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Every 20 minutes or so, an older diesel-powered railway carriage pulls into a spray-painted station. Close by, a law enforcement alarm cuts through the almost continuous road noise. Commuters hurry past falling apart, ivy-covered fencing panels as storm clouds form.

It is perhaps the least likely spot you anticipate to find a well-established grape-growing plot. However James Bayliss-Smith has managed to 40 mature vines heavy with round purplish grapes on a sprawling garden plot situated between a row of 1930s houses and a commuter railway just above Bristol downtown.

"I've seen people concealing illegal substances or other items in the shrubbery," states Bayliss-Smith. "Yet you simply continue ... and continue caring for your grapevines."

The cameraman, 46, a documentary cameraman who runs a fermented beverage company, is among several urban winemaker. He's organized a loose collective of growers who make wine from several hidden city grape gardens nestled in private yards and community plots throughout the city. It is sufficiently underground to have an official name so far, but the group's messaging chat is named Vineyard Dreams.

Urban Wine Gardens Across the Globe

So far, Bayliss-Smith's plot is the sole location registered in the City Vineyard Network's forthcoming world atlas, which features more famous urban wineries such as the 1,800 vines on the slopes of the French capital's renowned artistic district neighbourhood and more than 3,000 grapevines with views of and within the Italian city. The Italian-based non-profit association is at the forefront of a movement re-establishing urban grape cultivation in historic wine-producing countries, but has identified them all over the world, including cities in Japan, South Asia and Uzbekistan.

"Vineyards help cities stay greener and ecologically varied. They preserve open space from construction by creating long-term, productive farming plots inside cities," says the association's president.

Similar to other vintages, those produced in cities are a product of the earth the vines grow in, the vagaries of the weather and the people who care for the fruit. "A bottle of wine embodies the beauty, local spirit, landscape and heritage of a city," notes the president.

Unknown Polish Variety

Back in Bristol, Bayliss-Smith is in a race against time to harvest the vines he cultivated from a cutting left in his allotment by a Eastern European household. Should the rain comes, then the birds may take advantage to attack again. "Here we have the enigmatic Polish grape," he comments, as he cleans bruised and mouldy grapes from the glistering clusters. "The variety remains uncertain what variety they are, but they are certainly hardy. Unlike premium grapes – Burgundy grapes, white wine grapes and other famous European varieties – you need not spray them with pesticides ... this is possibly a special variety that was bred by the Eastern Bloc."

Group Efforts Throughout Bristol

Additional participants of the collective are additionally making the most of bright periods between bursts of fall precipitation. On the terrace overlooking the city's shimmering harbour, where historic trading ships once floated with barrels of wine from France and the Iberian peninsula, Katy Grant is harvesting her rondo grapes from approximately fifty plants. "I adore the aroma of the grapevines. It is so reminiscent," she remarks, stopping with a basket 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 spent over 20 years working for humanitarian organizations in war-torn regions, unexpectedly inherited the vineyard when she moved back to the UK from Kenya with her family in recent years. She felt an overwhelming duty to look after the grapevines in the garden of their new home. "This vineyard has previously survived multiple proprietors," she explains. "I deeply appreciate the idea of environmental care – of handing this down to someone else so they keep cultivating from the soil."

Terraced Gardens and Traditional Production

A short walk away, the remaining cultivators of the collective are hard at work on the precipitous slopes of Avon Gorge. Jo Scofield has cultivated more than one hundred fifty plants situated on terraces in her wild half-acre garden, which descends towards the silty River Avon. "Visitors frequently express amazement," she notes, gesturing towards the interwoven vineyard. "They can't believe they can see grapevine lines in a city street."

Currently, the filmmaker, sixty, is harvesting bunches of deep violet Rondo grapes from rows of vines slung across the cliff-side with the help of her child, her family member. The conservationist, a wildlife and conservation film-maker who has contributed to streaming service's Great National Parks series and television network's Gardeners' World, was motivated to plant grapes after seeing her neighbour's vines. She's discovered that amateurs can make interesting, enjoyable traditional vintage, which can sell for upwards of seven pounds a glass in the growing number of wine bars specialising in minimal-intervention wines. "It is deeply rewarding that you can actually create quality, traditional vintage," she states. "It is quite fashionable, but in reality it's resurrecting an old way of making wine."

"When I tread the grapes, the various wild yeasts are released from the skins into the liquid," explains Scofield, ankle deep in a bucket of small branches, pips and red liquid. "This represents how vintages were historically produced, but commercial producers add preservatives to eliminate the natural cultures and then incorporate a lab-grown culture."

Challenging Environments and Creative Approaches

In the immediate vicinity sprightly retiree another cultivator, who motivated his neighbor to plant her vines, has gathered his friends to harvest Chardonnay grapes from the 100 vines 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 regular visits to France. But it is a difficult task to cultivate this particular variety in the dampness of the gorge, with temperature fluctuations sweeping in and out from the Bristol Channel. "I wanted to produce French-style vintages here, which is somewhat ambitious," says Reeve with a smile. "This variety is late to ripen and very sensitive to fungal infections."

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

The unpredictable local weather is not the only challenge faced by winegrowers. Reeve has been compelled to erect a barrier on