In the heart of South Yorkshire, nestled among sweeping lawns and centuries-old stone, lies Wentworth Woodhouse—a stately home that’s slowly waking from history’s long slumber. This summer, its grounds have become a canvas for something beautifully unexpected: the hopes, ideas, and raw creativity of the next generation of garden designers.
At this year’s RHS Flower Show Wentworth Woodhouse, three young designers—all under 30—are making their debut. Their gardens aren’t just picturesque. They’re personal, cultural, emotional. They speak of history, identity, memory, and, above all, a quiet, profound connection to nature.
For Scottish-born Luke Coleman, that connection began with a solo trip in 2023 to Staffa, an uninhabited island off the west coast of Scotland. There, the towering basalt columns of Fingal’s Cave, shaped by ancient volcanic activity and battered by the sea, left him speechless. Luke returned home and dove into the island’s Norse history—the tales of Viking ships, or “Drakkars,” with their dragon-head prows arriving on the northern Scottish isles more than a thousand years ago.
His garden, Drakkars Drift, channels that history into something tactile and immersive. A floating wooden boardwalk winds toward a handcrafted heartwood sauna, next to a cold plunge pool tucked among rocks and moss. Water flows down a small cascade, evoking a Highland stream, while a communal fire pit speaks to the ancient human need for warmth, storytelling, and shared space. It’s not just a garden—it’s a sanctuary, blending Nordic wellness traditions with Scotland’s rugged spirit.
Just across the lawn, Italian designer Jacopo Ducato Ruggeri has crafted something altogether different—yet equally poetic. His creation, The Dune Garden, is inspired by Fire Island, New York, a windswept sliver of land known as both a haven for LGBTQ+ communities and a muse for generations of artists. Jacopo spent many summers there, barefoot in the sand, rinsing off saltwater under outdoor showers, watching dune grass dance in the breeze.
His garden reflects that sense of freedom and reflection. A narrow sand path cuts through the space, bordered by wild orchids and creeping willows. There’s a reclaimed chestnut bench, a minimalist shower, and a subtle water-collection basin. A dune stabilization fence lines the edge—not to tame the landscape, but to respect it. “It’s not about controlling nature,” Jacopo says. “It’s about living with it. Rituals of presence, of return, of letting the wind write its own language.”
While Luke and Jacopo look outward to geography and identity, Sam Dryell turns inward—to history, craftsmanship, and personal memory. His garden, A Potted History: Echoes of Rockingham, draws from the legacy of Rockingham Pottery, once made near Wentworth Woodhouse itself. As a child, Sam was the kind of kid who lingered in museums, staring at delicate china pieces and imagining the hands that once held them, the conversations they overheard.
That reverence for craft comes through in every corner of his garden. Winding paths lead past plants chosen for their delicate, brushstroke-like forms—soft Crataegus blossoms, layered herbaceous textures, and hedgerows that feel like watercolors in bloom. Towering ceramic sculptures rise like kiln smoke frozen in time, their curves inspired by the grand Waterloo Kiln that once stood nearby. At the center, a quiet water feature mirrors the Camellia House of Wentworth Woodhouse, where Lady Rockingham once hosted guests over tea and porcelain.
Sam’s garden doesn’t just remember history—it reanimates it. “I wanted people to experience the past not as something distant or dusty, but as something alive,” he says. “Something still blooming under the open sky.”
Three designers, three deeply different visions. But what ties them together is a shared belief: that gardens are more than spaces for beauty—they are spaces for meaning. They are places where nature holds memory, where a bench or a flower or a breeze can say things words can’t.
In a world that often feels rushed, noisy, and disconnected, these young designers are reminding us to slow down. To listen. To walk barefoot on sand. To light a fire. To sit among flowers and remember not just where we come from, but what kind of world we want to build.
If you happen to be in the UK this summer, a stroll through Wentworth Woodhouse may just change how you see gardens forever. And if you’re not—maybe all it takes is a pot of herbs on your windowsill, a reminder that even the smallest green space can hold a story worth telling.