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Each quarter of an hour or so, an ageing diesel railway carriage arrives at a spray-painted station. Close by, a law enforcement alarm pierces the almost continuous traffic drone. Commuters hurry past collapsing, ivy-covered garden fences as rain clouds gather.

It is maybe the least likely spot you expect to find a well-established vineyard. But one local grower has managed to four dozen established plants sagging with round purplish berries on a rambling garden plot sandwiched between a line of 1930s houses and a commuter railway just above Bristol town centre.

"I've noticed individuals concealing heroin or other items in the shrubbery," states the grower. "But you simply continue ... and keep tending to your grapevines."

The cameraman, forty-six, a filmmaker who runs a fermented beverage company, is among several local vintner. He has pulled together a informal group of growers who make vintage from several discreet urban vineyards nestled in back gardens and community plots across Bristol. The project is too clandestine to have an official name so far, but the group's messaging chat is named Grape Expectations.

City Wine Gardens Across the World

So far, the grower's plot is the sole location listed in the City Vineyard Network's forthcoming world atlas, which includes better-known urban wineries such as the eighteen hundred plants on the hillsides of Paris's renowned artistic district area and more than three thousand vines with views of and within Turin. Based in Italy charitable organization is at the forefront of a movement reviving urban grape cultivation in historic wine-producing countries, but has identified them all over the globe, including cities in Japan, Bangladesh and Central Asia.

"Grape gardens assist cities remain more eco-friendly and more diverse. These spaces protect open space from construction by establishing long-term, yielding agricultural units inside urban environments," says the organization's leader.

Like all wines, those produced in cities are a result of the soils the plants grow in, the unpredictability of the weather and the individuals who care for the fruit. "A bottle of wine represents the charm, community, environment and heritage of a city," adds the spokesperson.

Unknown Eastern European Variety

Back in the city, Bayliss-Smith is in a race against time to gather the grapevines he grew from a plant left in his garden by a Eastern European household. If the precipitation arrives, then the pigeons may take advantage to attack again. "This is the enigmatic Polish grape," he says, as he removes damaged and mouldy berries from the shimmering clusters. "We don't really know what variety they are, but they are certainly hardy. In contrast to noble varieties – Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and other famous European varieties – you need not treat them with chemicals ... this could be a special variety that was bred by the Eastern Bloc."

Group Activities Across the City

Additional participants of the collective are additionally making the most of bright periods between bursts of autumn rain. At a rooftop garden overlooking Bristol's glistening harbour, where medieval merchant vessels once bobbed with barrels of wine from France and the Iberian peninsula, one cultivator is harvesting her rondo grapes from about 50 plants. "I love the smell of these vines. The scent is so reminiscent," she says, pausing with a basket of grapes slung over her arm. "It recalls the fragrance of Provence when you roll down the vehicle windows on vacation."

The humanitarian worker, 52, who has spent over 20 years working for charitable groups in war-torn regions, inadvertently inherited the vineyard when she returned to the UK from Kenya with her family in recent years. She felt an overwhelming duty to maintain the grapevines in the garden of their new home. "This vineyard has previously endured multiple proprietors," she explains. "I deeply appreciate the idea of natural stewardship – of handing this down to future caretakers so they can continue producing from this land."

Terraced Gardens and Natural Production

A short walk away, the remaining cultivators of the collective are busily laboring on the precipitous slopes of Avon Gorge. One filmmaker has cultivated more than 150 vines perched on ledges in her expansive property, which tumbles down towards the muddy local waterway. "Visitors frequently express amazement," she notes, gesturing towards the tangled vineyard. "They can't believe they can see rows of vines in a urban neighborhood."

Today, the filmmaker, sixty, is harvesting clusters of deep violet dark berries from lines of vines arranged along the cliff-side with the help of her daughter, Luca. Scofield, a wildlife and conservation film-maker who has contributed to Netflix's Great National Parks series and television network's gardening shows, was motivated to plant grapes after observing her neighbour's vines. She's discovered that amateurs can produce intriguing, enjoyable natural wine, which can sell for more than £7 a glass in the growing number of establishments specialising in minimal-intervention vintages. "It is deeply rewarding that you can actually make good, natural wine," she states. "It's very fashionable, but in reality it's resurrecting an traditional method of producing wine."

"During foot-stomping the grapes, the various natural microorganisms come off the skins and enter the juice," says the winemaker, ankle deep in a container of tiny stems, seeds and red liquid. "This represents how wines were made traditionally, but commercial producers add preservatives to eliminate the natural cultures and subsequently add a lab-grown yeast."

Difficult Conditions and Creative Approaches

A few doors down active senior Bob Reeve, who inspired Scofield to establish her vines, has gathered his friends to pick Chardonnay grapes from the 100 plants he has arranged precisely across multiple levels. The former teacher, a northern English physical education instructor who worked at the local university developed a passion for wine on regular visits to France. However it is a difficult task to grow this particular variety in the dampness of the gorge, with cooling tides moving through from the nearby estuary. "I wanted to make French-style vintages in this location, which is a bit bonkers," says Reeve with amusement. "This variety is late to ripen and very sensitive to mildew."

"I wanted to make Burgundian wines here, which is a bit bonkers"

The temperamental Bristol climate is not the only problem faced by winegrowers. The gardener has had to install a barrier on