Reading the site before you plant a single thing

Coastal gardens are generous and punishing in equal measure. You get light — often a great deal of it — and you rarely have to fret about waterlogging. What you also get is salt carried on the wind, gusts that flatten anything brittle, and soil that drains so freely that nutrients wash straight through it. Before you choose a single plant, spend a windy afternoon in your proposed border with a mug of tea and simply watch. Notice where the wind funnels between buildings, where it eddies behind the shed, and which existing plants are in tatters by March. That bit of reconnaissance will save you more money than any plant list.

Two things are worth testing properly. First, your soil pH — a cheap kit will tell you whether you are on acid sand or something more limy, and that matters enormously for hebes, cistus and lavender. Second, how far the salt spray carries. Look at what thrives in the gardens nearest the shoreline; the neighbours' survivors are a far better hardiness map than anything printed on a plant label.

Build shelter before you build a border

The instinct is to plant a solid wall of something dense right at the front. Resist it. A solid barrier simply tips the wind over the top and dumps it in a turbulent heap on whatever sits behind. What you want is a semi-permeable windbreak — roughly fifty per cent open — that filters and slows the airflow rather than blocking it.

Good coastal candidates for this job include Elaeagnus × ebbingei, Griselinia littoralis, Escallonia and Olearia × haastii. Plant them as a loose, staggered row and let them grow tall enough to take the worst of it. Allow a gap of at least five metres between the windbreak and your flowering border; cramming plants right up against the hedge just creates a dead, dry pocket. If you are starting from scratch, a temporary woven fabric screen pegged in for the first two seasons will buy your young plants the breathing space they need.

Shrubs that shrug off salt spray

Once shelter is under way, the border itself can be surprisingly rich. Aim for a backbone of evergreens with tough, leathery or needle-like leaves, then thread flowering shrubs through them.

• Rosa rugosa — the seaside rose, and genuinely unbothered by salt. The single forms produce fat hips that feed the birds well into winter.
• Cistus and Halimium — short-lived but glorious, flowering madly in full sun on poor, sharp-draining ground.
• Hebe (now properly Veronica) — whipcord types in particular are almost indestructible in exposed positions.
• Tamarix ramosissima — feathery, pink-flushed and content in the teeth of a gale, though it needs room.
• Hydrangea paniculata — a workhorse for a slightly more sheltered corner, coping with wind far better than the mophead sorts.
• Santolina and Artemisia — silver foliage that reflects heat and light, and stays looking crisp when everything else is battered.

Silver and grey leaves are not a coincidence. That colouring comes from fine hairs and waxy coatings evolved to reduce water loss and deflect salt, so lean on it. A border of greys, blues and soft yellows looks deliberately Mediterranean rather than merely wind-scorched.

Grasses and perennials for movement and colour

Grasses are the great secret of exposed gardens, because they bend rather than break. Anemanthele lessoniana, Stipa tenuissima, Festuca glauca and the larger Miscanthus all bring sound and motion, softening the noise of the wind and hiding the damage it does.

For flowers, choose plants with deep roots and a tough constitution:

• Eryngium — sea hollies, architectural and drought-proof.
• Limonium and Armeria maritima — genuine seaside natives that positively prefer your conditions.
• Kniphofia, Crocosmia and Verbena bonariensis — bold, self-reliant and generous with nectar.
• Hylotelephium (the old sedums) — succulent leaves, late flowers, excellent for pollinators.
• Nepeta, Thymus and Lavandula — aromatic, low-growing and happiest in free-draining ground.

Plant in drifts of five, seven or nine rather than dotted singly. Groups hold humidity at ground level, shade one another's roots, and simply look better when the wind combs through them.

Planting and soil preparation that actually works

Autumn is your ally. Plant between late September and early November, while the soil is still warm, so roots establish before the gales arrive. Dig a hole wider than it is deep, fork the base to break any pan, and add a bucket of well-rotted compost or leafmould to hold moisture and nutrients in that fast-draining sand.

Set the rootball at the same level it was in the pot, firm it in properly with your heel, and water thoroughly — even if rain is forecast. Then mulch generously with a five-centimetre layer of composted bark or, better still, gravel. Gravel is the coastal gardener's friend: it suppresses weeds, keeps moisture in, and holds warmth around the crowns of Mediterranean plants.

Avoid high-nitrogen feeds, which push soft, sappy growth that shreds in the first strong wind. If growth looks tired, a light dressing of a low-nitrogen, high-potash feed in spring is plenty.

Looking after the border through the year

Water new plants deeply and regularly through their first two summers — drought kills more young coastal plantings than wind ever will. Stake anything tall with a discreet cane and soft tie, but check ties each spring for rubbing.

Leave grasses and seedheads standing over winter for structure and wildlife, then cut back in late February before new growth stirs. Trim hedges in early spring too, never in autumn, so fresh cuts have the whole season to harden off before the winter salt arrives. A quick rinse of the border with the hose after a particularly salty storm does no harm at all.

Above all, be patient. A seaside border takes three or four years to settle into itself, but once it does, it will be tougher, more characterful and far less work than anything you could have coaxed out of a sheltered inland plot.