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Every quarter of an hour or so, an older diesel-powered train arrives at a spray-painted station. Nearby, a law enforcement alarm cuts through the almost continuous road noise. Daily travelers hurry past falling apart, ivy-draped fencing panels as rain clouds gather.

This is perhaps the least likely spot you expect to find a well-established grape-growing plot. But James Bayliss-Smith has managed to 40 mature vines heavy with plump mauve berries on a rambling garden plot sandwiched between a line of historic homes and a commuter railway just north of the city downtown.

"I've seen individuals concealing heroin or other items in the shrubbery," says the grower. "But you just get on with it ... and continue caring for your vines."

Bayliss-Smith, forty-six, a filmmaker who runs a kombucha drinks business, is among several local vintner. He's pulled together a loose collective of cultivators who make wine from four discreet city grape gardens nestled in back gardens and community plots across the city. The project is too clandestine to possess an official name yet, but the collective's messaging chat is called Grape Expectations.

Urban Vineyards Across the Globe

So far, the grower's plot is the only one listed in the Urban Vineyards Association's forthcoming global directory, which includes more famous urban wineries such as the 1,800 vines on the slopes of Paris's historic artistic district neighbourhood and over 3,000 grapevines overlooking and within the Italian city. The Italian-based charitable organization is at the forefront of a movement re-establishing city vineyards in traditional winemaking countries, but has identified them all over the world, including cities in East Asia, Bangladesh and Central Asia.

"Grape gardens assist urban areas remain greener and more diverse. They preserve land from development by creating long-term, yielding agricultural units inside cities," explains the organization's leader.

Similar to other vintages, those created in cities are a result of the soils the vines grow in, the vagaries of the weather and the individuals who tend the grapes. "A bottle of wine represents the charm, local spirit, landscape and heritage of a urban center," notes the spokesperson.

Unknown Polish Variety

Back in the city, the grower is in a race against time to harvest the grapevines he cultivated from a cutting abandoned in his garden by a Polish family. If the precipitation comes, then the pigeons may take advantage to attack again. "Here we have the enigmatic Eastern European grape," he comments, as he removes bruised and mouldy grapes from the shimmering clusters. "We don't really know what variety they are, but they are certainly hardy. In contrast to noble varieties – Pinot Noir, white wine grapes and additional renowned European varieties – you don't have to spray them with chemicals ... this could be a special variety that was bred by the Soviets."

Collective Efforts Throughout the City

The other members of the group are additionally making the most of bright periods between bursts of fall precipitation. At a rooftop garden with views of Bristol's glistening harbour, where medieval merchant vessels once floated with barrels of vintage from France and Spain, one cultivator is collecting her dark berries from about 50 vines. "I adore the aroma of the grapevines. It is so evocative," she says, pausing with a container of fruit resting on her shoulder. "It's the scent of Provence when you roll down the car windows on holiday."

The humanitarian worker, 52, who has devoted more than two decades working for humanitarian organizations in conflict zones, inadvertently inherited the grape garden when she returned to the UK from East Africa with her household in recent years. She felt an overwhelming duty to look after the vines in the yard of their recently acquired property. "This plot has previously endured multiple proprietors," she explains. "I deeply appreciate the concept of natural stewardship – of passing this on to someone else so they continue producing from the soil."

Terraced Gardens and Traditional Winemaking

A short walk away, the final two members of the group are hard at work on the precipitous slopes of Avon Gorge. Jo Scofield has established more than 150 plants situated on ledges in her expansive property, which tumbles down towards the muddy River Avon. "Visitors frequently express amazement," she notes, gesturing towards the tangled vineyard. "They can't believe they can see grapevine lines in a city street."

Currently, the filmmaker, 60, is harvesting clusters of deep violet Rondo grapes from rows of plants arranged along the hillside with the assistance of her child, her family member. Scofield, a documentary producer 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 vines. She's discovered that amateurs can make interesting, pleasurable traditional vintage, which can sell for more than seven pounds a glass in the growing number of wine bars specialising in low-processing wines. "It's just deeply rewarding that you can truly make good, natural wine," she says. "It's very on trend, but in reality it's resurrecting an traditional method of making vintage."

"When I tread the fruit, the various natural microorganisms come off the surfaces into the juice," says Scofield, partially submerged in a bucket of tiny stems, pips and red liquid. "That's how vintages were historically produced, but commercial producers add preservatives to kill the natural cultures and subsequently incorporate a commercially produced culture."

Challenging Conditions and Inventive Approaches

In the immediate vicinity sprightly retiree Bob Reeve, who motivated Scofield to plant her vines, has assembled his friends to harvest white wine varieties from the 100 vines he has arranged precisely across two terraces. The former teacher, a northern English PE teacher who taught at Bristol University developed a passion for viticulture on regular visits to Europe. But it is a challenge to grow Chardonnay grapes in the dampness 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 amusement. "This variety is slow-maturing and particularly vulnerable to mildew."

"I wanted to make European-style vintages here, which is rather ambitious"

The unpredictable local weather is not the sole problem faced by winegrowers. The gardener has had to install a barrier on