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Each quarter of an hour or so, an ageing diesel railway carriage pulls into a spray-painted station. Nearby, a police siren cuts through the almost continuous road noise. Daily travelers hurry past falling apart, ivy-draped fencing panels as rain clouds gather.

This is maybe the least likely spot you anticipate to find a perfectly formed grape-growing plot. But James Bayliss-Smith has managed to four dozen established plants sagging with plump mauve berries on a sprawling garden plot situated between a line of historic homes and a local rail line just above Bristol town centre.

"I've seen people concealing illegal substances or other items in those bushes," says the grower. "But you just get on with it ... and keep tending to your grapevines."

Bayliss-Smith, 46, a documentary cameraman who runs a kombucha drinks business, is among several urban winemaker. He has organized a informal group of growers who produce vintage from several hidden city grape gardens tucked away in back gardens and community plots throughout the city. The project is too clandestine to have an official name so far, but the collective's messaging chat is called Grape Expectations.

City Vineyards Across the World

So far, the grower's allotment is the sole location registered in the City Vineyard Network's forthcoming world atlas, which includes more famous city vineyards such as the 1,800 plants on the slopes of Paris's historic Montmartre neighbourhood and more than 3,000 vines overlooking and within Turin. The Italian-based charitable organization is at the forefront of a movement re-establishing city vineyards in traditional winemaking nations, but has identified them all over the world, including urban centers in Japan, South Asia and Uzbekistan.

"Vineyards assist cities remain more eco-friendly and more diverse. They protect land from construction by creating long-term, productive agricultural units inside urban environments," says the association's president.

Like all wines, those produced in urban areas are a result of the earth the plants thrive in, the unpredictability of the climate and the individuals who care for the fruit. "Each vintage embodies the beauty, local spirit, environment and history of a urban center," notes the president.

Unknown Polish Variety

Back in Bristol, Bayliss-Smith is in a urgent timeline to harvest the vines he cultivated from a plant abandoned in his garden by a Polish family. Should the precipitation comes, then the birds may take advantage to feast again. "This is the enigmatic Polish grape," he says, as he removes bruised and rotten berries from the shimmering clusters. "We don't really know their exact classification, but they are certainly disease-resistant. In contrast to premium grapes – Pinot Noir, white wine grapes and other famous European varieties – you don't have to treat them with chemicals ... this could be a special variety that was bred by the Soviets."

Collective Efforts Throughout the City

Additional participants of the collective are also making the most of sunny interludes between bursts of autumn rain. On the terrace with views of Bristol's glistening harbour, where historic trading ships once bobbed with casks of vintage from France and the Iberian peninsula, one cultivator is collecting her dark berries from approximately fifty vines. "I adore the aroma of these vines. The scent is so reminiscent," she remarks, stopping with a container of fruit resting on her arm. "It's the scent of Provence when you roll down the vehicle windows on holiday."

Grant, 52, who has devoted more than 20 years working for charitable groups in conflict zones, inadvertently inherited the grape garden when she returned to the United Kingdom from East Africa with her family in recent years. She felt an strong responsibility to maintain the grapevines in the yard of their recently acquired property. "This plot has previously survived three different owners," she says. "I deeply appreciate the concept of natural stewardship – of handing this down to someone else so they can continue producing from this land."

Terraced Gardens and Natural Winemaking

Nearby, the final two members of the group are hard at work on the precipitous slopes of Avon Gorge. One filmmaker has established over 150 plants perched on terraces in her wild half-acre garden, which tumbles down towards the muddy local waterway. "Visitors frequently express amazement," she notes, gesturing towards the interwoven vineyard. "It's astonishing to them they can see grapevine lines in a city street."

Today, Scofield, 60, is harvesting clusters of deep violet dark berries from rows of plants arranged along the cliff-side with the help of her child, her family member. The conservationist, a documentary producer who has contributed to streaming service's Great National Parks series and television network's Gardeners' World, was motivated to plant grapes after observing her neighbor's vines. She has learned that amateurs can make interesting, enjoyable natural wine, which can sell for upwards of seven pounds a glass in the growing number of establishments specialising in minimal-intervention vintages. "It is deeply rewarding that you can truly create good, natural wine," she says. "It is quite on trend, but really it's resurrecting an old way of making wine."

"When I tread the fruit, the various wild yeasts are released from the skins into the juice," says Scofield, ankle deep in a container of small branches, pips and crimson juice. "This represents how wines were made traditionally, but commercial producers introduce sulphur [dioxide] to kill the natural cultures and then add a lab-grown culture."

Difficult Environments and Inventive Solutions

In the immediate vicinity active senior Bob Reeve, who motivated his neighbor to plant her grapevines, has gathered his friends to harvest white wine varieties from the 100 vines he has laid out neatly across two terraces. Reeve, a Lancashire-born physical education instructor who worked at the local university developed a passion for wine on regular visits to Europe. However it is a challenge to grow Chardonnay grapes in the dampness of the gorge, with temperature fluctuations sweeping in and out from the nearby estuary. "I aimed to make French-style vintages here, which is a bit bonkers," says Reeve with amusement. "Chardonnay is slow-maturing and very sensitive to mildew."

"I wanted to make Burgundian wines in this environment, which is a bit bonkers"

The unpredictable Bristol climate is not the sole problem encountered by grape cultivators. The gardener has had to install a fence on