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Each quarter of an hour or so, an ageing diesel-powered railway carriage pulls into a graffiti-covered stop. Nearby, a law enforcement alarm cuts through the near-constant traffic drone. Commuters hurry past falling apart, ivy-draped garden fences as rain clouds form.

This is perhaps the last place you expect to find a perfectly formed grape-growing plot. But James Bayliss-Smith has cultivated four dozen established plants heavy with round mauve berries on a rambling garden plot sandwiched between a line of 1930s houses and a commuter railway just above the city town centre.

"I've seen individuals hiding heroin or other items in the shrubbery," states Bayliss-Smith. "But you just get on with it ... and keep tending to your vines."

The cameraman, forty-six, a documentary cameraman who runs a kombucha drinks business, is among several urban winemaker. He's organized a informal group of growers who produce vintage from several discreet urban vineyards nestled in back gardens and allotments across Bristol. It is too clandestine to have an formal title so far, but the group's WhatsApp group is called Vineyard Dreams.

Urban Vineyards Around the Globe

So far, Bayliss-Smith's plot is the only one registered in the Urban Vineyards Association's upcoming global directory, which features more famous urban wineries such as the eighteen hundred vines on the hillsides of the French capital's historic Montmartre area and more than 3,000 vines with views of and within Turin. The Italian-based non-profit association is at the vanguard of a movement re-establishing urban grape cultivation in traditional winemaking nations, but has identified them throughout the globe, including cities in Japan, South Asia and Uzbekistan.

"Grape gardens help cities remain greener and more diverse. These spaces preserve open space from development by establishing permanent, yielding farming plots inside cities," explains the association's president.

Similar to other vintages, those created in cities are a result of the earth the plants grow in, the unpredictability of the climate and the individuals who tend the fruit. "Each vintage represents the beauty, community, environment and heritage of a urban center," notes the spokesperson.

Unknown Polish Variety

Returning to Bristol, Bayliss-Smith is in a race against time to gather the grapevines he grew from a cutting abandoned in his garden by a Eastern European household. Should the rain comes, then the birds may take advantage to attack again. "Here we have the mystery Polish variety," he comments, as he cleans bruised and mouldy grapes from the glistering clusters. "The variety remains uncertain their exact classification, but they are certainly hardy. In contrast to premium grapes – Burgundy grapes, white wine grapes and other famous European varieties – you need not treat them with chemicals ... this is possibly a special variety that was bred by the Soviets."

Group Efforts Throughout Bristol

The other members of the collective are also taking advantage of bright periods between showers of autumn rain. On the terrace with views of the city's glistening waterfront, where medieval merchant vessels once bobbed with barrels of vintage from Europe and the Iberian peninsula, one cultivator is collecting her rondo grapes from approximately fifty vines. "I love the aroma of these vines. It is so evocative," she remarks, stopping with a basket of fruit slung over her arm. "It recalls the fragrance of southern France when you open the vehicle windows on holiday."

The humanitarian worker, fifty-two, who has devoted more than 20 years working for charitable groups in conflict zones, inadvertently took over the vineyard when she returned to the UK from Kenya with her family in 2018. She felt an strong responsibility to look after the grapevines in the yard of their recently acquired property. "This vineyard has already survived multiple proprietors," she says. "I really like the idea of natural stewardship – of handing this down to someone else so they continue producing from the soil."

Sloping Vineyards and Traditional Winemaking

A short walk away, the remaining cultivators of the group are hard at work on the steep inclines of Avon Gorge. Jo Scofield has established more than 150 vines situated on terraces in her wild half-acre garden, which descends towards the silty local waterway. "People are always surprised," she notes, gesturing towards the tangled vineyard. "It's astonishing to them they can see rows of vines in a city street."

Today, the filmmaker, sixty, is harvesting bunches of deep violet dark berries from rows of vines slung across the hillside with the help of her child, Luca. The conservationist, a documentary producer who has contributed to Netflix's Great National Parks series and television network's gardening shows, was motivated to cultivate vines after observing her neighbour's vines. She's discovered that hobbyists can make interesting, pleasurable natural wine, which can sell for more than seven pounds a glass in the growing number of establishments specialising in minimal-intervention vintages. "It is deeply rewarding that you can truly make quality, traditional vintage," she states. "It is quite on trend, but really it's reviving an old way of making vintage."

"During foot-stomping the grapes, the various natural microorganisms are released from the skins and enter the liquid," says Scofield, partially submerged in a bucket of tiny stems, seeds and crimson juice. "That's how vintages were historically produced, but industrial wineries introduce sulphur [dioxide] to eliminate the wild yeast and subsequently add a commercially produced yeast."

Challenging Environments and Inventive Solutions

A few doors down sprightly retiree another cultivator, who inspired his neighbor to establish her vines, has assembled his friends to pick Chardonnay grapes from one hundred vines he has laid out neatly across two terraces. The former teacher, a Lancashire-born physical education instructor who taught at the local university cultivated an interest in viticulture on regular visits to Europe. However it is a challenge to grow this particular variety in the dampness of the valley, with temperature fluctuations moving through from the Bristol Channel. "I aimed to make Burgundian wines in this location, which is somewhat ambitious," admits Reeve with a smile. "Chardonnay is slow-maturing and particularly vulnerable to mildew."

"I wanted to make Burgundian wines here, which is rather ambitious"

The unpredictable Bristol climate is not the only challenge encountered by winegrowers. Reeve has been compelled to erect a barrier on