Alan Titchmarsh: 'The best garden gates are a fanfare, an indication of the glories to come'

First Impressions was the title Jane Austen gave to Pride and Prejudice when she penned the first draft in 1796. I am reminded of it every time I struggle with a wooden gate that forms the entrance to our new garden. It is really nothing more than a wavey- edge fence panel equipped with hinges and our garden — or the garden that will be — deserves better.

Garden gates are more than mere portals. They are a fanfare, an introduction, a dramatic or sympathetic indication of the glories to come — or they should be. Mine, which sticks and then has to be lifted a bit to open or close it, inspires nothing more than irritation.

How different would be my mood if the gate itself was handsome and in keeping with the style of the garden to which it allows ingress. (Always loved that word…) How refreshing it would be if it opened smoothly and silently on robust, well-oiled hinges and shut with a pleasing click or clang against a sturdy pillar, be it of oak, stone or mellow brickwork.

All this will come to pass and I am eager to make sure that it happens sooner rather than later, instead of leaving it until everything else has been designed, constructed and planted. By then I will have been irritated beyond belief and my knuckles skinned for the umpteenth time as I fight to open or close it.

It is a mistake to overlook the significance of a garden entrance. The white painted wicket gate of a cottage garden; the curlicues of the wrought-iron version that appears behind the rhubarb under which Jemima Puddle-Duck unwisely lays her eggs in Beatrix Potter’s cautionary tale; the sturdy door-in-the-wall that is hidden under a waterfall of ivy in Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden. They are all images that stay with us for life, as if to underline their importance as a portent of things to come. You may think that I am overstating the case. I would argue the reverse.

I can also suffer from gate envy. Reading Mary Berry’s newest book My Gardening Life I am struck by the elegant beauty of her white-painted wooden gate, set in a sturdy brick wall and garlanded with Virginia creeper. There is more than a hint of Holman Hunt’s The Light of the World about the image — yet another reminder of the significance of gateways in our collective psyche.

My wife and I share the same initials and so, rather indulgently, in our last garden I had made by our local blacksmith a pair of wrought-iron entrance gates with the initials AT entwined at their centre — handsome rather than overly showy, I hope, and they made us smile.

We inherited at that farmhouse, which had at one time been occupied by the kennel huntsman, a small metal gate that incorporated into its construction a pair of spurs, various bits, a small hunting horn, a metal version of a whip and several stirrups. They were all picked out in silver paint against the dark green of the framework. It made it clear to any visitor exactly who lived beyond it. I am tempted to do the same with garden tools.

The difficulty in all this is the abundance of variety. When I settle on my new gate, will it be a solid door, an elegant metallic tracery or a robust no-nonsense oaken contraption? If it is painted, what colour should I choose — a heavenly blue, a crisp white or a startling red? Perhaps not red…

In The King’s garden at Highgrove in Gloucestershire, the gates around the walled kitchen garden are painted pale pink. It is a brave choice of colour and reminiscent of that shade of ‘primer’ with which timber is coated before the final gloss coat is applied. Bearing in mind the old saw that suggested that the late Queen thought the world smelled of new paint, it occurs to me that sovereigns are unlikely ever to have seen the colour of undercoat.

With so many choices of material and colour available, it may be some time before I can make my decision. One thing is for certain: whether it be wood or metal, blue, green, red or yellow, it will frame the entrance, set the mood and entice and propel the visitor into my garden on a wave of expectation and goodwill. I only hope the new garden can live up to its promise.

'Chatsworth: The gardens and the people who made them' by Alan Titchmarsh is out now (Ebury, £35).

This feature originally appeared in the September 16, 2026, print edition of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.