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Every 20 minutes or so, an ageing diesel-powered train pulls into a spray-painted station. Close by, a police siren cuts through the almost continuous traffic drone. Commuters hurry past collapsing, ivy-draped fencing panels as rain clouds form.

This is maybe the last place you expect to find a well-established grape-growing plot. But James Bayliss-Smith has cultivated 40 mature vines heavy with plump mauve berries on a rambling allotment sandwiched between a row of historic homes and a commuter railway just above the city downtown.

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

Bayliss-Smith, 46, a documentary cameraman who also has a kombucha drinks business, is not the only urban winemaker. He has pulled together a informal group of growers who produce wine from four discreet city grape gardens nestled in private yards and community plots across the city. The project is too clandestine to have an official name so far, but the group's messaging chat is called Vineyard Dreams.

Urban Wine Gardens Across the World

So far, Bayliss-Smith's plot is the sole location registered in the Urban Vineyards Association's forthcoming global directory, which includes better-known city vineyards such as the eighteen hundred vines on the hillsides of Paris's renowned Montmartre area and over three thousand vines overlooking and inside the Italian city. The Italian-based charitable organization is at the vanguard of a movement reviving city vineyards in traditional winemaking countries, but has identified them all over the globe, including cities in East Asia, South Asia and Uzbekistan.

"Grape gardens assist cities remain greener and ecologically varied. They preserve open space from construction by establishing long-term, yielding agricultural units within urban environments," says the organization's leader.

Similar to other vintages, those created in urban areas are a product 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, landscape and heritage of a urban center," notes the president.

Mystery Polish Variety

Returning to the city, Bayliss-Smith is in a race against time to harvest the grapevines he grew from a plant abandoned in his garden by a Polish family. If the rain arrives, then the pigeons may take advantage to attack again. "This is the enigmatic Eastern European grape," he comments, as he removes damaged and rotten grapes from the glistering bunches. "We don't really know what variety they are, but they're definitely hardy. Unlike premium grapes – Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and other famous French grapes – you don't have to spray them with chemicals ... this could be a unique cultivar that was developed by the Soviets."

Collective Efforts Across Bristol

The other members of the collective are also making the most of bright periods between showers of autumn rain. On the terrace overlooking Bristol's glistening harbour, where historic trading ships once bobbed with casks of vintage from Europe and the Iberian peninsula, one cultivator is harvesting her dark berries from about 50 plants. "I love the aroma of the grapevines. It is so reminiscent," she says, stopping with a container of fruit resting on her shoulder. "It's the scent of southern France when you open the vehicle windows on vacation."

The humanitarian worker, 52, who has devoted more than 20 years working for humanitarian organizations in conflict zones, unexpectedly inherited the grape garden when she returned to the UK from Kenya with her household in recent years. She felt an strong responsibility to maintain the vines in the yard of their recently acquired property. "This vineyard has already endured three different owners," she explains. "I really like the concept of natural stewardship – of handing this down to future caretakers so they continue producing from this land."

Terraced Vineyards and Natural Production

A short walk away, the final two members of the collective are busily laboring on the precipitous slopes of Avon Gorge. Jo Scofield has cultivated over 150 plants perched on terraces in her wild half-acre garden, which descends towards the muddy River Avon. "Visitors frequently express amazement," she notes, indicating the interwoven vineyard. "It's astonishing to them they are viewing grapevine lines in a urban neighborhood."

Currently, the filmmaker, 60, is picking clusters of dusty purple dark berries from lines of vines slung across the hillside with the help of her child, Luca. The conservationist, a documentary producer who has worked on Netflix's Great National Parks series and BBC Two's gardening shows, was inspired to cultivate vines after observing her neighbour's grapevines. She's discovered that amateurs can produce interesting, enjoyable natural wine, which can command prices of upwards of £7 a serving in the increasing quantity of establishments specialising in low-processing vintages. "It is incredibly satisfying that you can truly make quality, natural wine," she says. "It's very fashionable, but really it's reviving an old way of producing wine."

"During foot-stomping the grapes, all the wild yeasts come off the skins into the liquid," explains Scofield, ankle deep in a bucket of small branches, seeds and red liquid. "That's how wines were historically produced, but industrial wineries add preservatives to kill the wild yeast and then add a commercially produced culture."

Challenging Environments and Inventive Approaches

A few doors down sprightly retiree another cultivator, who inspired Scofield to establish her grapevines, has gathered his friends to pick Chardonnay grapes from one hundred plants he has laid out neatly across two terraces. The former teacher, a northern English PE teacher who worked at Bristol University developed a passion for wine on annual sporting trips to Europe. However it is a difficult task to grow this particular variety in the humidity of the valley, with cooling tides moving through from the Bristol Channel. "I wanted to make French-style vintages here, which is a bit bonkers," says the retiree with a smile. "This variety is slow-maturing and particularly vulnerable to fungal infections."

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

The temperamental Bristol climate is not the sole problem faced by winegrowers. Reeve has been compelled to install a fence on