Every 20 minutes or so, an older diesel railway carriage pulls into a graffiti-covered station. Close by, a police siren pierces the near-constant traffic drone. Commuters rush by falling apart, ivy-draped fencing panels as rain clouds form.
It is perhaps the least likely spot you expect to find a perfectly formed vineyard. However James Bayliss-Smith has managed to four dozen established plants heavy with round purplish grapes on a sprawling allotment sandwiched between a row of 1930s houses and a local rail line just north of Bristol downtown.
"I've noticed people concealing illegal substances or other items in those bushes," states Bayliss-Smith. "Yet you just get on with it ... and keep tending to your vines."
Bayliss-Smith, 46, a filmmaker who runs a fermented beverage company, is not the only urban winemaker. He has pulled together a informal group of growers who produce wine from four discreet urban vineyards nestled in back gardens and allotments throughout the city. The project is too clandestine to have an formal title so far, but the group's messaging chat is called Grape Expectations.
So far, the grower's plot is the sole location registered in the City Vineyard Network's forthcoming global directory, which includes better-known city vineyards such as the 1,800 vines on the slopes of Paris's historic Montmartre neighbourhood and more than three thousand grapevines with views of and inside Turin. Based in Italy non-profit association is at the forefront of a movement reviving city vineyards in historic wine-producing nations, but has discovered them all over the globe, including urban centers in Japan, Bangladesh and Uzbekistan.
"Vineyards assist cities stay greener and more diverse. They preserve open space from construction by establishing long-term, productive agricultural units within urban environments," explains the association's president.
Like all wines, those created in cities are a result of the earth the vines thrive in, the vagaries of the weather and the individuals who tend the grapes. "A bottle of wine represents the beauty, local spirit, landscape and heritage of a urban center," notes the president.
Returning to the city, the grower is in a race against time to gather the grapevines he grew from a cutting left in his allotment by a Polish family. If the precipitation comes, then the birds may seize their chance to feast again. "This is the enigmatic Eastern European grape," he says, as he cleans damaged and mouldy berries from the shimmering clusters. "The variety remains uncertain what variety they are, but they're definitely disease-resistant. In contrast to noble varieties – Burgundy grapes, white wine grapes and additional renowned French grapes – you need not treat them with pesticides ... this could be a special variety that was developed by the Soviets."
The other members of the collective are also making the most of sunny interludes between showers of autumn rain. On the terrace with views of the city's shimmering waterfront, where medieval merchant vessels once floated with casks of vintage from France and the Iberian peninsula, one cultivator is collecting her dark berries from about fifty vines. "I adore the aroma of these vines. It is so reminiscent," she says, pausing with a basket of fruit resting on her shoulder. "It's the scent of Provence when you roll down the car windows on vacation."
The humanitarian worker, 52, who has devoted more than two decades working for charitable groups in war-torn regions, unexpectedly took over the grape garden when she returned to the UK from East Africa with her household in recent years. She experienced an strong responsibility to look after the vines in the yard of their new home. "This vineyard has previously survived multiple proprietors," she says. "I deeply appreciate the idea of natural stewardship – of handing this down to someone else so they can continue producing from the soil."
A short walk away, the remaining cultivators of the group are hard at work on the precipitous slopes of the local river valley. One filmmaker has established more than one hundred fifty plants situated on ledges in her expansive property, which tumbles down towards the muddy local waterway. "Visitors frequently express amazement," she says, gesturing towards the tangled grape garden. "They can't believe they can see grapevine lines in a city street."
Currently, Scofield, sixty, is picking clusters of dusty purple dark berries from rows of plants arranged along the hillside with the assistance of her child, her family member. The conservationist, a documentary producer who has worked on Netflix's nature programming and television network's Gardeners' World, was inspired to cultivate vines after seeing her neighbour's grapevines. She has learned that hobbyists can produce interesting, enjoyable natural wine, which can sell for upwards of seven pounds a glass in the growing number of establishments specialising in low-processing vintages. "It's just deeply rewarding that you can actually create good, traditional vintage," she states. "It is quite fashionable, but in reality it's reviving an traditional method of making wine."
"When I tread the grapes, all the natural microorganisms are released from the skins into the liquid," explains the winemaker, ankle deep in a bucket of tiny stems, seeds and crimson juice. "This represents how vintages were made traditionally, but industrial wineries add preservatives to kill the wild yeast and then add a lab-grown culture."
A few doors down sprightly retiree another cultivator, who motivated Scofield to establish her grapevines, has assembled his friends to pick white wine varieties from the 100 vines he has arranged precisely across multiple levels. Reeve, a northern English physical education instructor who worked at Bristol University cultivated an interest in viticulture on annual sporting trips to France. But it is a difficult task to cultivate this particular variety in the dampness of the valley, with cooling tides moving through from the nearby estuary. "I aimed to produce French-style vintages here, which is somewhat ambitious," admits the retiree with amusement. "Chardonnay is slow-maturing and very sensitive to mildew."
"My goal was creating Burgundian wines here, which is rather ambitious"
The unpredictable local weather is not the only challenge encountered by winegrowers. Reeve has been compelled to install a fence on