I AM not sure whether my vineyard on the edge of the North York Moors National Park is the most northerly in England, but it is probably the smallest.

I have only two vines which I bought from a garden centre three or four years ago. Not claiming to be a horticulturalist or gardener, I planted them against the south wall of our house, then waited for something to happen. In time, things did happen. They grew at a tremendous and furious rate to produce enormous leaves, but no fruit. After pruning them, I discovered this encouraged them to grow even faster and larger, outstripping the ivy and other more leisurely plants.

During those early-learning days, I had been informed that vines can produce grapes in northern England – flourishing examples are recorded in Westow near Malton, Leventhorpe, near Leeds, and several others, including one near Holmfirth in “Last of the Summer Wine” country.

I am not sure of the situation in County Durham or further north, but there are others further south such as Lincolnshire and beyond. I am assured there are more in the North East because it seems the quality of wine produced by English vineyards is extremely good. It is increasing in popularity as vineyard owners gain more experience.

In my case, our rampant vines, whose variety I do not know, produced blossom a year ago, so we excitedly awaited the next step, which we hoped should mean grapes. It did – both vines proudly showed off their crops of tiny dark-blue fruit, each one smaller than a pea and about the size of an individual berry of the kind on elderberry bushes.

Most finished their brief lives as bird food, our garden birds having a most enjoyable time but even the tiny grapes ignored by the birds did not grow larger. We tasted one or two – they were little more than skin and stone, with a bitter taste reminiscent of sloes. They were not the sort to eat for leisure or as a desert, not even by incorporating them in a meal or salad. Nonetheless, the birds loved them.

This year, however, things improved. We pruned the vines as recommended and when spring came they embarked on their usual gallop across the south wall, clinging to any wires, cables and protrusions they encountered. They threatened to envelope the fatsias, herbs, fennel and clematis as we steered them in other directions, but they seemed to like the trellis I had installed and welcomed the support granted by television aerial cables.

They managed to produce a profusion of blossom, which attracted bees and hoverflies in their thousands, and then we watched in fascination as the fertilised blossom turned into those tiny pea-sized grapes. I wondered if this year would be different – would we actually succeed with a crop of edible grapes or would we leave them all to the birds?

This year produced one of the finest springs for a long time, and it was followed by an equally warm and pleasant summer, ideal for crops. As apple growers watched their orchards swell with the season’s growth of prime fruit and farmers watched their harvests ripen, so we watched our tiny grapes swelling into larger ones.

How large would they grow? I began to wonder whether I should obtain some wine-producing equipment or be prepared to tread the grapes in the bath to produce the raw material for a glass of two of Chateau Billy-Biter. Billy-Biter, by the way, is an old North Riding word for the blue-tit, some of whom have shown a keen interest in our grapes at their tiniest. On the other hand, perhaps they were more interested in the tiny insects they could find in such places?

Our crop was amazing. Our two vines produced a wonderful crop of dark-blue grapes, many bunches of which were concealed by their huge leaves. Although not so large as grapes we buy in fruit-shops or markets, they were presentable and the larger ones, all containing pips, were fractionally sweeter than their tiny relations.

We decided they were too bitter to enjoy with our meals or as a leisurely treat, but as we debated their future, the garden birds had a party. The blackbird that lives around our garden seemed to know he was trespassing among the grapes because, instead of flying to them, he ran across the terrace with his head down as if hiding during an illicit mission.

However, although we allowed the birds, and probably some small mammals, to feast on our grapes we did harvest a few. My wife found a recipe for tasty grape jelly and produced a jarful, some of which I incorporated in a casserole. It’s been a good year for grapes.