ESTATE OF ENCHANTMENT

THERE is something about the moist, green, jungly gardens at Creagh in west Cork that inspires' instant affection in visitors. There is a magical spirit about the place, but at the same time a homeliness and accessibility that makes it your favourite garden once you've been there.

You can "do" it in less than an hour - if you must - or you can linger there all day and soak in its curious, quirky beauty.

The gardens were created after the second World War by the late Peter and Gwendoline Harold Barry, on the lands around an elegant Regency house near Skibbereen. The estate - although horribly overrun by aucuba, the light smothering Japanese laurel beloved by Victorians - possessed a serpentine mill pond, a dramatic ruin, a walled garden and a ragged shoreline along a picturesque inlet: all exemplary ingredients for a romantic garden.

The Harold Barrys set to with gusto, tearing out the ghastly aucuba and planting rare shrubs and trees - which grew fat and happy in the warm, moist conditions. By the mill pond they indulged their imaginations, creating an exotic jungle by planting clumps of tree ferns, chusan palms, cordylines, lobe leaved fatsia and giant gunnera. They lined the water's edge with the plump foliage of arum lilies, skunk cabbage, lush ferns and spiky leaved phormium. Their model for this tropical set piece came from the paintings of Henri Rousseau, the French naive artist. The fact that Rousseau had never even left Paris - but had instead based his exuberant works on plants he'd seen at Le Jardin des Plantes - made it all the more entertaining.

Within a 10 acre area, the Harold Barrys created an enchanted spot: full of meandering, magnolia lined paths, unexpected vistas, self indulgent whimsicalities and theatrical spectacles.

Now Creagh is the home of Ken Lambert and Martin Sherry. When they arrived, the gardens had entered a state of gorgeous, but dangerous decline. Restoring Creagh in a manner sympathetic to the original spirit of the place became their mission.

One of their most remarkable achievements is the rejuvenation of the old walled garden. In one half, an orchard is inhabited by a crew of exotic fowl: their busybody ways and rambunctious calls are a perfect foil for the prim beds of vegetables growing on the other side of a stout fence - safe from interfering toes and beaks. The vegetables are grown organically, propelled into rude health by lashings of poultry manure, compost and comfrey soup.

Beyond the walled garden, the Baluba Hut now being rethatched - squats in a grassy dell. One of Peter Harold Barry's little follies, which be had built after he read a news item about the savage Congo tribe.

Further on, the mill pond is an untamed, watery paradise, its surrounding foliage rampantly overgrown and forming a canopy through which green sunlight drifts. It mimics convincingly Rousseau's savage yet diverting paintings: you never know what peculiar jungle creature might be eyeing you from deep within the over blown leaves all around. At one end, a little bit of Gothic melodrama blends in seamlessly where the stone ruin of an ancient flax mill looms darkly out of the trees.

COMING out of this dense, steamy place you are almost immediately thrust onto the seashore along a quiet inlet. Utterly different from the mill pond, it is equally magical. At high tide countless grey crabs dance sideways among the fronds of seaweed. And a broad, grassy quay with a welcoming bench beckons you to sit awhile before exploring further: the fern walk, the wood, Sir John's Walk and the sunspeckled Ho Chi Minh Walk all await you.