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Every quarter of an hour or so, an older diesel-powered railway carriage pulls into a graffiti-covered stop. Close by, a police siren pierces the near-constant traffic drone. Commuters rush by collapsing, ivy-draped garden fences as storm clouds form.

It is perhaps the last place you anticipate to find a perfectly formed vineyard. But one local grower has managed to four dozen established plants sagging with plump mauve berries on a rambling garden plot sandwiched between a row of 1930s houses and a commuter railway just north of Bristol town centre.

"I've seen people hiding heroin or whatever in those bushes," states the grower. "Yet you just get on with it ... and continue caring for your grapevines."

The cameraman, 46, a filmmaker who runs a kombucha drinks business, is among several urban winemaker. He's pulled together a informal group of cultivators who make wine from four hidden city grape gardens tucked away in back gardens and allotments across the city. It is too clandestine to have an official name yet, but the collective's WhatsApp group is called Vineyard Dreams.

City Wine Gardens Around the Globe

To date, Bayliss-Smith's plot is the sole location listed in the City Vineyard Network's upcoming global directory, which features better-known city vineyards such as the eighteen hundred vines on the slopes of Paris's renowned artistic district area and more than three thousand vines overlooking and within Turin. The Italian-based non-profit association is at the vanguard of a movement re-establishing urban grape cultivation in historic wine-producing countries, but has discovered them all over the world, including urban centers in Japan, South Asia and Uzbekistan.

"Grape gardens assist cities remain more eco-friendly and more diverse. They preserve land from construction by establishing permanent, yielding agricultural units within cities," explains the association's president.

Like all wines, those produced in cities are a product of the earth the vines grow in, the unpredictability of the weather and the people who tend the fruit. "Each vintage embodies the beauty, local spirit, landscape and history of a urban center," notes the spokesperson.

Unknown Polish Variety

Returning to Bristol, Bayliss-Smith is in a race against time to harvest the grapevines he grew from a plant abandoned in his garden by a Polish family. If the rain arrives, then the birds may seize their chance to feast again. "Here we have the enigmatic Eastern European variety," he says, as he removes bruised and mouldy grapes from the glistering bunches. "We don't really know their exact classification, but they are certainly hardy. In contrast to premium grapes – Burgundy grapes, Chardonnay and other famous European varieties – you don't have to treat them with chemicals ... this is possibly a unique cultivar that was bred by the Soviets."

Group Activities Throughout the City

Additional participants of the collective are also making the most of bright periods between showers of fall precipitation. At a rooftop garden with views of Bristol's shimmering harbour, where historic trading ships once bobbed with casks of vintage from Europe and Spain, one cultivator is harvesting her dark berries from approximately 50 plants. "I adore the aroma of the grapevines. The scent is so evocative," she remarks, stopping with a container of fruit slung over her arm. "It's the scent of southern France when you roll down the car windows on holiday."

Grant, 52, who has devoted more than 20 years working for charitable groups in war-torn regions, unexpectedly inherited the vineyard when she moved back to the UK from East Africa with her household in 2018. She felt an overwhelming duty to look after the grapevines in the garden of their new home. "This plot has previously survived multiple proprietors," she says. "I really like the concept of environmental care – of handing this down to future caretakers so they continue producing from this land."

Sloping Gardens and Traditional Production

A short walk away, the remaining cultivators of the collective are hard at work on the precipitous slopes of the local river valley. One filmmaker has cultivated over 150 plants perched on ledges in her expansive property, which descends towards the silty local waterway. "Visitors frequently express amazement," she notes, gesturing towards the interwoven grape garden. "They can't believe they can see rows of vines in a urban neighborhood."

Currently, the filmmaker, sixty, is picking clusters of deep violet dark berries from lines of vines arranged along the hillside with the assistance of her daughter, her family member. Scofield, a documentary producer who has worked on streaming service's Great National Parks series and BBC Two's gardening shows, was motivated to plant grapes after seeing her neighbor's vines. She's discovered that hobbyists can make interesting, enjoyable traditional vintage, which can command prices of more than £7 a glass in the increasing quantity of establishments specialising in low-processing wines. "It is incredibly satisfying that you can actually create good, traditional vintage," she states. "It's very on trend, but really it's resurrecting an old way of making wine."

"During foot-stomping the grapes, the various wild yeasts come off the surfaces into the juice," says Scofield, partially submerged in a bucket of small branches, seeds and crimson juice. "That's how vintages were made traditionally, but commercial producers introduce sulphur [dioxide] to kill the natural cultures and then incorporate a commercially produced yeast."

Difficult Environments and Creative Solutions

A few doors down active senior another cultivator, who inspired his neighbor to establish her grapevines, has gathered his companions to harvest white wine varieties from the 100 vines he has arranged precisely across multiple levels. The former teacher, a northern English PE teacher who worked at the local university cultivated an interest in wine on regular visits to France. But it is a difficult task to grow Chardonnay grapes in the dampness of the valley, with temperature fluctuations moving through from the nearby estuary. "I aimed to make Burgundian wines here, which is somewhat ambitious," says Reeve with a smile. "Chardonnay is late to ripen and very sensitive to mildew."

"I wanted to make European-style vintages here, which is a bit bonkers"

The unpredictable Bristol climate is not the sole problem encountered by grape cultivators. The gardener has been compelled to install a barrier on