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Every quarter of an hour or so, an older diesel-powered railway carriage arrives at a graffiti-covered station. Nearby, a law enforcement alarm cuts through the near-constant traffic drone. Commuters hurry past collapsing, ivy-covered garden fences as storm clouds gather.

This is perhaps the least likely spot you anticipate to find a well-established grape-growing plot. However James Bayliss-Smith has managed to four dozen established plants heavy with plump mauve berries on a rambling allotment situated between a line of 1930s houses and a commuter railway just north of the city downtown.

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

Bayliss-Smith, forty-six, a filmmaker who also has a fermented beverage company, is among several local vintner. He's pulled together a loose collective of growers who produce vintage from four discreet urban vineyards nestled in private yards and community plots across Bristol. The project is too clandestine to have an formal title so far, but the collective's messaging chat is called Vineyard Dreams.

City Vineyards Across the World

So far, Bayliss-Smith's plot is the only one registered in the City Vineyard Network's upcoming global directory, which includes more famous urban wineries such as the 1,800 plants on the hillsides of the French capital's renowned Montmartre area and over three thousand grapevines overlooking 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 throughout the globe, including urban centers in East Asia, Bangladesh and Uzbekistan.

"Grape gardens help cities remain more eco-friendly and ecologically varied. They protect land from construction by establishing permanent, productive agricultural units within cities," says the organization's leader.

Similar to other vintages, those created in cities are a product of the soils the vines thrive in, the vagaries of the weather and the people who care for the fruit. "Each vintage represents the beauty, local spirit, environment and heritage of a urban center," notes the president.

Unknown Eastern European Variety

Returning to Bristol, Bayliss-Smith is in a race against time to gather the grapevines he grew from a plant left in his allotment by a Eastern European household. 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 grapes from the shimmering bunches. "We don't really know their exact classification, but they are certainly disease-resistant. In contrast to premium grapes – Pinot Noir, Chardonnay and additional renowned European varieties – you need not treat them with chemicals ... this is possibly a special variety that was bred by the Soviets."

Collective Activities Throughout the City

The other members of the group are additionally making the most of bright periods between bursts of fall precipitation. On the terrace overlooking Bristol's glistening harbour, where medieval merchant vessels once bobbed with barrels of vintage from Europe and Spain, 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 grapes resting on her arm. "It's the scent of Provence when you open the vehicle windows on holiday."

Grant, 52, who has devoted more than 20 years working for humanitarian organizations in conflict zones, inadvertently inherited the grape garden when she moved back to the UK from East Africa with her family in recent years. She felt an strong responsibility to maintain the grapevines in the yard of their new home. "This vineyard has previously endured three different owners," she explains. "I really like the concept of environmental care – of passing this on to someone else so they keep cultivating from this land."

Terraced Gardens and Traditional Winemaking

A short walk away, the final two members of the collective are hard at work on the steep inclines of the local river valley. Jo Scofield has cultivated more than one hundred fifty vines perched on terraces in her wild half-acre garden, which tumbles down towards the silty local waterway. "People are always surprised," she says, indicating the interwoven vineyard. "It's astonishing to them they can see grapevine lines in a urban neighborhood."

Today, Scofield, sixty, is harvesting clusters of dusty purple Rondo grapes from lines of plants arranged along the cliff-side with the assistance of her child, her family member. The conservationist, a documentary producer who has contributed to Netflix's nature programming and BBC Two's Gardeners' World, was inspired to cultivate vines after observing her neighbor's vines. She's discovered that hobbyists can produce interesting, enjoyable natural wine, which can sell for more than £7 a glass in the growing number of wine bars focusing on minimal-intervention vintages. "It's just incredibly satisfying that you can truly create quality, traditional vintage," she says. "It is quite fashionable, but in reality it's resurrecting an old way of making vintage."

"During foot-stomping the grapes, the various wild yeasts come off the surfaces into the liquid," explains the winemaker, ankle deep in a container of tiny stems, pips and crimson juice. "That's how vintages were made traditionally, but commercial producers add preservatives to eliminate the wild yeast and then incorporate a lab-grown yeast."

Challenging Conditions and Inventive Solutions

A few doors down active senior Bob Reeve, who motivated Scofield to plant her grapevines, has assembled his companions to harvest Chardonnay grapes from the 100 plants he has arranged precisely across multiple levels. Reeve, a Lancashire-born 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 this particular variety in the dampness of the gorge, with cooling tides sweeping in and out from the Bristol Channel. "I aimed to produce French-style vintages here, which is a bit bonkers," admits Reeve with amusement. "Chardonnay is slow-maturing and very sensitive to mildew."

"My goal was creating European-style vintages here, which is a bit bonkers"

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