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Each quarter of an hour or so, an ageing diesel train arrives at a spray-painted station. Nearby, a law enforcement alarm pierces the almost continuous road noise. Commuters rush by collapsing, ivy-draped garden fences as rain clouds gather.

This is perhaps the last place you expect to find a well-established grape-growing plot. However James Bayliss-Smith has managed to four dozen established plants heavy with plump purplish berries on a rambling garden plot situated between a line of 1930s houses and a commuter railway just north of Bristol downtown.

"I've noticed individuals concealing illegal substances or whatever in the shrubbery," says the grower. "Yet you just get on with it ... and continue caring for your vines."

Bayliss-Smith, forty-six, a filmmaker who runs a kombucha drinks business, is among several urban winemaker. He has organized a informal group of growers who produce wine from four discreet city grape gardens tucked away in private yards and allotments throughout the city. It is too clandestine to have an official name so far, but the group's WhatsApp group is named Vineyard Dreams.

Urban Wine Gardens Around the World

So far, the grower's plot is the only one listed in the Urban Vineyards Association's forthcoming global directory, which features more famous urban wineries such as the eighteen hundred vines on the slopes of the French capital's renowned Montmartre area and over 3,000 grapevines with views of and inside Turin. Based in Italy non-profit association is at the vanguard of a movement re-establishing urban grape cultivation in historic wine-producing countries, but has identified them all over the world, including urban centers in Japan, Bangladesh and Uzbekistan.

"Vineyards assist urban areas remain greener and ecologically varied. These spaces preserve open space from development by establishing long-term, yielding farming plots inside cities," explains the association's president.

Like all wines, those created in urban areas are a result of the soils the plants thrive in, the vagaries of the climate and the people who care for the fruit. "A bottle of wine represents the beauty, community, landscape and heritage of a city," adds the president.

Unknown Eastern European Variety

Returning to the city, the grower is in a urgent timeline to harvest the vines he grew from a cutting left in his garden by a Eastern European household. If the rain comes, then the pigeons may take advantage to attack once more. "This is the enigmatic Eastern European grape," he comments, as he cleans damaged and rotten berries from the shimmering bunches. "We don't really know what variety they are, but they are certainly hardy. In contrast to noble varieties – Burgundy grapes, white wine grapes and other famous European varieties – you need not treat them with pesticides ... this is possibly a unique cultivar that was bred by the Eastern Bloc."

Group Efforts Across the City

Additional participants of the collective are also taking advantage of bright periods between showers of autumn rain. On the terrace overlooking Bristol's shimmering waterfront, where medieval merchant vessels once bobbed with barrels of wine from France and the Iberian peninsula, one cultivator is harvesting her dark berries from about 50 plants. "I love the aroma of the grapevines. The scent is so evocative," she says, stopping with a container of grapes slung over her arm. "It's the scent of southern France when you roll down the vehicle windows on vacation."

Grant, 52, who has spent over two decades working for charitable groups in conflict zones, unexpectedly inherited the vineyard when she returned to the UK from East Africa with her family in recent years. She experienced an strong responsibility to maintain the vines in the yard of their new home. "This vineyard has already endured three different owners," she explains. "I deeply appreciate the idea of natural stewardship – of handing this down to someone else so they can keep cultivating from the soil."

Sloping Gardens and Traditional Production

Nearby, the remaining cultivators of the group are busily laboring on the steep inclines of the local river valley. Jo Scofield has cultivated over one hundred fifty plants perched on ledges in her wild half-acre garden, which descends towards the muddy River Avon. "Visitors frequently express amazement," she notes, indicating the interwoven grape garden. "They can't believe they can see rows of vines in a urban neighborhood."

Currently, Scofield, 60, is harvesting clusters of dusty purple dark berries from rows of plants arranged along the cliff-side with the help of her child, her family member. Scofield, a documentary producer who has worked on Netflix's nature programming and BBC Two's gardening shows, was motivated to plant grapes after observing her neighbour's grapevines. She has learned that hobbyists can make interesting, pleasurable natural wine, which can command prices of upwards of £7 a serving in the growing number of establishments specialising in minimal-intervention wines. "It's just incredibly satisfying that you can truly create good, traditional vintage," she states. "It is quite on trend, but really it's reviving an traditional method of producing wine."

"When I tread the grapes, the various wild yeasts are released from the surfaces into the liquid," explains Scofield, ankle deep in a container of tiny stems, seeds and red liquid. "That's how vintages were historically produced, but commercial producers introduce sulphur [dioxide] to eliminate the wild yeast and then incorporate a lab-grown culture."

Difficult Environments and Inventive Approaches

A few doors down active senior Bob Reeve, who inspired Scofield to plant her vines, has gathered his friends to harvest Chardonnay grapes from one hundred plants he has arranged precisely across multiple levels. The former teacher, a Lancashire-born PE teacher who worked at Bristol University cultivated an interest in viticulture on annual sporting trips to Europe. But it is a difficult task to cultivate this particular variety in the humidity of the gorge, with temperature fluctuations sweeping in and out from the Bristol Channel. "I aimed to make Burgundian wines in this location, which is a bit bonkers," admits Reeve with amusement. "Chardonnay is late to ripen and very sensitive to mildew."

"I wanted to make European-style vintages in this environment, which is a bit bonkers"

The temperamental Bristol climate is not the sole challenge faced by winegrowers. Reeve has had to erect a fence on