The Grove’s Garden

A walk through The Grove’s garden in Oxfordshire, England, would be a treat any time. But the opportunity to tour alongside India Hicks during her visit from the Bahamas makes it even more special. The spirited designer, humanitarian, tastemaker, and goddaughter of King Charles III invariably adds a layer of anecdotal wit to any story, especially that of the country estate where she spent much of her childhood and where her mother, Lady Pamela, continues to live.

Dotted by sturdy stone churches, tidy cottages, and welcoming pubs, the countryside surrounding The Grove boasts history that dates back to Roman times. Behind perky gardens and hedgerows, farmsteads are owned by generations of locals who know all the unmarked roads and willingly offer directions to strangers. It was in the early 1960s that the area’s solid country-squire lifestyle captured the fertile imagination of India’s late father, David Hicks, the iconic interior designer and revolutionary in his field.

During our stroll, India shares memories of her father. “He had a profound and lasting interest in the way people live,” she says. “And he set the world on fire with his daring designs that other people were not doing.” Throughout his halcyon years, as his design empire rapidly grew, Hicks famously proclaimed that he was “undoubtedly the best known interior designer in the world.” As if that wasn’t sufficient, he added that he was “designing everything that can be designed.”

An impossibly handsome man, Hicks wore impeccable bespoke suits and oozed such panache that he seemed invincible. His disparate design projects included The White House bowling alley and a cocktail lounge on the Queen Elizabeth II, along with worldwide private commissions and several farflung offices. That design prowess is also evident in his gardens at The Grove that unfold in a magical aura of symmetry with various intersecting “rooms” boasting a lush palette of his favorite shades of green.

While working on his plans for the essentially flat land, Hicks admitted that he had “always been attracted to gardens which have a great sense of containment.” As he explained, “I feel the need for controlled, designed order. But what pleases me most is the true and totally disciplined sense of tonal gardening—green on green on green.” This is particularly true in the Green Room, where he planted box bushes resembling rounded loaves of bread. Today, it resounds with vast, mature vistas of massive hornbeam walls and avenues of Spanish chestnuts. This masterful roundup of verdancy delights the eye at different moments of the day when its composed impact is accompanied by delicate dewiness, flirting sunlight, or sweet birdsong.

Purposely removed from the linear garden, flowers were relegated to secret places because Hicks never wanted to see them from inside the house. All the while, he enjoyed the masterful crossover between his interior design mantras and his garden fascinations, saying that “color means more to me than any of my other raw materials, and I often use strong colors together to make a dull corner sizzle.” This is especially apparent in the Red Garden, which celebrates its namesake color with Copper beech walls and ‘Danse du Feu’ roses. “It is also illustrated in the Secret Garden,” India says, pointing out sublime beds alive with drowsy bees who overdose on the nectar of aromatic roses, tree peonies, poppies, lilies, foxgloves, and salvia. The ever-changing seasonal view is Lady Pamela’s favorite relaxing spot, especially when India is there gathering flowers to create loose, casual arrangements for the house.

During the tour, we peer through apertures in hedges and duck beneath a gracefully arched arbor. Beyond a clairvoyée, we admire the rose-covered cottage wall and pyramid-topped gateposts. And just off the drawing room, we view the rectangular, black swimming pool that masquerades as a formal water feature as it reflects a precise battalion of chestnut hedges.

Within the confines of this otherworldly spot, The Pavilion rises above it all as a two-story Gothick tower with a crenellated top surrounded by a moat and retractable bridge. A 60th birthday gift that Hicks requested from his wife, the structure was a private folly where he occasionally barricaded himself to work—bridge up meant go away. As his meticulous handwritten planning notebook directed, the edifice later became the place that his body laid in state before a New Orleans-style band escorted his casket to the village church and on to the cemetery with “the best views,” as Hicks once referred to it.

“The garden is a visible salutation to my father’s imagination, as well as his high jinks,” India says. “He was precise, even down to the size of his ice cubes. But it’s important to know that he saw the world differently. He wasn’t like other friends’ fathers who were bankers.” Clearly amused by private memories, she laughs out loud as she adds, “He never read us bedtime stories, nor did he look at school reports. He wore capes lined in red satin and designed patent leather dancing shoes. He was a dreamer and an eccentric. We like eccentric.”

By Marion Laffey Fox | Photography by Clive Nichols

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