Urban Gardener: Holly goes lightly

A lollipop-shaped holly has put up with some rough treatment since I salvaged it from a garden almost 15 years ago. As an unloved shrub it was destined for the skip, but when a quirky multi-stem was revealed by some judicious pruning, I took it home to use as a focal point in my own garden. Half of its rootball was removed (not recommended) to squeeze it through our narrow hallway and make it light enough to haul across planks over a pond and up into a raised bed in the corner of the garden. I thought it was dead when it suddenly dropped all its leaves – but it turned out to be a very clever act of self-preservation, for not only did it survive, it flourished. The problem lately, though, is in the pruning. At 4m high it's almost impossible to reach and ladders that are invariably (not to mention precariously) rested against the canopy have spoiled its hitherto good looks. To add insult to injury, Virginia creeper and ivy have invaded its interior and Russian vine is now doing a recce for an imminent assault.

I'm grateful, therefore, to my colleagues Anna Pavord and Emma Townshend (of The Independent on Sunday), both of whom pointed me in the direction of Jake Hobson's company, Niwaki, whose fine selection of Japanese pruning equipment, in particular a range of aluminium tripod ladders, make light work of such awkward tasks. Reminiscent of the old orchard ladders, but much lighter and portable, their grace and practicality comes from the wide base that, together with the single, adjustable front leg, provides incredible stability even on slopes and raised beds.

It's hard to look and sound inconspicuous lugging the tallest (3.6m) of these ladders through a townhouse, especially when the 1.45m-wide base temporarily disabled my spatial awareness (not to mention the washing line), in an effort to erect the ladder before sunset. My first ascent was tentative, largely because the front leg of the ladder had disappeared into the lower branches of the holly, giving the impression that it was balancing on the steps alone. I don't think I was half as reckless as Emma (who tried to rock it enough to make it topple over), and the ladder felt both safe and comfortable as advertised; not even the slightest wobble. However, on being able to peer into just about every neighbouring living room and kitchen from my lofty position, pruning at dusk from the top of a Niwaki tripod ladder was not the most sociable activity for an urban gardener; so the rest of the evening was spent unpacking and salivating over the second tool for the job, a pair of Okatsune 60 shears.

I didn't know the real pleasure of pruning until I'd wielded an Okatsune. Unsheathing one is almost ritualistic and for a moment you can pretend to be Toshiro Mifune in The Seven Samurai. It was tempting just to wall-mount them as a thing of beauty, but come morning both the ladder and shears were begging to be used. Connoisseurs among you will be nodding in approval at the thought of high-quality steel riveted to Japanese white oak (Quercus myrsinifolia), but shaking heads at the thought of fine craftsmanship being abused on a holly. Fear not. Secateurs were used where appropriate but after effortlessly clipping a box ball and yew hedge, the shears glided through the outer edges of the holly stems as if they weren't there. The combined thrill of using both the ladder and shears is more than enough of an incentive to give the holly the attention it deserves from now on – but I'm anticipating a little frustration if the ladder is only used twice a year, so have made arrangements to help friends and clients with topiary, orchards, mulberries (a notoriously difficult fruit to harvest) and vertiginous cats. At the allotment I may even impose some cloud pruning on two overbearing oak trees. A little incongruous for an allotment, but at least it will suggest a semblance of control.

www.niwaki.com

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