Alan Titchmarsh: how to beat a green-fingered thief The current fashion for expensive topiary specimens, mature olive trees, palm trees and vast pyramids of evergreen magnolias ensure that the theft of garden contents will continue to rise. But make no mistake, this is not a new phenomenon. Back in 1766, a law was passed to discourage the theft of all manner of garden plants. The Act for Encouraging the Cultivation and for the Better Preservation of Trees, Roots, Plants and Shrubs declared that offenders could be punished by deportation. In 1789, it was made clear to parliament that many offenders were being let off, thanks to the wording of the act, which stated that offenders would be guilty only if they were "breaking trees, plucking up plants, roots or shrubs in the night time." There was no mention of daylight robbery. Insurance companies have noticed a huge increase in garden theft over the past decade. Ornaments are the most vulnerable garden artefacts and are frequently worth far more in the "garden architecture" market than their owners might realise, especially if they have been handed down from generation to generation and are thought of as nothing more than Auntie Maud's stone lion. The fact that it was not sculpted by Landseer does not prevent it from being worth several thousand pounds. Should you buy your garden statuary at auction, enquire as to its provenance and satisfy yourself that the sale is legitimate. Valuable ornaments should be firmly secured to pillar, post or ground, and can even be fitted with alarms that sound if they are moved. If you are investing in large plants in containers, make sure those containers are too heavy to be easily lifted. That said, a determined and organised gang can shift the most weighty objects. High fences might deter the casual thief, as will thorny hedges of holly, berberis, hawthorn and blackthorn. Sheds, greenhouses and conservatories should be kept locked (a dog can hear breaking glass, and so might you). Valuable tools - mowers and rotavators - can be security marked so that if they are offered for sale, you stand a chance of being reunited with them. But it is difficult to recognise a favourite plant; even the keenest gardener would be hard pressed to tell the difference between their own pyramidal Magnolia grandiflora and that of another, and that could be £750 down the drain. Fly-by-night landscapers (and it pains me to admit their existence among the hundreds of reputable firms) will spot the plants from which they can make a three-figure profit, but, alas, their light-fingered operations do not stop there. Paving slabs (York stone is becoming increasingly expensive) and even turf have been lifted at dead of night, to leave the owners gazing upon a sea of mud the following morning. Perhaps the best precaution any gardener can take is to hide their best specimens from view - in the back garden rather than the showier front. It is a sad indictment of our day and age when hanging baskets have to be padlocked to their supports and lollipop bay trees chained to the railings, but the more temptation is removed, the more likely you are to keep your treasures. Above all, it should not prevent you from continuing to green up the landscape and maybe returning to that most sensible of garden practices: planting small things, knowing that they will eventually grow and that, when they have done so, their root system will offer such tremendous anchorage, it would take very heavy (and noisy) machinery to move your plant. The best deterrent of all? Roots, dear boy, roots. It rather neatly makes the case for "proper" gardening: cultivating plants for the pleasure of seeing them grow over the years, rather than for the instant impact that is akin to furnishing a room. Rarities will always be rarities, and highly prized as such, but there is much more joy to be had in growing a common plant well than in struggling with a miserable and unhappy treasure. Collecting plants for their worth and rarity, or to make a fast buck, is not something dear to the genuine horticulturist. This sentiment is unlikely to stop anyone from making off with a plant they desire. But if more of us grow well-rooted plants from seeds and cuttings and nurse them to maturity, we can remove the temptation to make off with them. There has been no case yet, to my knowledge, of anyone digging up an oak tree grown from an acorn, or a giant bamboo that clings to the earth more tenaciously than treacle to a spoon. It also ranks as "proper" gardening; something that, as Francis Bacon remarked, "is indeed the purest of human pleasures."