I know that gardens can contain secrets (I was a little girl once) but can they tell stories? Can gardens reveal narratives to a person who knows how to read them? Or have I simply been reading too much into the cultivation of gardens and horticultural touring? (You need to read my last post first.) I know that the birch trees in the garden here at Tamara and George’s house are a reminder for my uncle George of our family's Russian heritage and the years he spent in St Petersburg as a young man, studying medicine, falling in love, and discovering Tarkovsky. I am imagine as George strolls his garden – “like the lord of the manor”, Tamara says – that those slender silver-branched trees that rustle moodily in the wind act like an aide-memoire prompting Russian recollections. Or perhaps just impressions. Well, that’s what I’d hope. And I’m sure the many trees, plants and flowers Tamara has planted – all of which Tamara calls “she”, as in “See how beautiful she’s looking!” – must provoke memories for her too. But what about for the strangers who visit gardens, like the horticultural tourists who ambled about here last weekend – does the garden tell them stories too, do you think?