milli
Do you have a set judging criteria?

Tom
With the Sweet Pea Society, yes. They were judging for garden worthiness, flower form, exhibition quality, performance. With dahlias, we look at flowering, longevity, visual impact. But honestly, here at the garden, it’s a bit looser. It’s just what catches our eye.

Paris
And I imagine you get a lot of feedback from the public?

*Antirrhinums (snapdragons) ‘Lucky Lips’ and ‘Chantilly Bronze’*

Tom
Yes, loads. We’ve got antirrhinums in at the moment, and the Potomac series really stands out — strong performers.

Milli
Yes, we find them to be hardier. We’ve found that most snapdragons can be a bit… snappy.

Tom laughs

Tom
Yes, agreed!

Milli
So here’s a tough one — do you have a favourite trial?

Tom
I’d love to do amaranthus. It’s hit and miss, but so useful in the garden. They do need space — about a square metre per plant.

Milli
I loved how you used it when you were at Parham. Tall, red amaranth in between neat box topiary. That wild-meets-structured contrast was so beautiful and architectural.

Tom
Yes, and it holds itself up well. We’re even growing amaranth in the cold frames as salad — it’s upright and really interesting. I think some of the leafy varieties are more naturalistic.

But if I had to pick a favourite trial, I really enjoyed the annual climbers. We grew over 100 from seed — aserinas, cobaeas, thunbergias — all those gorgeous, end-of-summer showstoppers. They were new to me, and incredibly versatile.

Compared to, say, alliums, which we’ve trialled as well, it was much more engaging. With alliums, you get big, round, purple balls, again and again. The perennial ones are interesting, but they don’t give me the same buzz as a coppery Black-eyed Susan climbing up a trellis. Petunia Red Wave Velour was a real stand-out for me.

Milli
I’m warming to petunias again. They’re underrated.

Tom
They are! Long flowering, vibrant. I did a petunia trial at Wisley, and people loved it — big, blooming cushions of colour that just went on and on.

Milli
Though we have touched on this a little already, how do you decide what the next trial will be, and why?

Tom
The next trial I’ve got underway is for umbellifers. They're a bit tricky to propagate from seed, so I’ve started with a mix — some biennials like angelicas and fennels, and annuals like bupleurum and didiscus, which I’ll sow in January. It’s a really interesting group, and they tend to flower for a long time.

Paris
And they’re brilliant for pollinators too.

Tom
Exactly. If I can get them going properly… I’ve sown them into trays topped with gravel, and I’ve got these little green shoots coming up. I think some fat hen seed may have crept in, but I’m watching for the distinctive umbellifer seedlings to emerge.

What I’m always looking for in a trial is a plant that provides long interest. It’s a lot of work, and if someone comes into the garden, I want them to see something flowering from May through to October. Like the antirrhinums; they’re worth the effort.

We’ve had less luck with Chinese asters. We did a whole trial, and after about three weeks, they were done. They don’t die well either, they just collapse. So, value and performance are big factors. I’m always watching how plants behave in the garden, looking for clues. If something’s thriving somewhere, that might be a cue to expand on it.

We’re having conversations about trialling things other than annuals. It’s something we’re discussing a lot at the moment, especially when thinking about the future of our cut flower garden. Should we keep going with bedding-type annuals like antirrhinums and scabious, or should we start investing more in perennials and shrubs?

Milli
I think there’s a shift happening. People are becoming more aware of sustainability, and they have less time and energy to manage high-maintenance annuals. Shrubs went out of favour for a while, but they’re making a comeback.

Paris
Exactly. You plant a perennial shrub, and it gets on with things. With annuals, you’re always in there, sowing, planting, staking...

Milli
My number one favourite plant is roses. We’ve got about a hundred in a loose sort of trial at the Alma Proust field, looking at things like health, vigour, and usefulness as cut flowers, plus how well they cope with changing climates. It’s interesting. Some did great the first couple of years, and then completely faltered in a tough year.

Tom
We’ve noticed the same thing. Our walled garden can be a really tough environment - bright light, no air movement. It’s hard on plants like peonies or roses. We’ve been looking at planting more on the north-facing wall. It might sound counterintuitive, but the calmness and coolness can actually be a benefit.

Tom starts leading us down a path further into the gardens

Tom
Let me show you a new project we’ve just started in the old sunken garden… it really ties into this shift. One thing about annuals is that they’re incredibly demanding. They need rich soil, regular watering, compost, muck, the whole lot.

We arrive into a Victorian sunken garden that has been newly planted up, it’s filled with purple salvias, bright kniphofias, sunny achilleas, and smoky sedums, set against the dark orbs of formal topiary. The effect is off-beat, surreal, and exciting.

Tom

So I’ve started working on these sand-based beds, inspired by Peter Korn in Sweden. We’re growing adapted perennials in pure sand, and they’re thriving. They grow much harder, don’t need staking, and flower more freely, even though there’s virtually no fertility in the soil.

Some of it challenges traditional tastes. Think 1970s municipal sunken gardens with box hedges and alpines — but with a fresh spin. It’s about showing what’s possible when you shift perspective.

We’re using recycled concrete and aggregates, which hold moisture surprisingly well. We planted it as a “concrete garden” in March 2022. It was watered once, and not again, even through that scorched summer. While the rest of the garden flagged, that space was absolutely alive.

We’re working with perennials that thrive in low fertility; achilleas, helianthus, acanthus, lavender, and thyme lawns. It’s all about resilience. Who knows what climate change will throw at us? If we can grow plants that love poor soil, don’t need watering, and still offer beauty, we’re onto something.

Some plants do misbehave a bit… we’ll have to pull out a few trailer-loads of Verbena bonariensis to manage it, but generally, it works. Instead of trying to force a delphinium to stay put forever, we’re embracing movement. If an eryngium dies and reseeds somewhere else, that’s okay. The key is maintaining the overall plant community.

Our ecologist said this garden was buzzing with life; it’s warm, windless, full of nectar. She described it as a “fuel stop” for pollinators. That made me incredibly proud. A no-fertilizer, low-intervention space that’s good for wildlife and still beautiful.

*Verbena offinalis (left), Hylotelephium and Echinacea*

Milli
This leads us into understanding a little more about your general approach, we can see and sense that resilience, and ecology is at the fore-front of your work. You’ve also moved gardens a few times. How do you approach tweaking an existing border or settling into a new space? A lot of people find that overwhelming.

Tom
Everyone always says you should live in a garden for a while before making changes, and I do agree with that to a point. But it has to become your space.

When I moved to Parham in my late twenties, I was full of energy and desperate to make my mark. I probably did too much too quickly and regret a few things, but that was part of the learning.

Then, when I came here, I felt massively intimidated by the legacy of Jim and Sarah. The world of horticulture was changing — rethinking peat use, chemicals, the role of wildlife, and I was trying to replicate their model with fewer staff. It brought me no joy.

During lockdown, the rest of the team was furloughed, and I was left to care for the entire 100-acre garden with one other person, rotating days. That quiet gave me a real chance to get to know the space. I had a bit of an epiphany: if I’m going to mess this up, I’d rather do it my way than in someone else’s shadow. And I can’t tell you how freeing that was.

I think it’s so important — respect what’s there, but don’t be afraid to make it your own. Gardening the way you think you’re “supposed to” can sap the joy out of it. Since that shift, I haven’t looked back.

Now, we manage the garden quite differently. We’ve had ecologists and botanists in, and they’ve recorded over 100 species of moths, eight species of bats, and spotted flycatchers. That tells me we’re doing something right.

One of the most harmful things we can do in gardens is try to preserve them in perpetuity, keeping things the same while the world changes around us. Take box hedging: box blight has killed it. Instead of searching endlessly for a perfect replacement, sometimes we have to let it go. Maybe we don’t need a hedge there at all.

Paris
That’s actually really therapeutic to hear.

Tom
It was for me too. There was a period when I wasn’t sure I wanted to stay. But then we started doing things like the sand garden and concrete project, and I found my joy again. That kind of creativity — that’s what gardening should be about.

Milli
It should make you happy. There’s no point mimicking someone else’s vision if it doesn’t bring you joy.

Paris
Finally, can we ask you about your book?

Tom
Go ahead! It’s my first book, so I’m still learning how it all works. DK asked me to write something on greenhouses. Then they said, “We want you to build one from scratch.” So I ended up constructing an 18-by-12-foot aluminium greenhouse — big enough for serious growing but still domestic.

It nearly broke me. The thing arrived in thousands of pieces. I roped in my 75-year-old contractor who said, “Might take two weeks, might take four — I go home when I’m tired.” I had two weeks off work to do it and it was utter chaos — but we got there.

But now I’m in love with it. There’s so much joy in having a covered space on your own terms — germinating tomatoes, taking dahlia cuttings, experimenting without pressure.

Milli

A greenhouse of one’s own!

we all laugh

Paris

Thank you so much for taking the time to show us the gardens here and for letting us pick your brain about the trials you’ve undertaken!

Milli

Yes, thank you Tom, we’ve learnt a lot and gained a lot from seeing how you trial your plants. We hope lots of people will come and experience your trials and enjoy your gardens for themselves.

Tom’s book The Greenhouse Book: Make the Most of Your Greenhouse Throughout the Year is out now with DK.

How Does Your Garden Grow? A Visit to West Dean: In Conversation with Head Gardener Tom Brown

The speaker is denoted with their name. Questions are in bold italics. Actions to set the scene for you are in plain italics.

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IN CONVERSATION WITH TOM BROWN

How Does Your Garden Grow? With Ramona Jones - in celebration of their new book Growing.