Rudyard Kipling, who wrote a poem about the glory of of the garden, would have enjoyed the profusion of flowers in his beloved Sussex this year.

He preferred his own gardens in the seclusion of Rottingdean and Burwash, but now we can nose into other people's.

Not only do we have the National Gardens Scheme, which for many years has allowed lesser mortals a peep into some magnificent rural estates, but we now also have the habit in many villages of opening up a whole series of gardens to raise funds for a cause.

Last month I was loitering in some grand gardens in the stately village of Balcombe, near Haywards Heath. Last Sunday, I was ambling around Amberley, north of Arundel. There, 13 gardens were open and I viewed the lot.

In Amberley, there were gardens of stunning beauty, especially those on a ridge overlooking the lovely wild brooks. One even possessed a large and private lake. Another a glorious lawn crying out for croquet hoops.

A lot of money was raised for charity. Teas in the village hall were excellent and it was also possible to take a peek into the grounds of the castle.

The whole afternoon was a wonderful opportunity for snooping around other people's back yards and admiring the English genius for gardening.

It did set me thinking about the differences between town and country and between rich and poor. The English class system is never very far away, even in village open gardens.

In the smaller ones, the host greets you at the gate and I remember going to one village where an old crone guided everyone into her garden, even though there was only one flower in evidence there.

In the medium-sized gardens, you sometimes catch sight of the proprietor pointing out some feature or other and very often selling plants to raise extra money for the charity concerned.

But in most of the great gardens, the owners are nowhere to be seen.

At one time, and not all that long ago, there was a lot of poverty in country villages, while people who occupied whole Regency houses on Brighton seafront were among England's elite.

Now those fine town houses have mostly been divided into ramshackle flats and the owners live in the secluded countryside.

Meanwhile, most villages have become so posh that few poor people can afford to live there any more and even former council houses are now worth six-figure sums.

Brighton is now so cramped and crowded that there are hardly any large gardens at all and many are the size of stamps.

Even the average mansion garden up in Dyke Road Avenue is often no larger than a sweet cottage garden in a village such as Fittleworth.

Go into Amberley, or almost any other village in West Sussex, and you cannot imagine the typical Brighton scene of Big Issue sellers, beggars and drug addiction. It's a scene of prosperity.

There might be the odd pocket of poverty, but overall this must be one of the most smiled-upon sections of England.

It's barely 20 miles from Brighton to Amberley by road, but they are two different worlds. At least we poor townies now have a chance, courtesy of the owners, to glimpse their gardens and see how the other half digs.