iI3oi)cmf)er 



XLIV 



Within an easy morning stroll of Folkestone there is 



a peculiar little dell or combe where a deep 

 Beavera ^ 



cleft has been driven through the chalk 

 breast by a stream, once considerable in volume, but 

 now reduced to a mere trickle, partly subterranean. 

 Advantage has been taken of the flat floor of this dell 

 to create a charming garden. Steep wooded banks 

 afford perfect shelter against winds from every quarter, 

 thereby enabling many things to flourish that would 

 succumb to the buffeting of an English winter. But 

 what strikes one as most remarkable in the collection 

 is the character of the plants. They consist largely of 

 rare Indian rhododendrons and other members of the 

 Heath family which cannot be grown in chalky soil. 

 To find such things luxuriating in the heart of the 

 South Downs is indeed a surprise to any gardener or 

 amateur. 



The mystery is dispelled when the guardian of this 

 pleasaunce draws attention to the soil. It is peat — pure 

 black peat— as he proves by thrusting a bamboo six 

 feet down into it. Next, the problem presents itself— 

 how comes there a flat mass of deep peat on a chalk 



242 



