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Every quarter of an hour or so, an older diesel-powered railway carriage arrives at a spray-painted station. Close by, a police siren pierces the almost continuous road noise. Daily travelers hurry past falling apart, ivy-draped fencing panels as storm clouds form.

This is perhaps the last place you expect to find a perfectly formed vineyard. But one local grower has cultivated 40 mature vines heavy with plump purplish berries on a rambling garden plot sandwiched between a row of 1930s houses and a local rail line just above the city town centre.

"I've seen individuals hiding heroin or other items in the shrubbery," states Bayliss-Smith. "But you simply continue ... and continue caring for your vines."

The cameraman, 46, a documentary cameraman who runs a fermented beverage company, is not the only local vintner. He's pulled together a informal group of growers who produce wine from four discreet urban vineyards nestled in private yards and allotments across the city. It is too clandestine to have an official name yet, but the collective's WhatsApp group is called Vineyard Dreams.

Urban Vineyards Around the Globe

To date, Bayliss-Smith's allotment is the sole location listed in the Urban Vineyards Association's forthcoming global directory, which features more famous urban wineries such as the 1,800 vines on the hillsides of the French capital's historic artistic district area and more than 3,000 vines with views of and inside the Italian city. The Italian-based non-profit association is at the forefront of a initiative re-establishing city vineyards in historic wine-producing nations, but has identified them all over the world, including cities in East Asia, Bangladesh and Central Asia.

"Vineyards assist urban areas stay more eco-friendly and ecologically varied. These spaces protect land from development by creating long-term, productive farming plots inside urban environments," explains the organization's leader.

Like all wines, those produced in cities are a product of the earth the vines grow in, the vagaries of the climate and the individuals who care for the fruit. "A bottle of wine represents the beauty, community, environment and heritage of a city," adds the spokesperson.

Unknown Polish Grapes

Back in Bristol, the grower is in a race against time to gather the grapevines he grew from a cutting abandoned in his allotment by a Eastern European household. Should the precipitation arrives, then the birds may take advantage to attack again. "Here we have the mystery Polish grape," he comments, as he removes bruised and mouldy grapes from the glistering clusters. "We don't really know what variety they are, but they are certainly disease-resistant. In contrast to premium grapes – Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and other famous French grapes – you don't have to spray them with chemicals ... this could be a special variety that was bred by the Eastern Bloc."

Group Activities Across the City

The other members of the group are additionally making the most of sunny interludes between showers of autumn rain. At a rooftop garden with views of Bristol's shimmering waterfront, where historic trading ships once bobbed with casks of vintage from Europe and Spain, Katy Grant is harvesting her rondo grapes from approximately 50 vines. "I adore the smell of these vines. The scent is so reminiscent," she says, pausing with a container of fruit resting on her shoulder. "It recalls the fragrance of Provence when you roll down the vehicle windows on holiday."

Grant, 52, who has devoted more than two decades working for humanitarian organizations in war-torn regions, inadvertently inherited the vineyard when she returned to the UK from Kenya with her family in recent years. She experienced an strong responsibility to maintain the vines in the yard of their recently acquired property. "This vineyard has previously survived multiple proprietors," she says. "I really like the idea of environmental care – of passing this on to someone else so they can continue producing from this land."

Sloping Vineyards and Natural Production

Nearby, the remaining cultivators of the collective are busily laboring on the precipitous slopes of Avon Gorge. One filmmaker has established more than 150 plants perched on ledges in her expansive property, which descends towards the silty local waterway. "People are always surprised," she notes, gesturing towards the tangled vineyard. "It's astonishing to them they are viewing grapevine lines in a city street."

Currently, Scofield, sixty, is picking bunches of dusty purple Rondo grapes from rows of plants arranged along the cliff-side with the assistance of her child, Luca. The conservationist, a wildlife and conservation film-maker who has contributed to streaming service's nature programming and BBC Two's gardening shows, was motivated to cultivate vines after observing her neighbor's grapevines. She's discovered that amateurs can make interesting, pleasurable traditional vintage, which can sell for upwards of seven pounds a serving in the growing number of wine bars specialising in minimal-intervention wines. "It's just incredibly satisfying that you can truly create quality, traditional vintage," she states. "It's very fashionable, but in reality it's resurrecting an traditional method of producing vintage."

"When I tread the fruit, the various wild yeasts come off the surfaces into the juice," explains the winemaker, partially submerged in a container of small branches, pips and crimson juice. "That's how vintages were historically produced, but commercial producers add sulphur [dioxide] to eliminate the wild yeast and subsequently add a lab-grown yeast."

Difficult Conditions and Creative Approaches

In the immediate vicinity sprightly retiree Bob Reeve, who inspired Scofield to plant her grapevines, has assembled his friends to harvest Chardonnay grapes from one hundred vines he has arranged precisely across multiple levels. The former teacher, a northern English physical education instructor who worked at Bristol University developed a passion for viticulture on regular visits to Europe. But it is a difficult task to cultivate Chardonnay grapes in the dampness of the gorge, with cooling tides sweeping in and out from the nearby estuary. "I wanted to make Burgundian wines here, which is a bit bonkers," says Reeve with a smile. "This variety is slow-maturing and very sensitive to fungal infections."

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

The unpredictable Bristol climate is not the sole challenge faced by winegrowers. The gardener has had to install a fence on