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Every 20 minutes or so, an ageing diesel train arrives at a graffiti-covered stop. Nearby, a police siren pierces the near-constant road noise. Daily travelers rush by collapsing, ivy-draped garden fences as rain clouds form.

It is maybe the least likely spot you anticipate to find a perfectly formed grape-growing plot. But one local grower has managed to four dozen established plants heavy with plump purplish berries on a rambling allotment sandwiched between a row of 1930s houses and a local rail line just above Bristol downtown.

"I've noticed people concealing illegal substances or whatever in those bushes," states the grower. "Yet you simply continue ... and continue caring for your grapevines."

Bayliss-Smith, 46, a filmmaker who runs a fermented beverage company, is not the only urban winemaker. He's pulled together a informal group of growers who make wine from four discreet urban vineyards tucked away in private yards and allotments throughout the city. It is sufficiently underground to have an official name yet, but the collective's WhatsApp group is called Vineyard Dreams.

Urban Wine Gardens Across the World

To date, Bayliss-Smith's plot is the sole location listed in the Urban Vineyards Association's upcoming global directory, which features better-known city vineyards such as the 1,800 plants on the hillsides of the French capital's renowned artistic district neighbourhood and over 3,000 grapevines with views of and inside Turin. The Italian-based non-profit association is at the forefront of a movement reviving city vineyards in historic wine-producing nations, but has identified them all over the globe, including urban centers in East Asia, South Asia and Uzbekistan.

"Grape gardens help cities stay greener and more diverse. These spaces protect land from construction by establishing permanent, productive agricultural units within urban environments," explains the organization's leader.

Like all wines, those produced in urban areas are a result of the earth the vines grow in, the unpredictability of the weather and the people who care for the fruit. "A bottle of wine represents the beauty, local spirit, landscape and heritage of a urban center," adds the spokesperson.

Mystery Polish Grapes

Returning to Bristol, the grower is in a race against time to gather the grapevines he cultivated from a plant left in his allotment by a Polish family. Should the rain comes, then the pigeons may take advantage to feast again. "Here we have the mystery Polish grape," he says, as he removes damaged and mouldy berries from the shimmering bunches. "We don't really know their exact classification, but they are certainly hardy. In contrast to premium grapes – Pinot Noir, white wine grapes and additional renowned European varieties – you need not spray them with pesticides ... this could be a special variety that was bred by the Soviets."

Group Efforts Across the City

Additional participants of the group are also taking advantage of sunny interludes between showers of autumn rain. On the terrace with views of the city's glistening waterfront, where medieval merchant vessels once floated with barrels of wine from Europe and the Iberian peninsula, Katy Grant is harvesting her rondo grapes from about fifty vines. "I love the aroma of the grapevines. It is so reminiscent," she says, pausing with a container of fruit slung over her shoulder. "It recalls the fragrance of southern France when you roll down the vehicle windows on holiday."

The humanitarian worker, 52, who has devoted more than 20 years working for charitable groups in conflict zones, unexpectedly inherited the vineyard when she moved back to the United Kingdom from Kenya with her family in recent years. She experienced an strong responsibility to maintain the grapevines in the garden of their new home. "This plot has already survived multiple proprietors," she says. "I deeply appreciate the concept of natural stewardship – of handing this down to someone else so they can keep cultivating from the soil."

Sloping Gardens and Traditional Winemaking

A short walk away, the remaining cultivators of the collective are busily laboring on the steep inclines of Avon Gorge. Jo Scofield has established more than one hundred fifty plants perched on ledges in her wild half-acre garden, which descends towards the muddy local waterway. "Visitors frequently express amazement," she notes, indicating the interwoven grape garden. "They can't believe they are viewing grapevine lines in a urban neighborhood."

Currently, the filmmaker, 60, is harvesting clusters of deep violet Rondo grapes from lines of plants slung across the hillside with the assistance of her child, her family member. Scofield, a wildlife and conservation film-maker who has worked on Netflix's nature programming and television network's gardening shows, was inspired to cultivate vines after observing her neighbor's vines. She has learned that amateurs can produce intriguing, pleasurable traditional vintage, which can command prices of upwards of £7 a serving in the growing number of establishments focusing on minimal-intervention vintages. "It is deeply rewarding that you can actually create good, traditional vintage," she states. "It is quite on trend, but in reality it's reviving an old way of making vintage."

"During foot-stomping the grapes, the various wild yeasts are released from the surfaces into the liquid," explains the winemaker, ankle deep in a container of small branches, pips and crimson juice. "This represents how wines were historically produced, but industrial wineries introduce preservatives to eliminate the wild yeast and subsequently add a lab-grown culture."

Challenging Conditions and Creative Approaches

A few doors down active senior Bob Reeve, who motivated Scofield to plant her vines, has assembled his companions to pick white wine varieties from the 100 vines he has arranged precisely across two terraces. The former teacher, a northern English physical education instructor who taught at the local university cultivated an interest in wine on annual sporting trips to Europe. But it is a difficult task to grow Chardonnay grapes in the humidity of the gorge, with temperature fluctuations moving through from the nearby estuary. "I aimed to make Burgundian wines in this location, which is a bit bonkers," says the retiree with a smile. "Chardonnay is late to ripen and particularly vulnerable to fungal infections."

"I wanted to make European-style vintages here, which is a bit bonkers"

The temperamental Bristol climate is not the sole challenge faced by grape cultivators. Reeve has had to erect a fence on