Note from the editor
Descriptions of plants have, inevitably, been a very important mainstay of the RHS publications, since plants are the indispensable elements of gardens. They are also extremely dynamic–new plants are either being found or bred continuously, while old ones have a way of coming in and out of fashion. Indeed, The Garden is possibly unique in the depth and quality of its coverage. This may be a response to the founding aims of the Society, but more obviously it is due to the fact that British gardeners are fortunate enough to make gardens in a country whose climate and soils encourage the thriving of many thousands of species and cultivars.
In this chapter there are articles on, inter alia, roses, auriculas, phormiums, iris relatives, snowdrops and the jade vine–but, as I was so spoilt for choice, they could as easily have been on philadelphus, wintersweet, lilies, crocuses and crinums.
Indeed, it seems likely that most people who join the Royal Horticultural Society have an interest in plants as well as gardens, and are at least reasonably happy with (or not badly put-off by) botanical Latin names and in-depth descriptions. Many well-known enthusiastic specialists of their day have written about their favourite or most deeply studied plants, and some of these are represented here. The most famous is the Edwardian gardener, E A Bowles, who coupled a wry sense of humour with an inquiring mind and adventurous spirit, but Val Bourne, Bob Brown, Nigel Colborn, Stephen Lacey, Roy Lancaster, Anna Pavord and Graham Rice, for example, have also made very valuable contributions in recent years to our knowledge of both newly introduced plants and the garden-worthiness of the ones we know already. Roy Lancaster, in particular, has continued to carry the flag for interesting trees and shrubs, at a time when they have become less generally popular–although not if Tony Kirkham gets his way. The RHS does not, after all, have slavishly to follow fickle fashion; it can take the long view.
URSULA BUCHAN, editor
Hardy Cacti and Other Succulents
When I undertook to lecture upon the Cacti and other succulent plants that had proved hardy here in Middlesex on a specially constructed bank of my rock-garden, I thought the size of my collection and the healthiness of the plants warranted my so doing.
“Considering the trouble, are they worth growing? I think so, for I greatly admire their strange beauty of form, the symmetry and beautiful arrangement of their protective spines”
Then came one of the most destructive winters I have ever experienced in the garden.
Bitter winds with sharp frosts–as much as 26 degrees [Fahrenheit] one night–and a cold spring, after the sunless cool summer of 1907, have between them decimated the ranks of my Cacti. The ground was cold and damp so early in the autumn that I believe the roots of many rotted away instead of drying up when I put on the overhead [glazed] lights in November.
I have in consequence a long list of the slain to read to you, and this afternoon’s meeting partakes so much of the nature of a memorial service that I feel somewhat chary of giving any advice as to the cultivation of these plants for fear you will class me with the good lady who, resenting a kindly hint from a district visitor upon the management of her babe, answered, “Me not know how to bring up children indeed! Haven’t I buried twelve of ‘em?”
Two wheelbarrows full of rotten pieces of Cacti are, then, my qualifications for addressing you.
There are, of course, many succulent plants, such as the Sedums and Sempervivums of northern latitudes, that are absolutely hardy in Britain; but I wish to speak of kinds that are generally considered tender and more fitting for greenhouse cultivation than for the open air.
It is, I think, twelve years since I began growing a few Opuntias on a raised bank of the rock-garden. They flourished so well that I extended the bank, building it up with special drainage to suit xerophytic plants.
It lies facing due south, and is backed by a hedge of evergreens, and I placed a layer of brick rubble and coarse gravel of about the depth of 18 inches under the soil throughout, constructing gullies to carry off the rainfall, and placing drain pipes, leading into these gullies, in some parts. The soil is chiefly turfy loam mixed liberally with old mortar rubble, silver sand, sandy peat, and some well-weathered cinders from the furnaces.
I consider that, provided the plants are well watered in very hot weather, and fed with a little guano [fertiliser from bird droppings] during their early growing period, the general soil cannot be too light or too poor.
I keep some glazed lights from an old vinery on purpose for covering this Cactus bank in winter. They are placed overhead from November to April, resting on posts driven into the ground, but having the sides open to the air. In ordinary seasons the early part of November is sunny enough to allow this bank to become quite dry, and the plants shrivel a little, and thus are ready to withstand the cold of our ordinary winters.
Many of the Cacti are so beset with barbed spines that they are terrible to handle. Gloves are worse than useless, for the spines penetrate them and enter the flesh of one’s hands; and in removing the gloves the greater portion of a spine is broken off, leaving the barbed end buried, very hard to see, and often exceedingly painful.
I arm myself, for attending to these spitefully ungrateful plants, by donning a pair of wicker cuffs, and I find a couple of long-handled steel forks, known as ‘Cook’s forks’, one in each hand, very useful for extracting weeds or rotten pieces of Cactus. In planting a large specimen I use a small pair of tongs, such as one puts on coal with, to hold the plant and place it in position. Even with these careful preparations I seldom escape without a few spines in my hands.
Considering the trouble, are they worth growing? I think so, for I greatly admire their strange beauty of form, the symmetry and beautiful arrangement of their protective spines. I know many people think them bizarre, or even positively ugly. But if only they could carefully examine a few, and note how we have, by gradual transitions, every state of development, from the leafy Pereskias, with slender cylindrical stems bearing a few spines, through the almost leafless and spiny Opuntias, to the melon-shaped and ridged Echinocactus and Cereus forms, their dislike would turn to admiration.
The flowers are often of the most brilliant colours, and in the genus Opuntia the anthers are sensitive, and close when touched in a somewhat spiral manner, reminding one of a sea-anemone seizing food; and many kinds freely produce handsome red fruits that remain for two years on the plant. So that I find them attractive and interesting at all seasons.
Out of the Bleu
Commonly met by first-time viewers with a look of disbelief, the fruits of Decaisnea fargesii have the appearance of something produced by a child from a lump of blue Plasticine. Colour apart, the fruit in shape resembles a long (up to 15cm/6in), curved, lumpy sausage with warty skin. Some observers liken it to a swollen broad bean, which is slightly nearer to the mark, for it is packed with flattened, disc-shaped, black seeds embedded in a greyish pulp. However, it is more than the fruit’s appearance that is of interest. The plant’s botanical name commemorates two people: Belgian botanist and horticulturist Joseph Decaisne (1807–1882) and French Lazarist missionary and naturalist Père Paul Farges (1844–1912).
“Some 40 years later in western China, in 1891, Père Farges found a second Decaisnea…”
Although Decaisnea (pronounced ‘decayneeya’) belongs to the Lardizabalaceae family, the same as rampant climbers Akebia and Holboellia, Decaisnea is shrubby in growth, forming a multi-stemmed bush with stout, upright, pithy stems 4–5m (13–16½ft) high bearing, in their upper parts, large, handsome, pinnate, glaucous-backed leaves, about 50–80cm (20–30in) long, which produce clear yellow tints before falling in autumn.
The greenish yellow flowers, with six slender-pointed, spreading segments, are produced on the new growths in spring in arching or pendulous sprays. Male and female flowers are borne separately (monoecious) though occasionally some flowers are perfect (of both sexes). Given its size, D. fargesii is suited to a larger woodland garden where its handsome foliage can easily be observed.
Brussels-born Joseph Decaisne was interested in horticulture from an early age and when he reached 18 in 1825, he began work as a gardener in the garden of the National Museum of Natural History in Paris. His special talent for plants and his academic prowess was such that in 1851 he was appointed Professor and Director of the garden, a position he held with great distinction until he died in 1882.
It was, however, British botanists Joseph Hooker (1817–1911) and his colleague and friend Thomas Thomson (1817–1878) who in 1855 named a new shrub found by them in the Sikkim Himalaya after him. This was yellow-fruited Decaisnea insignis, which is rare in cultivation.
Some 40 years later in western China, in 1891, Père Farges found a second Decaisnea, which was to bear his name, though some authorities now consider it to be a variant of D. insignis. Farges, who was born in Monclar-de-Quercy (Tarn-et-Garonne) in southwest France, was despatched to China by the Société des Missions Etrangères de Paris (a Roman Catholic missionary organisation) in 1867 and then to his post at Chengkou, in an extremely rugged and isolated region of northeast Sichuan, where he remained for the next 29 years.
Partly to help relieve the monotony of a frugal living, rough travel and minimal contact with other Europeans, he was persuaded to collect and supply dried plant specimens and seeds in the neighbouring mountains for the Paris museum. His collections were rich in new species, many of garden ornament and he is particularly remembered for being the first person to successfully introduce the beautiful Davidia involucrata var. vilmoriniana (handkerchief or dove tree).
Decaisnea fargesii is native to the mountains of western China, where I have seen it on several occasions, in both Yunnan and Sichuan, growing in thickets and on woodland margins. On sacred Mt Omei (Emei Shan) in western Sichuan, I collected its fruits in October 1980. They are said to be eaten by monkeys and when ripe are collected by local people for the pulp, which is edible and slightly sweet. The fruits have acquired several fanciful English names including ‘blue slug plant’ and ‘dead man’s fingers’.
Spots or Stripes?
Variegated plants are currently out of fashion. Garden designers concentrate more on perennial and shrubby plantings of natural character, flower colour, and the clipped green shapes of yew, box, beech and hornbeam–variegation does not really fit in.
While I see the charm in a landscape of bare branches and sweeps of dead grasses and seedheads, five months of it at home and I would be climbing the walls. Besides, to dismiss any group of plants out of hand is never sensible. Each has its uses, virtues and gems of beauty, if you take the trouble to investigate. In the case of variegated plants, winter is an ideal time to make a survey, because it is at this time that so many really shine, adding colour, detail and warmth to a bleak and monochrome season.
Variegation is often displayed as marbled, striped or spotted patterns on foliage, usually in white, cream or yellow, and there are several causes. Plants with variegation work best when placed with deliberation and used sparingly–being showy and extrovert, they set a restless mood if scattered about–unless you go all out on a border of variegation, such as at the University of Oxford Botanic Garden, which can be exciting.
One of the chief assets of variegated plants is that their white and yellow markings introduce illumination, even the illusion of sunlight, into a border. So, it is in the shadier parts of the garden that they have the most obvious role to play. Against the north-facing wall by my own front door I have planted Euonymus fortunei ‘Silver Queen’. It has made a lively self-clinging panel of white-edged, grey-green foliage about 2m (6½ ft) high, growing in tandem with Cotoneaster horizontalis, the red berries and autumn tints of which contrast well. Until a few years ago, the shades of the euonymus were echoed in the adjoining border by luscious clumps of white-striped evergreen Iris foetidissima ‘Variegata’, sadly wiped out by a virus now stalking this species. I have installed a white-variegated holly–Ilex aquifolium ‘Silver Queen’–in its place.
“The other dark spot where I use variegation for lightening purposes is at the end of my garden under a high wall”
I remember once visiting noted florist, the late Sheila Macqueen, in the depths of winter. The shady rear wall of her Hertfordshire cottage was covered in two different selections of large-leaved ivy: cream Hedera colchica ‘Dentata Variegata’ and–my favourite ivy–emerald and yellow H. colchica ‘Sulphur Heart’. In two places, a waterfall of grey catkins tumbled out, provided by Garrya elliptica ‘James Roof ’. The effect was of a snug overcoat. Nearby, a huge stand of Viburnum farreri was contributing a thick honey and almond scent.
Teaming up variegated plants can be effective but they usually benefit from also having some plainer leaves between them as contrast. The other dark spot where I use variegation for lightening purposes is at the end of my garden under a high wall. Green ivy and silver birches are principal players here, and two evergreens I planted are Rhamnus alaternus ‘Argenteovariegata’, loosely conical in growth and curious for having its veins prominent on its upper rather than lower leaf surface, and white-splashed Prunus lusitanica ‘Variegata’. Both have grown pretty fast into substantial shrubs.
In contrast to white- or silver-variegated plants, which can be quite icy in impact (testified by names such as Hedera helix ‘Glacier’), golden-variegated plants contribute a warm glow. On the east-facing wall of my house grows non-clinging, ivy-fatsia hybrid x Fatshedera lizei ‘Annemieke’ in tandem with prickly, gold-edged holly Ilex aquifolium ‘Golden Queen’: on a chilly winter day it is like passing a radiator.
“White flowers and golden variegation are often effective together: white clematis through gold-splashed ivy is also pleasing”
At Kerdalo in northern France, a whole slope of the garden above the house has been planted with sunshine tints of gold and golden-variegated plants to counter the grey winter skies. It is a bold piece of design, especially in winter, but some might find the bling a bit much in summer, when other plants and effects deserve the focus. I have made sure that my brashest, golden evergreen, gold-edged holly Ilex aquifolium ‘Golden van Tol’, is screened by a beech tree in summer to suppress its ebullience. I am cautious also with Ilex x altaclerensis ‘Lawsoniana’, a vigorous, almost spineless holly with yellow-centred leaves handsomely washed in pale and dark greens. Its botanical name is a corruption of Highclere, the Berkshire castle where it originated (now famous as the set for ITV’s Downton Abbey). Though it is magnificent in winter, in summer I part hide it behind a 2m (6½ ft) high stand of Boltonia asteroides: the holly is a terrific foil for its clouds of white autumn daisies.
White flowers and golden variegation are often effective together: white clematis through gold-splashed ivy is also pleasing. Sometimes, however, you want to seize upon the fact that a variegated shrub is eye-catching year-round. The late plantswoman Rosemary Verey used spineless, gold-edged holly, Ilex x altaclerensis ‘Golden King’, clipped into two-tiered balls, on all four corners of her knot garden. They commanded attention across the lawn like beacons, drawing you over to admire the knot. The same holly was planted as the centrepiece of the knot garden at London’s Garden Museum, set rather like a jewel in the middle of a green brooch.
Silver-variegated box (Buxus sempervirens ‘Elegantissima’) can be used as corner-posts to runs of green box hedging; they play an attractive variation on the box theme, but are not overly showy. Friends of mine have a large silver-variegated pittosporum clipped as a dome in the centre of their terrace. Also effective is attractive Azara microphylla ‘Variegata’–while not for clipping, it creates a haze of small leaves on a larger plant, and has the bonus of vanilla-scented winter flowers. Both it and the pittosporum are rather tender and away from milder areas will need the protection of a wall.
I like variegation to be bright, even and sharply defined; some plants do not fall into this category. I feel only sympathy for plants suffering from spots, as on Aucuba japonica ‘Crotonifolia’–of course, there are ‘spotted laurels’ with clear yellow markings such as A. japonica ‘Picturata’–and for plants such as Viburnum rhytidophyllum ‘Variegatum’, which have varied if vibrant splashes of colour. Others have speckling, such as Osmanthus heterophyllus ‘Goshiki’ (O. heterophyllus ‘Variegatus’ is nicely clean) and curious Fatsia japonica ‘Spider’s Web’ with leaves that look as if dusted with flour. Problems can arise if variegated plants have coloured flowers, such as with Ceanothus ‘Pershore Zanzibar’. Out of flower its lime and emerald variegation may be admirable but, for me, once the blue flowers appear there is just a little too much going on. One I do enjoy is Daphne odora ‘Aureomarginata’ for the sake of its fruity scent; it is probably the easiest daphne to grow, and being confined to the leaf edges, the gold is not too disturbing with the pink blooms, although selections such as ‘Rebecca’ have stronger leaf colour.
Striking leaf colour and shape can be a splendid mix. Last winter killed Phormium cookianum subsp. hookeri ‘Cream Delight’ and P. ‘Yellow Wave’; I am tempted to grow replacements in pots, to be wheeled under cover in cold snaps. Variegated yuccas can be treated in a similar way. A friend grows them like this by her back door, with a medley of other potted evergreens amid an assortment of colourful objects. It all makes for a chirpy winter welcome.
Little Belles
Blue is a sought-after colour for borders and growing campanulas in your garden is one of the most reliable ways of including it. These herbaceous plants mostly flower in early summer, though some continue to bloom for longer. Several of the best cultivars have been around for some time and have proved themselves to be good garden plants; this is inevitably less true of some of the newer cultivars. Apart from looking good, my personal criterion for selecting the best is that the clump should only need reducing in size after the third (or fourth or fifth) year. Some, especially Campanula rapunculoides, may be invasive and are best in wilder areas of the garden.
There are three campanulas with similar-sounding names that need to be distinguished: Campanula latifolia, C. latiloba and C. lactiflora. These three include the most useful cultivars for UK gardens. Campanula latifolia (greater bellflower) is a native of Europe (including the UK) and western Asia where it grows in woods. It is a tall (1.2m, 4ft), large-flowered, upright plant. The flowers appear, like most campanulas, in summer (June to August where I live in the Midlands), and are deep blue, white or smoky-grey blue. These can be magnificent plants and propagate well from seed or from large chunks split from growing plants. However, when a particularly desirable seedling in smoky amethyst occurs, the nurseryman is tempted to reproduce it from basal cuttings. This seems to weaken the stock, so not every cultivar is a strong grower.
“Although I am as susceptible as anyone when it comes to gazing into a flower close-up, it is the garden impact that I really respect”
Species that naturally grow in woods must be able to cope with shade and dryness. This ability is advantageous where planting is needed between shrubs or under trees. At Spetchley Park outside Worcester, C. latifolia has naturalised in a difficult environment, forming great drifts of colour in June and July among grasses in thin pine woodland on gravel.
Campanula trachelium is also naturally a plant of woods and clay soil with a similar natural distribution to C. latifolia. This is a shorter species (to 1m, 39in) with smaller flowers, 2–3cm long (1in) but in greater numbers. The normal mid-blue type seems to generally have reddish-brown stems. White C. trachelium f. alba usually comes true from seed. If you leave the seedheads on it should naturalise in your garden. There are also two C. trachelium doubles–a deep purple-blue called ‘Bernice’ and a double white called ‘Alba Flore Pleno’. ‘Bernice’ is tissue cultured and plants are strong, persistent growers. I shy away from ‘Alba Flore Pleno’, however, as the dying brown flowers are more obvious than on other selections.
Of similar appearance are Campanula persicifolia and C. latiloba (once named C. persicifolia subsp. sessiliflora). Both species form mats of evergreen foliage only 10cm (4in) or so high but send up tall, narrow flower stems with outward or slightly up- or down-facing, cup-shaped flowers. Campanula latiloba has flowers without the short pedicel (flower stalk) found on C. persicifolia but the most important difference for gardeners is that C. persicifolia and C. trachelium are both subject to rust disease while C. latiloba is not. As a result it seems to do better in gardens in the UK than C. persicifolia, but sadly it has fewer cultivars. The best is C. latiloba ‘Highcliffe Variety’, which quickly forms relatively large clumps with deep blue flowers appearing from 1–1.5m (3–5ft) stems. This blue is wonderfully intense but sufficiently greyed to sit happily in its surroundings.
Campanula persicifolia has many luscious cultivars. I am particularly fond of the doubles, which come as flowers-in-flowers including the wonderfully named ‘Blue Bloomers’, loose doubles such as ‘Azure Beauty’ and ‘Fleur de Neige’, and tight doubles with petals packed like halved cabbages. For a blue tight double I would pick ‘Pride of Exmouth’ and for a white, ‘Powder Puff ’.
Although I am as susceptible as anyone when it comes to gazing into a flower close-up, it is the garden impact that I really respect. Therefore I tend to avoid bicoloured flowers such as C. persicifolia ‘Chettle Charm’, beautiful though it is. If I want a smoky-blue, ‘Cornish Mist’ is as good as any. Both C. latiloba and C. persicifolia will grow easily in most UK conditions including moderate dryish shade, and are even naturalised in places. Of the three that sound so similar, C. lactiflora is perhaps the easiest to distinguish because its flowers are always a milky-blue (or pink or white)–that is, they have a dash of grey-white in them. The petals are fetchingly reflexed and the flowers held in massive heads. The colours are never quite as intense as remembered. I wonder whether the descent into rather muddy colours is the result of cultivars being raised by seed (not by me) or of stock plants seeding into themselves–or are the memories at fault? So, I have more or less given up the quest for what others think of as the true ‘Loddon Anna’ (pink), ‘Prichard’s Variety’ (deep blue from black stems) and ‘Superba’, and accept them as a group of softly coloured, blowsy perennials that need strong shapes around them like alliums to relieve the collapsed-chintz-sofa effect.
If the preceding plants are suitable for the middle or even back of a flowerbed, then the following are more suited to the front. Campanula glomerata (30–75cm, 12–30in) like C. latifolia and C. trachelium, is another UK native. It is a clustered bellflower–a plant of open limy, well-drained soils in sunny sites. This plant dies for me of winter wet and impacted clay soil and shade, whereas for people with more ordinary gardens it is sufficiently invasive that they complain. I suspect that, because it is shallow-rooted, pulling it up by hand could easily control it. It has tight clusters of upward-facing flowers, naturally blue but also in white and, in ‘Caroline’, with big, smoky amethyst flowers edged deeper amethyst-pink.
Campanula punctata (to 40cm, 16in) and C. takesimana have much in common. Both have reddish flowers, and are from eastern Asia. Both are adored snail and slug foods, and seem to dislike limy soil (unlike the rest of the genus) and winter wet. Both are invasive if you do not have enough slugs and snails to control them. In a hot summer they can excel, in cool summers they do not. To distinguish them remember that C. punctata has hairy leaves with heart-shaped bases, whereas C. takesimana is glossy. I can only grow them in pots. Sadly, many recent introductions are cultivars or hybrids of these.
Campanula ‘Pink Octopus’ is a recent pink cultivar with a shapely split corolla. It needs to be seen up close, so pot culture will suit. Campanula ‘Burghaltii’ and C. ‘Van-Houttei’ are old hybrids with large, exquisite, smoky amethyst and blue flowers respectively. In my experience neither is persistent enough in garden conditions. They are also the only campanulas I have ever had to stake. Campanula ‘Sarastro’ is a newish introduction from Sarastro Nursery in Austria. It claims to be a hybrid between C. punctata and C. takesimana. I believe it is a C. punctata x C. latifolia hybrid because of its colour, non-running habit and softly hairy foliage. It has plentiful, large, deep violet-blue bells like other campanulas in June and July, but re-flowers neatly on new shorter flower stems in the later flowering season which carries on until the end of autumn. For this reason I plant it forward in the border or the later flowers are hidden. Campanula ‘Kent Belle’ is a similar hybrid that preceded ‘Sarastro’. It is taller at 75cm (30in) but similarly gets shorter as it re-flowers (equally late into the autumn). Its flowers are shiny and exactly match the look of the wrapper of a bar of Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate.
For sheer blue, pink or white exuberance the biennial campanulas, C. medium and C. pyramidalis, cannot be beaten. I have raised them in two-litre pots and planted them in September to flower the following May to July. One plant of either will fill a large space; between 1–2m (3–6½ft) high and about half as wide in good soil. I think that many people have stopped growing them. Biennials are easy if they are neat self-seeders but troublesome if they are not. I cannot vouch for their ability to self-seed because I remove them at the relatively messy seed-setting stage.
There is no doubt that the most reliable campanulas are cultivars of either native or naturalised species that have adapted to UK conditions. They are so useful in our gardens because they freely give wonderful colour and height in a wide range of different gardening situations.
Making Tulips Better Mixers
With one brilliant, early marketing ploy at the end of the 19th century, tulip-grower E H Krelage of the Netherlands changed forever the way we look at tulips in our gardens. At the Great Exhibition of the Work of Industry of All Nations (a kind of world trade fair) in Paris in 1889, he launched the new tulips that he had christened ‘Darwins’. These monster blooms, held proud on long, strong stems, were planted in vivid great swathes under the Eiffel Tower, and the nearby Luxembourg Gardens were filled with them. In that one public relations coup, Krelage changed the tulip from a ‘jewel’ flower, appreciated more for the individual, exquisite marking of each bloom, to a flower of high-impact massed bedding; brightly-coloured garden wallpaper. It has taken a long time to recover. Krelage’s Darwins were weatherproof and tough. They had shoulders like heavyweight boxers and were uncompromisingly ‘butch’. Park keepers all over the world fell in love with them. In New York City, the public parks of the Bronx blazed with red tulips, and London’s Regent’s Park, the Sheffield Botanic Garden and many others glowed with swathes of Darwins.
“There are only two shades a tulip cannot provide–a true blue and a true black–but in between is a subtlety of range probably unmatched by any other flower on earth”
Such was the success of Krelage’s marketing ploy that for decades many gardeners thought of Darwin hybrids such as Tulipa ‘Beauty of Apeldoorn’ and ‘Orange Queen’ solely as flowers of mass effect and forgot that they were elegant mixers in the late-spring border. The brilliant red-yellow-orange shades that characterised Krelage’s Darwins blinded many growers to the glorious potential of tulips’ other tricks.
There are only two shades a tulip cannot provide–a true blue and a true black–but in between is a subtlety of range probably unmatched by any other flower on earth. Tulips are classified in 15 groups according to flower shape and flowering time. Take T. ‘Magier’ in the Single Late Group, one of the 10 tulips that all gardeners should grow before they die. In a normal season, it blooms in early May, the colour of rich clotted cream, each petal edged with a fine feathering of deep mauve. As the flower ages, which it does gracefully and well, the darker colour leaches through the petals, staining the cream with flames and veins of purple. This mesmerising performance lasts for about three weeks.
Last season, I had ‘Magier’ growing in a pair of narrow borders running either side of a pergola. They were mixed with English bluebells and fountains of creamy cow parsley. When they finished, tall bearded irises took over the stage, followed by annual Nigella damascena (love-in-a-mist) which held the space for the rest of summer.
Partner with irises
When planting tulips in the garden, bear in mind that, generally, they cannot cope with strong competition. In the wild, they grow on bare, shale-strewn slopes with little other vegetation around them. This is partly why it is difficult to get tulips to settle permanently in crowded herbaceous borders or in lush grass. But they consort well with irises, which share a taste for hot, baked conditions and perfect drainage. Tulips have the good grace to put themselves away tidily when they have finished flowering and so do not get in the way of the iris’ rhizomes, which need to be well exposed to the sun.
Tulips also look beautiful against the fresh new foliage of hostas. Try Fringed Group Tulipa ‘Blue Heron’ or the gorgeous ‘Bleu Aimable’ (old-fashioned shade of greyish-mauve) in front of the elegant grey-leaved Hosta ‘Krossa Regal’. Or set drifts of caramel-coloured T. ‘Ballerina’ between spears of lime-variegated hostas such as H. ‘Moonlight’ or H. ‘Emerald Tiara’.
Belonging to the Lily-flowered Group, ‘Ballerina’ is an elegant, rather small-flowered tulip with markedly pointed petals. It blooms in lovely sunset shades, netted together in the most complex way. Outside, the flower is flamed with blood red on a lemon-yellow ground and has an orange-yellow veined edge. The inside is marigold-orange feathered with bright red. At the base is a buttercup-yellow star smudged with pale green.
It is particularly beautiful in bud, underpinned by greyish foliage, not too heavy. And it is scented. What a paragon! Nearly all the Lily-flowered tulips, such as ‘Queen of Sheba’ and ‘Aladdin’, have similar grace, although not many are scented.
No one can pretend that tulips and hostas like the same growing conditions, so for these combinations, I get the best results by planting the bulbs in plain black plastic pots at least 30–37cm (12–15in) across.
The planting mix is half John Innes No. 3 and half sharp grit, more to the tulips’ liking than my damp clay soil. When the tulips are about to come into flower, position the pots wherever you want them in your beds. There is no need to bury the pots as they will be sufficiently disguised by foliage from surrounding companions and will scarcely show. Using this method you get the plant combinations you want, without hurting the tulips in the process.
When the bulbs have finished flowering, store the pots somewhere bright and dry, perhaps at the back of a cold frame with the lid propped open. If the sun shines, the bulbs will get well baked. In late summer, clean them up and replant in early November using fresh compost mixed with grit.
“…choice brings its own problems. Do you stick to the tulips you know you love? Or do you gamble and invite a whole load of strangers into your garden?”
Trickier to deal with are bulbs that have to be tipped out of decorative pots or tubs in order to make way for another display. One of the disadvantages of this regime is that the tulips do not have the chance to die down naturally and withdraw all the goodness from stem and leaf back into the bulb. Even if they are replanted immediately, the intimate relationship of roots to soil has been disturbed and the critical process of gathering in resources for the bulb disrupted.
But we all need to clear out pots in this way and I get the best results with tulips from the Single Late Group (‘Blushing Lady’, ‘Queen of Night’), which seem to hang on in the garden in a way that other types of tulip do not. Sadly, tulips rarely seem to increase in the way that narcissi do. In our garden at least, replanted bulbs do best in the rain shadow of our driest, hottest walls. They also seem to thrive under fruit trees, where the tree roots help keep the soil on the dry side.
Resettling tulips is always an uncertain business, but of course they do far better in the sandy soils of Lincolnshire than they do in the damp clay of the West Country. They aren’t mad about chalk either, though at least chalk drains well. Our passion for watering everything in summer does not suit them at all. They like to be dry and hot from June-September, as the heat initiates the flower bud for the following season.
There are more than 5,000 different species and cultivars of tulip to choose from, which flower from late February to early June, and more are being introduced all the time. But choice brings its own problems. Do you stick to the tulips you know you love? Or do you gamble and invite a whole load of strangers into your garden? Generally, I do both.
I can’t imagine spring without ‘Groenland’ (syn. ‘Greenland’) in the Viridiflora Group, or Triumph Group ‘Couleur Cardinal’. That comes out in late April like a sultry Gina Lollobrigida: scarlet, but the kind of deep voluptuous, sensuous scarlet that no virtuous cardinal would ever dare wear. The outside of the tepals is washed over with a plum-coloured bloom, giving the flowers the dull richness of ancient satin.
But if I had not gambled on a stranger, I would never have unearthed ‘Annie Schilder’, the great new find of this last tulip season. It is an old-fashioned tulip, not enormous, but well-shaped and a gorgeous toffee-orange colour, slightly paler round the edges of the petals. On the back is a curious pinkish-purplish sheen, which takes the edge off the orange. The petals are not marked, as they are in the similarly coloured ‘Prinses Irene’, a Triumph Group tulip, but washed over in a more subtle way. Try it against the rich green leaves of Geranium maderense.
‘Prinses Irene’ generally flowers towards the end of April. It is a sport of ‘Couleur Cardinal’ and shows its parentage in the complexity of its make-up. The background colour is soft orange, but up the outside of the outer sepals the orange is flamed in an extraordinary way with purple and hints of green. Much narrower flaming licks up the outside of the inner tepals. Plant it against the light, so the sun sets it on fire. It goes well with spurges, either Euphorbia x martini or, if you are really brave, the brick-red heads of E. griffithii ‘Dixter’.
For best effect, fill in with dark ajuga, primula or purple-leaved Viola riviniana Purpurea Group. Myosotis (forget-me-not) remains one of the best companions for tulips and if a trick is as good as this one, there is no reason not to repeat it. The forget-me-not (which should be a tallish species or cultivar) will probably self seed. All you have to do is add different tulips each season. Try Double Late Group ‘Angélique’ or Fringed Group ‘Bellflower’, pale rose pink with a fine crystalline fringe of the same colour round the edges of the petals. It flowers from early May and looks even more enchanting if you mix old-fashioned tight double Bellis perennis (daisies) in white, pink and red with the underplanted forget-me-not. The Triumph Group cultivar ‘White Dream’ gives a similar but even paler effect.
If purple is the theme, tulips give it to you in variety. Excellent ‘Negrita’ is a Triumph Group tulip with flowers astonishingly full and blowsy. Growing to about 45cm (18in), it flowers in early May. ‘Purple Prince’ is another winner, slightly earlier and shorter than ‘Negrita’ but with the same rich, lustrous colour. The lilac-purple blooms of Single Late Group ‘Greuze’ are also outstanding, especially teamed with tawny brown wallflowers such as Erysimum cheiri ‘Fire King’.
Generally, bicoloured and patterned tulips are more interesting than plain ones, but everything depends on the way the colours are combined. In ‘Akela’, a Single Late Group tulip, the markings are variable, but in a clean combination of deep pink and white. The white runs up the centre, with deep pink at the edges. ‘Anna José’ (Triumph Group) is similar but the pink is in the centre, flushing out to yellowish cream at the edges. As the flower ages, the cream bleaches, which makes the flower look as though it is fading.
But don’t dismiss the ‘plain’ tulips, as there are exceptions. Take ‘Blue Parrot’, not blue at all, of course, but a rich, old-fashioned Victorian purple, which also runs down the top of its flower stem. The base, hidden beneath the curling tepals, is a surprising peacock blue. This ‘plain’ yet handsome, elegant and classy tulip flowers in May. You may find it zooms straight into the category of Tulips You Cannot Possibly Live Without.
‘Galanthomania’ to Follow Tulips?
Galanthophilia–the love of snowdrops–has been sweeping the nation this winter, with prices for the rarest bulbs reaching well over £100.
“…the phenomenon has gradually been building over the last five or six years”
During bidding on the online auction site, eBay. co.uk, a single bulb of rare, pure white G. reginaeolgae ‘Autumn Snow’ sold for £162. Other high prices include G. nivalis ‘Ecusson d’Or’, at £145.03 for one bulb, and yellow G. plicatus ‘Wandlebury Ring’, at £123. At the annual Galanthus Gala–where snowdrop connoisseurs exchange bulbs and a hotly-contested auction takes place–prices have also been steadily rising. This year a bidder paid £150 for G. plicatus Poculiformis Group ‘E.A. Bowles’.
Joe Sharman, gala organiser and owner of specialist nursery Monksilver Nursery, Cambridgeshire, said the phenomenon has gradually been building over the last five or six years. ‘It’s been getting more and more intense,’ he said. The record UK price is thought to currently stand at £265, paid in 2008 for a bulb of G. nivalis ‘Flocon de Neige’.
We Need More Trees
Imagine a garden without plants, or worse still, a landscape without trees. It is hard to picture, yet despite being a nation of avid gardeners, we seem to run scared of tree planting, afraid of the potential problems they might give us as they mature. Perhaps we are too easily deterred by the bad publicity trees get from obsessed insurance companies and building surveyors, or the gripes of neighbours over shade or falling leaves and fruit. But put the right tree in the right place and it can provide many more benefits than problems. Positive aesthetic attributes that each tree can provide in any sized garden include its size, shape and habit, flowers, fruit, leaves and trunk. In my view these alone far outweigh any negatives.
“By any measure, planting a tree is good value for money and a long-term investment compared to ephemeral bedding plants and even most perennials”
Even in the smallest garden, many species such as the maidenhair tree (Ginkgo biloba) and Japanese maples can be grown successfully for years in containers (and many tree species have cultivars specifically selected for their compactness).
Trees give three-dimensional scale to gardens and landscapes large or small. They can provide the backbone to a border, or a focal point in the lawn, while at the same time softening hard-edged neighbouring buildings. Mixtures of deciduous and evergreen species planted as hedges demarcate boundaries, absorb noise and provide shelter. Studies show that hedges planted on north boundaries reduce wind speed substantially–and can cut heating bills in winter by between 10 and 25 percent, an important contribution to more sustainable living.
Unfortunately trees get a raw deal and bad press, being blamed for damage or nuisance, such as cracked and obstructed pipes, subsidence or gutters blocked with leaves and fruits in autumn–not to mention the potential for damage from falling trunks and limbs in storms.
Even television gardening programmes appear to steer clear of trees in favour of shrubs, perennials and vegetables. Where trees are the subject, presenters too often provide viewers with outdated information on planting and establishment techniques, and fail to ‘sell’ the substantial long-term benefits trees can provide to gardens. In garden centres, trees are often relegated to the farthest corners with little information to guide customer choice. With more positive PR or ‘spin’ from television and retailers, buying a garden tree could be less arduous.
We must not be misled or put off by potential problems: they occur much less frequently than is often thought. Where do we sit outdoors in the garden on a hot day? Usually, under the shade of a tree. Why? Because the air is cooler–estimates suggest a mature tree can reduce the local air temperature on a hot summer day by up to 10°C (18°F). Asthma rates for children fall by a quarter where tree populations are high. Trees are 24/7, living, air-conditioning systems, absorbing carbon dioxide, dust, pollen and other particulates and releasing oxygen from photosynthesis.
In much of the USA, large deciduous trees are commonly planted around houses. Their shade is valued for reducing air-conditioning costs in summer, while by dropping their leaves in winter they allow sunlight in, enabling the opposite, a warming effect. With climate change, we are experiencing more unusual, extreme seasonal weather patterns and we are only too aware of more frequent downpours causing flash flooding. Trees in front gardens and streets reduce and slow surface runoff from storms, limiting soil erosion, and reduce and delay peak volumes of storm water reaching drains, helping to reduce the potential for flash flooding.
Just as importantly, trees are valuable habitats for a wide range of creatures both in rural and urban settings, increasing biodiversity and bringing wildlife into built-up areas. And it is not necessary to plant only British natives for wildlife, for many exotic species are beneficial, too.
By any measure, planting a tree is good value for money and a long-term investment compared to ephemeral bedding plants and even most perennials. Properly cared for throughout their life, trees will give the planter and their neighbours many years of satisfaction and pleasure. Try to imagine a treeless city–dull, harsh, noisy, dirty and boring. Trees in the garden and streets definitely improve and enhance town dwellers’ quality of life and for this alone we need to plant more in both situations.
Changing Roses for Changing Times
In the last few years, rose breeders have been through a wall of fire; growing garden roses decreased dramatically in popularity, due partly to changing fashions, coupled with perceived problems fighting pests and disease. However, many growers have now come out smiling, due in part to the huge range of roses available, many newer ones developed specifically with the modern gardener in mind.
“French breeders Delbard say it takes 12 hours for a rose such as Claude Monet to play all its fragrance notes”
Today, we can grow roses that vary from displaying five petals to many more than 100. They can grow 15cm (6in), or to more than 15m (50ft). Their flowers may be rosette, quartered, cupped, coned, quilled or domed. Plants can be upright, or informal and relaxed. Their colours span the rainbow. And roses are less disease prone than ever. Blackspot-resistant, but a martyr to mildew, Rosa ‘Zéphirine Drouhin’ may still sell, but better modern-day equivalents include Jasmina (‘Korcentex’) and also Cinderella (‘Korfobalt’), much as Duchess of Cornwall (‘Tan97157’) is a better rose than old Whisky Mac (‘Tanky’).
The earliest garden rose is thought to be Rosa gallica var. officinalis, grown in Roman gardens. Cerise and semi-double, it was called the apothecary’s rose in medieval England. White or pale pink Alba Roses are another ancient group and also once-flowering, while highly scented Damask Roses are said to have been introduced from Damascus during the Crusades.
With the introduction in the early 19th century of repeat-flowering roses from China, the quest began to produce a continuous-flowering rose. Hybrid Perpetuals combined European rose forms with fresh colourings and two or three flowerings per season. In the late 19th century French breeders, Guillot & Fils, introduced ‘La France’, the first Hybrid Tea (HT). It was not a healthy rose, and of dingy pink, but its distinctive pointed buds and flowers dominated breeding for decades.
Brighter colours arrived courtesy of vibrant R. foetida and R. foetida ‘Bicolor’. Never easy to grow, cross or propagate, it was used by French breeder Pernet-Duchet to produce ‘Soleil d’Or’ in 1900, the first yellow and orange, large-flowered rose. Today most bright colourings (oranges, salmons, golds and crimsons) come from these selections of R. foetida, which unfortunately makes many roses unduly susceptible to blackspot.
In the 20th century, Floribunda Roses and HTs became the ideal. Most needed spraying to fight disease, and scent was not a priority, although plants bloomed through the season. They were, and often still are, grown in block beds, displayed and sprayed together and pruned in a single operation. Often garish in flower, disease-ridden at the season’s end and dull for the rest of the year, these plantings played a part in the fall in popularity of garden roses.
Some gardeners still grew Old Roses. In 1972 the late plantsman Graham Stuart Thomas’s collection became the basis of the National Trust’s collection of historic roses at Mottisfont Abbey, Hampshire, and their grace, scent and flower form, in limited but subtle colours, showed gardeners that roses could still make fine garden plants. They continue to be sold by nurserymen, notably rosarian Peter Beales.
Demand from gardeners was changing to old-fashioned-style roses with long flowering periods and good disease resistance. This inspired David Austin, a breeder who broke the HT mould. His English roses, introduced from the 1980s, have varying flower shapes; many are scented, reminiscent of roses of yesteryear. They are repeat-flowering with a relaxed habit, allowing them to mix with other plants. Each year brings additions to the David Austin stable, some in soft colours, some brilliant, but never harsh.
So what makes today’s ideal rose? Michael Marriott of David Austin Roses says the aim is to produce ‘a rose that is beautiful, healthy, fragrant and long flowering–generally a tough and reliable rose’.
Part and parcel of this is resistance to pests and disease. Gardeners who grew roses in the 1970s will remember it was considered needful to spray in summer if roses were not to be martyred by blackspot, mildew or, an increasing scourge, brown downy mildew. However, with the rise of organic gardening, awareness of the environment and concern about killing beneficial insects, gardeners grew more reluctant to spray. Today, as more and more garden pesticides are withdrawn, the issue has never been more pertinent. As Thomas Proll of Kordes Roses puts it, ‘wanting healthy roses is much more than a trend–it’s a permanent demand’.
The earliest ‘disease-free’ roses were developed by Kordes and Noack Roses in Germany. Noack introduced Flower Carpet roses, but while these with their glossy leaves and cheery flowers are welcome by car parks, like many other roses vaunted for health and ease of growing, they lack scent and a certain finesse. There are, however, splendid exceptions–violet-pink-flowered Jasmina (‘Korcentex’) and pink Laguna (‘Kormulen’) are two. For the rest, most breeders today still recommend occasional spraying against disease.
David Austin’s English-rose breeding programme pays attention to vigour and health; some of his introductions such as The Mayflower (‘Austilly’) and Wild Edric (‘Aushedge’) are good for organic gardeners. Michael Marriott says that he never sprays roses in his private garden, and that with proper soil preparation, balanced feeding and careful choice of cultivars, beautiful scented roses can be grown with no spraying whatsoever.
Gareth Fryer of Fryer’s Roses says, ‘as far as our breeding is concerned, we are using only disease-free parents in our hybridising and have adopted a “no-spray” programme in the outdoor trials area. As a result, cultivars with well-above-average disease resistance are introduced. To start with, these tended to be boring, dull-coloured selections, but as we progress more interesting types are showing through and this has become extremely exciting.’ Recent introductions from Fryer’s with excellent disease resistance include Tickled Pink (‘Fryhunky’), which was Rose of the Year 2007.
So which other modern roses have good fragrance and a long season with never a single spray? With magenta-pink blooms, Special Anniversary (‘Whastiluc’) is super; Munstead Wood (‘Ausbernard’) is velvety-crimson; and Crown Princess Margareta (‘Auswinter’), apricot and fading to cream at the edges, can be grown as a climber. Golden-flowered climber Gardeners’ Glory (‘Chewability’) has strong disease resistance. Most Patio Roses have little scent, but Rosy Future (‘Harwaderox’) is an exception, while lilac-pink Scented Carpet (‘Chewground’) is a break-through in previously scentless Ground Cover Roses.
Gone for the most part are days of beds filled solely with roses. Gardeners today have a more naturalistic approach, growing roses with grasses, shrubs and other flowers. As Michael Marriott says, ‘The way roses are used in gardens has changed hugely. They are being accepted back into the general garden scheme rather than the classic rose garden, and used with other plants. I design rose gardens round the world and more people are asking me to design a mixed border with perennials–biennials and annuals are great mixers with roses too.’
At RHS Garden Harlow Carr, the Rose Revolution Border (and proposed planting around the new Learning Centre) mixes roses with perennials, and has never been sprayed. Old and species roses such as ‘Roseraie de l’Hay’ and R. glauca are grouped with modern, disease-resistant selections sold by Harkness Roses and David Austin, such as Armada (‘Haruseful’) and Wildeve (‘Ausbonny’) in a matrix of perennial planting. Interestingly, Peter Beales Roses sells a range of these companion plants suitable for use with their roses.
Scent is another crucial factor–what is a rose without perfume? As Michael Marriott says, ‘fragrance is crucial, and roses have wonderful potential. There is no other plant that has such a range of completely different fragrances.’ There is traditional Old Rose scent, but also scents recalling myrrh, musk, blackcurrant, lemon, herbs and more. French breeders Delbard say it takes 12 hours for a rose such as Claude Monet (‘Jacdesa’) to play all its fragrance notes.
Long viewed as soulless and scentless, cut roses have come into their own. Fragrant bouquets can be bought from David Austin and The Real Flower Company, and scented cutting selections are available. Cloud Nine (‘Fryextra’) and Congratulations (‘Korlift’), both pink, last well indoors, and intriguing First Great Western (‘Oracharpam’) with ruffled lilac and magenta blooms, and Terracotta (‘Simchoca’), brick-brown, show well in a vase. Unusual colours are popular cut flowers, many developed by growers such as Bill LeGrice. Sadly, few are good garden plants.
So the rose is back, certainly according to the rose breeders who have brought this flower up to date. ‘With advances made in breeding super, healthy, abundant types, roses are back in fashion,’ reports Gareth Fryer. As fellow breeder Rosemary Gandy told me, ‘the future of the rose is secure because of its beauty, elegance, and romance’. Long may this continue.
Lasting Impressions
“What sets this climber apart are its glowing, blue-green flowers carried in 1m (39in) racemes”
Some plants inspire wonder in all that see them; one such example grows at Cambridge University Botanic Garden, producing its bewitching blooms between March and April. Rare outside the tropics, Strongylodon macrobotrys (jade vine) is a member of the pea family from the Philippines and demands high temperatures and space–plants reach 30m (100ft) – so only the largest, warmest glasshouses will do. What sets this climber apart are its glowing, blue-green flowers carried in 1m (39in) racemes.
My first encounter with the Cambridge plant was unforgettable. In most glasshouses the blooms dangle tantalisingly out of reach. Here it is a different story: the plant grows in a low corridor; to pass at flowering time you must tiptoe between 90 or so racemes, most dangling to chest height; a curtain of shimmering green. Up close, the flowers indeed seem crafted from finest jade, and glow as if miraculously lit somehow from within.
Stalls or Circle?
Some plants are terrible flirts, making you fall in love with them at first sight. I experienced this when I first encountered Show auriculas on Pop’s Plants of Wiltshire’s display at an RHS London Show years ago. Like many others crowding the stand, I was smitten. I spent ages gazing at their pretty painted faces, with their endless and unlikely combinations of green and grey, old gold, burgundy, brown and even black, deciding which to take home. I planted them up in vintage terracotta pots and grouped them on my garden table, where they made me happy each time I looked at them. I showed them off with pride to all who visited and loved them with a passion. However, while many auriculas are good, sturdy plants, and overwinter outside without problems in well-drained borders, I had been seduced by the trickiest, most entrancing types; as a result I lost them all in the first winter. Choose from the less-fussy, named Border auriculas and you soon find many make good sturdy plants: they do not droop in the rain and overwinter without problems; even the fancy-looking doubles are reasonably reliable. Most also give a good display of flowers in the first season. By contrast, many of the plants with green, grey and white-edged flowers I fell for are too demanding for the beginner, and may desert you for neglecting their needs.
Although hardy, most must be grown in a shady, north-facing cold frame for much of the year, or an airy alpine house will suit them well. They do not like to dry out, and protect from sun and too much warmth–plenty of ventilation is required. Water from below as any splash will cause their colourful petals to run and destroy the delicate ‘farina’ (the mealy, powdery coating) on their leaves.
There is also the need for regular dividing and re-potting, as well as their vulnerability to vine weevil. These cultivars can also be slow to flower well; you need to be able to hang on to them for at least a couple of years to see them at their best. In short, when caring for auriculas remember that originally they were alpine mountain dwellers, happiest in fresh, cool air with their roots never sitting in wet soil.
“You would think auriculas, with their rarified colour combinations seldom seen in other flowers, would have an aristocratic history. Far from it”
The ancestors of cultivated auriculas can still be found growing wild in the European Alps–most are yellow, but there are the occasional red or purple sports that first caught breeders’ imaginations, although the plants we grow have complex bloodlines originating from several species rather than simply being selections of Primula auricula. It is thought that cultivated plants were introduced to Britain in the 1580s by Flemish weavers. By 1659 Thomas Hanmer’s Garden Book mentions whites, yellows, ‘haire colour’, orange, cherry, cinnamon, crimson, purple, violet, ‘murrey’, olive and dun auriculas, while his contemporary Mr Peter Egerton had bred the first peachy doubles and smartly striped forms. By the end of the 17th century auricula fancying was on a par with tulipomania, prized plants changing hands for the equivalent of thousands of pounds. There are other intriguing parallels, as the first Green Edge, like the coveted feathers and flames in tulip breeding, may have been caused by a disease–in this case the mutation of the petal into leaf material. This was ‘Pott’s Eclipse’, reputedly bred in 1757, and the ancestor from which all Green Edge, Grey Edge and White Edge auriculas have been bred.
You would think auriculas, with their rarified colour combinations seldom seen in other flowers, would have an aristocratic history. Far from it. They were popular plants with fanciers from all walks of life, competing for cash prizes in ‘Florists’ Feasts’ in halls and pubs all over the country. Some of the most fanatical collectors and breeders were the northern silk weavers and lacemakers working in tiny cottages in Cheshire and Lancashire. Where space was at a premium the diminutive size of the plants, as well as their colours, must have been part of the draw. However, two world wars and industrialisation almost put paid to these advances, and it was not until the 1960s that interest in auriculas revived, with literally hundreds of named selections now available, and new ones being bred every year by amateur enthusiasts and nurserymen alike.
The range may seem bewildering at first, but familiarising oneself with the basic classification will help you to make more informed choices and avoid the mistakes I and many others have made when beginning. The National Auricula and Primula Society has identified the following groups: Alpine auriculas are the closest to wild Primula auricula, with no dusting of farina on their leaves. Usually divided into pale- and gold-centred kinds, they have cream, gold or yellow centres and petals that are darker nearer the centre, fading evenly to a paler shade at the edge. They are generally tough and easy, flowering well in the garden provided the soil is not waterlogged in winter. They can also be grown in pots. ‘Adrienne’, ‘Ancient Society’, ‘Dilly Dilly’, ‘Joy’, ‘Daniel’ and ‘Sophie’ are good examples.
“Double auriculas resemble the trimmings on Victorian hats, with pretty bunched petals and no visible centre”
Best for borders
Border auriculas are sturdy plants bred for growing outdoors, and their flowers do not droop in the rain. Blooms tend to be larger than other types, less delicate, and there is no shading on their petals, though some have farina on their foliage. Most are scented. ‘Old Mustard’, ‘Eden Blue Star’ and ‘Eden Greenfinch’ are among the best. They do well in pots.
Double auriculas resemble the trimmings on Victorian hats, with pretty bunched petals and no visible centre. Many such as ‘Nymph’, ‘Trouble’ and ‘Piglet’ come in shades of cream, buff, faded pink or mauves. Despite their more complicated appearance they are good for beginners and easy in the garden or in pots. Show auriculas can be divided into four types:
Edges are the queens of the show table. In these a mutation replaces outermost petal tissue with leaf tissue. They are divided into Green Edges (plain green edge) such as ‘Prosperine’, Grey Edges (dusted with farina) and White Edges (thick coating of farina). Though the colour combinations can seem infinite, all have a black body and a white centre, known as the ‘paste’ for its paint-like appearance. These are fusspots, best under cover where rain cannot spoil the flowers and farina. Grow in alpine house conditions; they thrive in fresh, cool air and semi-shade in summer. ‘Prague’ is the best Green Edge to start with; ‘Grey Hawk’ the easiest Grey Edge.
Fancies are Show auriculas that do not conform to any category. They usually have an edge to the petals and a white paste centre but, unlike Edges, their body colour is never black. Some, such as ‘Astolat’, have distinctive, flat-edged petals; others have mottled or farina-dusted petals.
Stripes have been reintroduced over the past 20 years and are vigorous growers and prolific flowerers, with ‘Nil Amber, ‘Fluffy Duckling’, ‘Likely Lad’ and ‘Henry’s Bane’ all sought after. Best grown in pots under cover, but easier and more floriferous than Edges.
Selfs are dramatic and stylish, with a white paste centre and plain body colour (divided into yellow, red, blue, black and other Selfs). As the paste centres are ruined by rain these are also best grown in pots under cover. ‘Sharon Louise’ is a good yellow Self, though scarce and slow to reproduce; while ‘Joel’ is a good blue Self for beginners.
Cultivation of auriculas is best dictated by their category. While Alpine, Border and Double auriculas should grow in a well-drained border, they need space to thrive. Best placed where taller plants will give them some shade in summer, they will rot if dripped on or out-competed by other plants. They are pretty at the edge of beds, where their flowers can be appreciated, or by the edge of a path as long as it’s not too hot or dry. They also lend themselves to troughs, raised beds and collections of plants in pots.
More demanding Show auriculas are best in pots and moved into the garden in summer; protect from rain. For display, open-air ‘auricula theatres’ popular in the 18th century have never been bettered: there is a fine example at the National Trust’s Calke Abbey in Derbyshire, dating back to the 19th century but restored in 1991 and home to hundreds of show plants when in flower. If an auricula theatre sounds too grand, a shallow shed or open-sided lean-to with shelving will do, painted a dark colour to let the bright colours of the plants shine. Garden designer and writer Mary Keen glazed an outdoor privy at her Gloucestershire home and painted the interior black to create a beautiful auricula house, while David Wheeler, editor of Hortus, houses a fine display in what looks like a wooden bookcase, with objets trouvés added for a contemporary cabinet of curiosities.
Looking through catalogues, and fuelled by knowledge acquired in intervening years, I feel temptation stirring again. Take ‘White Wings’, with its grey-green petals, blotched black at the centre and edged in dusty white; ‘Pharaoh’, gold-centred with glowing orange petals smouldering into brown; or one of the dramatic dark red Selfs such ‘The Raven’. True, it could all end in tears again. But plants that demand a little more from you, like some people, are often the most rewarding. Whoever said the path of true love ran smooth?
Shout Sunshine
The very phrase ‘California poppy’ seems to shout sunshine. Blazing in short grassland and rocky habitats from the Pacific shore to high in the Rocky Mountains, California poppy, Eschscholzia californica, is among the most brilliantly coloured of all annuals.
“…creating a dazzling display so easily, without using a lot of extra water, is an attractive idea”
Wild California poppies tend to have flowers in vivid yellows and orange shades, with lacily-divided green leaves, but they vary enormously. More than 90 wild varieties and subspecies have been described. Characteristics occasionally found in wild plants have been combined with new features by plant breeders in creating the recent impressive range of exciting cultivars.
Easy to grow, drought-tolerant and now available in so many more colours and flower forms–California poppies have been transformed into stylish summer flowers. Many cultivars, with unusually attractive, prettily-dissected bluish or silvery foliage, appeal even before they bloom.
Most annual poppies can be fleeting in flower, but altering the way California poppies are grown can extend their flowering season from weeks to months. They can be treated as hardy annuals all over Britain. Traditionally they are sown in the open ground, where they are to flower, in spring, then thinned out and, after a blaze of colour, cleared away.
Two or three successive sowings can extend the period of flower, but larger, longer-flowering plants develop from seed that germinates in late summer or early autumn. As with many annuals from Mediterranean-type climates, starting to develop a root system in the autumn promotes more prolific flowering the following year.
Also, these plants may behave as short-lived perennials, developing a deep taproot and a semi-woody structure at the base, allowing them to persist for two or three years. A downside of this tap-rooted structure is that it is tricky to raise from seed indoors: compost tends to fall from the roots while potting on.
Sowing seed outside, in late summer or autumn, provides the most prolific display on well-drained soil, in gravel gardens or the edges of drives, in annual meadows, even on rough limestone or sandstone walls. They often tend to self-sow in such spots, but rarely come true for more than a few years.
Spring sowing is advisable on heavier soils, but the taller cultivars in particular may develop a less bushy habit when sown in spring. Seedlings should be thinned out when small.
For mixed container planting, direct sowing is impractical, as they tend to be overcrowded by their neighbours. Sow a few seeds in a 7cm (3in) pot, thin to three seedlings, and plant into the container when a good-looking mound of foliage has developed.
California poppies love sun and tend to close their flowers in shade or on dull days, so always give them plenty of light; in containers, their companions may need to be lightly trimmed. They are, however, drought-tolerant once established, especially if sown in autumn.
Breeders have brought the sleek, satin sheen of the wild plants to semi-double flowers and selections with rippled petals, covering the full colour spectrum except for green and blue. Blue-grey foliage is an especially welcome addition. Most new cultivars are compact, 23–30cm (9–12in), and their increased branching leads to longer flowering.
The Thai Silk Series has mainly semi-double flowers with up to 13 fluted petals. Combining a dwarf, bushy habit (20–25cm/8–10in) with bluish green or greyish foliage, many are bicolours, such as ‘Apricot Chiffon’ (usually sold as ‘Apricot Flambeau’), ‘Strawberry Fields’, ‘Appleblossom Chiffon’ and the mixture ‘Champagne and Roses’.
Mixes are useful for an informal look. Single-flowered, fluted ‘Fruit Crush’ (20cm/8in) has just four colours (pink, orange-scarlet, butter yellow and carmine), some with grey-blue leaves. Slightly taller, semi- double ‘Mission Bells’ has fluted flowers and a wider palette of colours. ‘Monarch Mixed’ also has a wide range of scintillating, flat, single and semi-double blooms.
One recent introduction to look out for, with a distinctive growth habit, is E. californica var. maritima ‘Golden Tears’. Having vivid yellow flowers over bluish leaves, it reaches only 15–23cm (6–9in) high, but spreads to about 60cm (2ft).
All have the great advantage of taking dry conditions once established–and in these days of water meters, creating a dazzling display so easily, without using a lot of extra water, is an attractive idea. And whether sunny or subtle, their clear, sparkling colours will always appeal.
Shrubs of the Season: Summer
One afternoon in late summer I recalled a garden walk that led down a grassy slope towards a Scottish loch. On either side, dozens of Eucryphia made an informal avenue. They were in full flower and the large, snow white blossoms, with centres of packed stamens like so many fibre-optic lamps, were so fresh I could have forgotten the season and thought it May. Elsewhere in that garden, however, summer borders were already past their peak.
“Summer shrubs are ‘slow burn’ rather than ‘quick flash’, some continuing steadily until autumn. Their colours tend to be more subtle and complex than those of spring flowers, and many have good fragrance”
Most summer shrubs display a comfortable, even slightly melancholy character. The crazy excesses of woody spring flora such as lilacs, mock orange or azaleas are fading memories, and shrubs that flower in July and August are distinctly lower key. They often play second fiddle to riotous perennials or loud summer bedding, but that should not in any way undermine their value.
Apart from mophead hydrangeas and bigger buddleias, few summer shrubs are showy enough to be spectacular, but they can make extremely valuable contributions. The height and width of plants such as Fuchsia magellanica and Phygelius can raise the colour profile of mixed plantings, tempting your eyes higher and wider. Most bloom much longer than their flash-in-the-pan spring counterparts. A select group flower for so long that they tend to be taken for granted.
But by no means all summer shrubs are so low key. In isolation, Hibiscus syriacus or Abelia x grandiflora can be magnificent. But they have to work much harder than spring’s weekend wonders: when forsythia erupts into golden bloom in March it has little competition. For the contribution it makes over 12 months, however, it would be found wanting, compared to many.
Summer shrubs are ‘slow burn’ rather than ‘quick flash’, some continuing steadily until autumn. Their colours tend to be more subtle and complex than those of spring flowers, and many have good fragrance. Everyone knows Buddleja davidii attracts butterflies, but the big lacecaps of Hydrangea aspera draw insects to the pollen and nectar of the fertile florets–food for birds such as blackcaps, chiffchaffs and whitethroats.
It is more useful to section summer shrubs by character rather than divide them into botanical groups. ‘Foot soldiers’ flower low key through the season; ‘show stoppers’ provide shorter term drama; and ‘spring-like’, a third group, have more subtle charms that capture the sweetness and purity of spring, but well out of that season.
The most long-distance plodders among the foot soldiers have lasting value, but will not cause passers-by to stop and gasp. They flower almost indefinitely, with pleasing foliage, and most have convenient growth habits. Fuchsias are probably the best examples. Forget the overbred monsters with flowers resembling ballet dancers–fine for patios or pot displays. There are simpler fuchsias hardy enough to grow into big plants across much of the UK.
Best known is slim-flowered, red and damson Fuchsia magellanica. It is often used as a hedging plant, but selections such as near-white ‘Hawkshead’ and purple, red and cream-flushed ‘Lady Bacon’ are superb summer shrubs for sun or part shade. A closely-related hybrid, F. ‘Riccartonii’ has plumper buds in the same colours as wild F. magellanica. Larger-flowered hardy fuchsia hybrids include pink-sepalled F. ‘Chillerton Beauty’, indestructible red and blue F. ‘Mrs Popple’, and superb, semi-double F. ‘Margaret’.
Phygelius capensis (Cape figwort), technically a shrub but usually grown as a perennial, needs moisture and good light to perform well. Keep plants vigorous by occasional hard pruning. They are dubiously hardy and may succumb in a bad winter. Phygelius x rectus ‘African Queen’ is a good, strong pink while P. aequalis ‘Yellow Trumpet’ carries primrose-coloured tubes.
Among more low-key plants, some folk love Leycesteria formosa (Himalayan honeysuckle), while others regard it as being rather coarse. The flowers hang attractively on this suckering shrub, followed by berries with purplish bracts, but it seeds everywhere. A yellow-leaved selection called L. formosa Golden Lanterns (‘Notbruce’) will brighten a dry shady spot. I prefer marginally hardy Cestrum parqui, which, in fertile ground and sun, produces flushes of night-scented, creamy yellow flowers, attracting moths.
Potentilla fruticosa (shrubby cinquefoil) is an often-overlooked foot soldier. It was fashionable during the 1960s and for decades new selections kept turning up. Unfortunately, it became associated with car parks and hotel landscaping but, despite its overuse, it is valuable. It flowers almost constantly, on tidy bushes, and relishes a miserable climate, thanks to its subarctic origination. Good P. fruticosa choices are yellow-flowered ‘Katherine Dykes’ and scarlet ‘Red Ace’.
If you walk up Battleston Hill at RHS Garden Wisley in late summer, expect to be impressed by the late-flowering Hydrangea paniculata. Wisley gardeners cut them hard back in late winter to promote vigorous new wands, which terminate in huge, creamy panicles. You can do this with all selections of H. paniculata, such as greenish white ‘Kyushu’, and H. quercifolia, provided they are well grown in fertile ground. The results can be sensational, especially mixed with late-summer perennials such as Actaea, Echinacea or blue Aconitum (monkshood).
Lacecaps and butterfly bushes
With space and drier conditions, Hydrangea aspera can introduce more drama. Dinnerplate-sized, flat-topped flower clusters are held above big, hoary leaves on stiff, 3m (10ft) stems. As the flowers mature, the fertile parts become purple, surrounded by pale, pink-tinted sterile florets. This is a lanky plant with ugly legs, but do not condemn it for that–just site it with tact.
Almost everyone has Buddleja davidii growing within a stone’s throw and, as butterfly attractors, few shrubs are better. Prune buddleias hard at winter’s end for the biggest and best flowers. To encourage further blooms for late butterflies, remove flowerheads once they have faded (deadheading also eliminates troublesome self-seeding). In his blog, plantsman Graham Rice reports that B. davidii ‘Miss Ruby’ was recorded as one of the best butterfly attractors at a recent trial, but B. davidii ‘Purple Prince’ also works well.
Hybrid Buddleja x weyeriana is also great for butterflies and will produce ever-later blossoms if constantly dead-headed. Its cultivar ‘Golden Glow’ has apricot flowers with a mauve centre.
Lasting glory in late summer comes from Hibiscus syriacus. Some colours work better than others but, in full sun and fertile soil, they will bloom profusely from late July until October. Colours range from white, as in ‘Diana’, through pink (try ‘Woodbridge’), to ‘Marina’, bright, near-unnatural blue. The flowers are striking, but lack the elegance of tender Hibiscus rosa-sinensis.
Some summer shrubs are just as fresh and delicate as spring flowers. For example, Indigofera (from the pea family) have soft, ferny foliage and rose-purple or pink flowers, often produced constantly over the second half of summer. The most widely grown is Indigofera heterantha, which has arching branches furnished with perky pink flowers, but I. potaninii has longer, more slender racemes.
Spare a thought, too, for close relative Lespedeza thunbergii. Though best treated as a perennial, this is a sub-shrub, the 2m (6½ft) lax stems of which are smothered with magenta flowers and are perfect for draping over tired neighbouring plants. Abelia × grandiflora can reach 4m (13ft) and bears blush-pink, two-lipped, tubular flowers, but is only suitable for warmer areas or a sheltered, warm wall.
The orange-scarlet blossoms of Punica granatum (pomegranate) are produced all summer long. If our winters become milder, it will be less risky to grow such plants outdoors, but they want a long, hot summer to fruit well. Low-growing P. granatum var. nana forms a compact, pretty, free-flowering evergreen bush.
“…you could plant Acca sellowiana for its curious, inside-out, myrtle-like flowers and edible fruits”
One of the great mysteries is why so many excellent summer- and autumn-flowering shrubs are not more widely grown. Eucryphias, though most are trees rather than shrubs, are a spring-like delight in August. By a warm, sheltered wall, you could plant Acca sellowiana for its curious, inside-out, myrtle-like flowers and edible fruits. Or, for brooding leaf colour and modestly appealing sprays of greenish yellow flowers, try Diervilla rivularis ‘Troja Black’.
Calycanthus occidentalis (California allspice) is another slightly weird shrub with stiff-petalled, maroon flowers that smell like apples. It is worth seeking out, as is its white-flowered Asian relative, Sinocalycanthus chinensis. Smaller white flowers, 1.5cm (½in) across but in small groups, are produced by upright hydrangea-relative Deutzia setchuenensis var. corymbiflora.
Clethra alnifolia (sweet pepper bush) reaches about 2.5m (8ft), bearing dense, upright panicles of flowers up to 15cm (6in) long, pink in the cultivar ‘Rosea’. Choice, white-flowered Hoheria are New Zealand evergreen shrubs with lance-shaped leaves, most often encountered in the UK as H. ‘Glory of Amlwch’ and H. sexstylosa. Sadly, although frost hardy, they need protection from freezing winds so are unlikely to thrive outside mild and coastal areas.
It is too easy to overlook summer shrubs when herbaceous garden plants are to the fore, but their contributions should not be underestimated. The most useful tools in the hands of a plant enthusiast are a notebook and a digital camera. So, on your travels this summer, look at shrubs and trees that bloom in July and August, and make a note of any you would like to see in your own garden. You might be surprised, come Christmas, at the number on your list.
Meet the Relatives
Iris and crocus are old stalwarts of British gardens, joined over the last century or so by Crocosmia, but there is far more to Iridaceae (as members of the iris family are known), and more of them are becoming widely available.
“…be warned: early success with this beguiling plant family can lead to serious addiction”
Many hail from South Africa or South America and, as memories of harsh mid-20th-century winters fade and our collective experience of growing fairly tender plants expands, more gardeners are giving them a try.
The sun is higher in the sky at the equivalent season anywhere in South Africa than in Britain. In addition, most of these plants are from open habitats, many concentrated in areas with a dry season. They avoid its rigours with a period of dormancy, retreating below ground to a bulb-like corm (swollen stem); this is a speciality of the family and understanding when plants go dormant is central to growing them well. As a result, it is clear that in UK gardens most need full sun and good drainage.
Corms and bulbs that become fully dormant are offered through nurseries and bulb merchants. For those that never die down, look for growing plants in nurseries. Seed is sometimes the only way to acquire unusual species, however. Sow winter-growers in autumn, summer-growers in spring. But be warned: early success with this beguiling plant family can lead to serious addiction.
African Gladiolus species show the two main patterns of dormancy. Most of southern Africa has rainfall during the hot summer, with a cooler (or positively cold) dry winter. Corms from this area tend to grow in summer. Only the extreme southwest of Africa, a zone within roughly 250 miles of Cape Town, has a Mediterranean-type climate, with a hot, dry summer and a cool, moist winter. Frosts, even snow may occur at higher altitudes. In the UK, corms from this area generally come into growth in autumn after a summer rest.
Gladiolus flanaganii is proving a fine garden plant, though it was scarcely known in gardens 20 years ago. Found on cliffs high in the Drakensberg mountains, its corms grow deep among rocks and so stay moist all summer. In Britain, it suits the front of a border or a pot, where its low, arching stems carry red flowers in summer. Though tolerant of frost when dormant, gardeners in cold areas or with wet soils should lift it in autumn, and store the dry corms somewhere cool but frost-free.
Originating from the winter-rainfall area, Gladiolus tristis is a well-tried garden plant, with palest yellow, lightly scented flowers on 1m (39in) stems in spring. In warmer UK gardens, grow it where the soil dries out in summer. Elsewhere, it is safer in a pot that can be moved into a cold glasshouse during cold snaps to protect the leaves.
For the adventurous, the range of winter-growing Gladiolus is immense. I enjoy growing scarlet-flowered G. splendens in a pot of gritty compost, stored completely dry at the back of the shed in summer. Drainage is key for plants in the open garden, especially in colder areas–I know of plants thriving in garden soil on the Cornish coast, and on a stony raised bed near Gloucester.
Tritonia also has both summer- and winter-growing species. I admired a fine crocosmia-like clump of T. disticha subsp. rubrolucens covered in pink funnel-shaped flowers last August, grown as a hardy perennial in Lancashire. Winter-growers include T. crocata, a much lower-growing plant that quickly makes colonies on fertile, well-drained soil in mild areas. The up-facing, saucer-shaped flowers in May are mostly in shades of orange, although pinks and whites also exist. Gardeners in cold areas have had some success growing them on a summer cycle, but I prefer to keep them potted, giving protection in cold spells.
Winter-growing Ixia have open flowers clustered near the tops of flexible, wiry stems. Grown with good drainage in full sun, they multiply well although our dimmer, high-latitude light can lead to them flopping over when in flower. Like Tritonia, they flower best in fertile soil. Named hybrids are easy to obtain but, of the species, Ixia viridiflora is a must with its turquoise, dark-eyed flowers in May: best in a pot and dried out in summer.
Still from South Africa, the colourful, even gaudy flowers of Sparaxis typically have a contrasting central zone. Selections of S. elegans, S. grandiflora and S. tricolor are available in many colours for Mediterranean climates, but can also be used with care in the UK. Dry corms sold for spring planting perform well in their first summer, but maintaining them can prove tricky as they are naturally winter growing.
The same can be said for the many hybrid freesias available in the bulb trade, although I have rarely seen them grown well for long without winter protection. Of the wild species, Freesia alba or F. lactea are good choices for large white flowers and strong perfume. To me, their scent is most welcome in early spring when grown over winter in a cold glasshouse.
Closely-related Anomatheca laxa, sometimes included in Freesia, is a more reliable plant for an open gravel garden or even the front of a well-drained border. A smaller plant, reaching just 12cm (5in) with dainty sprays of little pink, white or even (but rarely) bluish flowers in summer, it is sadly scentless.
Babiana stricta with intense violet flowers and hairy leaves is, again, often sold as dry corms, but really needs winter protection to do it justice–try growing it in a cold frame. Some crocus-like Romulea species are hardy in rock gardens: R. bulbocodium from the Mediterranean, with flowers in shades of violet, seems unjustly to have fallen from favour. Of the many winter-growers I would highlight red-flowered R. sabulosa and R. monadelpha, both best in pots under cold glass.
Central and South America are home to some distinctive iris relatives. The genus Tigridia is known for one colourful species, T. pavonia. Its large but short-lived flowers vary from orange and red through yellow to white, often spotted in the central bowl. Its bulbs (not corms) should be planted in spring and lifted once dormant in autumn, to store frost free in sand. Rare T. orthantha has a bright future in gardens. Its backswept orange tepals give this hummingbird-pollinated flower a different look. Each lasts two days, but they appear for weeks. Tigridia orthantha ‘Red-Hot Tiger’, found in Mexico by Bleddyn and Sue Wynn-Jones of Crûg Farm Plants, seems cold tolerant. Grown in a pot, stored dry in an unheated glasshouse in winter, it survives and re-flowers better than T. pavonia with us in Devon.
Cypella herbertii is a more open, wiry plant. Its orange-yellow flowers resembling small tigridias are borne all summer. In a pot overwintered under glass, it is in growth almost all year.
On the scale of a crocus is Herbertia lahue. A panful of this violet-flowered bulb is lovely in a cold glasshouse, but it is hardy enough to try in a sink or raised bed that dries out in summer.
A few species of American Sisyrinchium have a bad name–such as useful but invasive S. striatum. I like S. macrocarpum with large yellow, brown-ringed flowers. At 30cm (12in) tall, it suits a well-drained border front or rock garden. Grey-green-leaved S. palmifolium bears heads of yellow flowers that open after lunch, on 60cm (24in) stems. It makes a fine clump in a gravel garden.
Once part of Sisyrinchium, Olsynium are lovely summer-dormant plants for a rock garden. Olsynium douglasii has nodding purple bells in spring, while O. douglasii ‘Album’ has white flowers.
Libertia are evergreens forming clumps of stiff, upright foliage. Bearing white flowers on 75cm (30in) stems, New Zealander L. grandiflora tolerates more shade and wetter ground than most. I favour L. procera, essentially a tall L. grandiflora, reaching 1.5m (5ft) on our clay. With its orange winter foliage, L. peregrinans is impressive, although it spreads freely. In coastal gardens, heads of metallic-blue flowers give an exotic look to Chilean L. caerulescens; inland, a warm, sheltered spot is advisable.
“…semi-evergreen Watsonia species can have real structural presence in the garden”
From Australia, Diplarrhena moraea and D. latifolia are hardy in a sunny bed, with beautifully marked white flowers on low clumps in summer. For those with a near-frost-free glasshouse, I recommend Dietes bicolor for a big pot, moved out for summer, grown in sun and kept quite moist. The creamy, chocolate-blotched flowers are held above the leaves on tough green stems.
Many of these plants could be dismissed as garden toys, pretty things to play with at the margins. However, semi-evergreen Watsonia species can have real structural presence in the garden. Established clumps of W. pillansii are packed with broad, 75cm (30in) long leaves, over-topped in early summer by 1.5m (5ft) spikes of orange-red flowers. It makes new growth in autumn, yet never loses its leaves–tidy gardeners might cut out old growth in late August. Congested clumps can be split and replanted with plenty of compost or manure at the same time. New corms are formed in summer: in dry soil they can be too small to flower, but in cold areas good drainage is sensible. Many hybrids, mostly nameless, vary from pink (such as W. ‘Tresco Dwarf Pink’) to red and orange. A well-known feature of Tresco Abbey Gardens, Isles of Scilly, they are hardy enough to be grown much more widely. Sugar-pink Watsonia borbonica is nearly as tough, and equally impressive, as is Watsonia borbonica subsp. ardernei ‘Arderne’s White’.
The biggest Moraea species also make an impact through sheer bulk. Summer-growing M. huttonii bears a succession of yellow iris-like flowers in May on stiff 1m (39in) stems, over glossy green leaves. Large clumps make an imposing sight at The Garden House, Buckland Monachorum, Devon in the company of Dierama and Agapanthus. Trimming back old leaves in late winter lets one admire emerging flower shoots. Arching flower stems and sheaves of evergreen leaves make Dierama easily recognisable. As a rule, a sunny site that does not dry out in summer suits them best. Species hybridise freely, and many garden plants are impossible to name. Among the wild species, I am especially fond of mauve-flowered Dierama medium and purple-red D. reynoldsii. Obtaining exactly the plant you want can be tricky, but take heart: the only bad Dierama is a dead one.
Reinventing the Dahlia
Dahlias are once again high in popularity, and Mark Twyning, who looks after the National Plant Collection of Dahlia held by Winchester Growers at Varfell Farm in Cornwall, is one of the reasons why. He has bred a host of new dahlias that enthral gardeners–their small, mainly single flowers fit easily into any garden and give a gentle presence from July until the first frosts. They are poles apart from the dinnerplate-sized monsters gardeners distanced themselves from 30 to 40 years ago.
Mark became interested in breeding dahlias more than 10 years ago, after watching David Brown–a key figure in the dahlia world–at work. David rescued many cultivars in the 1970s when he became alarmed by their declining popularity, and he set up the first National Plant Collection of dahlias (the foundation of the present collection). Without his intervention many good plants would have been lost.
“Perhaps the best-known of Mark’s cultivars is Dahlia ‘Twyning’s After Eight’, a classy, ivory-white Single dahlia”
One of Brown’s own seedlings, Dahlia ‘Blewbury First’, a muted pink, yellow and peach Waterlily cultivar, inspired Mark to have a go himself. ‘It was a bit of fun to start with, I just collected seeds at random from the collection’s dahlias and grew them on,’ he says. ‘Most seedlings come up as singles, as it’s the basic form of the wild flower and most easily pollinated.’
Dahlias have been known, and grown, as decorative plants for centuries. There are around 35 species of dahlia, found in Mexico, Columbia and Central America. Only a few species have as yet been used in hybridisation, so there remains a large gene pool to draw on. The Aztecs grew double dahlias–when Francisco Hernandez, physician to the King of Spain, visited Mexico in 1570 to study medicinal plants he found and drew a double-flowered example.
Their heyday was probably the Victorian and Edwardian eras; in 1970, Paul Sorensen wrote in Arnoldia (the bulletin of the Arnold Arboretum, Harvard University) that an average of more than 100 new cultivars were named every year between the 1790s and the 1930s. In the UK, competitive dahlia growing and showing in the 19th and 20th centuries stoked a wave of hybridisation. The natural variability of the plants is part of the attraction for Mark: ‘I find dahlias exciting because you can produce many differences from the same head of seed. It’s like doing the lottery, you never know what will pop up; genetically they are amazing.’
In addition to the natural variability in flower form, shape and colour exhibited in seedlings raised from the same flower head, dahlias also show a spontaneous tendency to ‘sport’, producing shoots that have flowers with yet more variation. ‘You have to grow sports on,’ says Mark, ‘to make sure that they are stable. Some can revert back to their parent, losing their desirable traits.’ Many do prove stable, however, and have been named. Seedlings can be in flower just a few weeks after sowing, making breeding dahlias quick and easy, and most prove easy to ‘bulk up’ from cuttings when a good selection has been produced.
Perhaps the best-known of Mark’s cultivars is Dahlia ‘Twyning’s After Eight’, a classy, ivory-white Single dahlia. It is floriferous with wide-open flowers on strong stems held above almost-black foliage. Flowers last well and the plant is a perfect height for the border, reaching 90–120cm (3–4ft). ‘Gardeners love it,’ says Mark. It arose as a seedling of D. ‘Clarion’, a bright-yellow Single with dark foliage, bred by New Zealander Keith Hammett. Most of Mark’s dahlias are named after chocolate brands, puddings or sweets; the first named was D. ‘Twyning’s Candy’. This pink-and-white-striped Single is a seedling from D. ‘Asahi Chohje’, a red and white Anemone-flowered Japanese cultivar. Eye-catching ‘Twyning’s Candy’ attracted much interest when first displayed at the RHS Hampton Court Palace Flower Show in 2003. Dahlia ‘Twyning’s Smartie’ has bright pink and white flowers, but the proportion of each colour varies randomly, making it appear to shimmer in the border. Reaching an average of 140cm (4ft), it is a seedling from a miniature Ball dahlia with the same variable colour trait, ‘York and Lancaster’, but classed as Miscellaneous.
Mark admires classic D. ‘Bishop of Llandaff ’ (bred in 1922 by Treseder Nurseries) for its dark, ferny foliage and warm-red, peony-like flowers. His copper-leaved D. ‘Twyning’s Aniseed’ is a seedling from it, with vibrant pink-red single flowers and dark foliage, though not as dark as “the Bishop”. It reaches 120cm (4ft). Dahlia ‘Twyning’s Black Cherry’ is a seedling from butterscotch-orange, miniature Decorative D. ‘David Howard’ (raised in 1958 by the Norfolk nursery owner of that name, and another seedling from ‘Bishop of Llandaff ’). With dark foliage and fully double, cherry-red flowers, ‘Twyning’s Black Cherry’ can reach 150cm (5ft). It and two interesting sports (one has white-tipped red flowers, the other is deep purple, both still un-named) are classed as Decoratives.
Not all of Mark’s plants have dramatically dark foliage, however. Dahlia ‘Twyning’s Chocolate’ has lightly bronzed green leaves and dark red flowers, the same sultry reddish-brown as chocolate cosmos (Cosmos atrosanguineus) flowers. Of unknown parentage, ‘Twyning’s Chocolate’ will reach 120cm (4ft). Single, white-flowered D. ‘Twyning’s Peppermint’ is a little taller, and can reach 150cm (5ft). Its parentage is also unknown, but its petals have fimbriate edges, possibly indicating a Cactus dahlia was one parent. Dahlia ‘Twyning’s White Chocolate’ is a white Collerette grown from seed collected from a creamy yellow Collerette dahlia, D. ‘Clair de Lune’. The outer petals of Collerette dahlias surround a ring of shorter petals, and ‘Twyning’s White Chocolate’ has a yellow ring around the heart of each flower. Another Collerette, with a name that bucks Mark’s confectionery theme, is D. ‘Twyning’s Pink Fish’: pink-flowered, it reaches 120cm (4ft).
Having collected seeds and sown them for many years, Mark inevitably started making deliberate crosses by selecting both parents. Although interested in the science of genetics, he does not keep strict written records, and when crossing two cultivars, he does not bag the flowers to exclude pollinators, so the bees may intervene. Of the hundreds of seedlings grown on, an average of only five or six will be kept. If they prove good enough, they are bulked up by cuttings ready for sale.
Mark describes his hybridising process as follows: ‘First, decide on your goal then select two parents, making sure, if double or semi-double, that the flowers actually have pollen and stamens. Select a single-flowered dahlia as your pod plant (the seed producer). Wait for the flower to open on the pod plant, then select an open flower from the pollen parent. Pick it and bring it indoors, remove the petals, then wait until the pollen is dry. Tap it onto the pod plant’s stigma. The fertilisation rate is generally high.’
From hundreds of seedlings planted out in the show garden at Varfell Farm, two new dahlias were released at the RHS Chelsea Flower Show in 2010. Dahlia ‘Ian Hislop’, a Single with cupped, warm-orange flowers, and D. ‘Rachel de Thame’, a tall, orangey-pink-flowered cultivar from a cross with a species, D. sorensenii. For the future, Mark’s main ambition is to breed a dark-leaved Cactus dahlia: ‘something that has evaded breeders so far,’ he says.
A Strapping Good Leaf
What do South Pacific seafaring, bulletproof vests and extinction of a giant flightless bird have in common? Strange as it may seem, it is Phormium leaves–yes, that ubiquitous landscaping plant loved by designers of car parks and roundabouts everywhere.
“Resistant to salt water, phormium fibres could be woven into fishing nets and were even used with deadly accuracy to create elaborate tripwire and snare devices…”
Yet to the Maoris of its native New Zealand, the plant’s long strap-like leaves, filled with strong yet super lightweight fibres, made it such a central part of life that it was considered sacred. They used it to make everything from soft ceremonial gowns to walking sandals and basketry, all dyed in myriad yellows, reds, browns and blacks from pigments obtained from the plant’s flowers.
Traditionally extracted by scraping the cut leaves with a mussel shell, the fibres were durable enough to make the sails and rigging that allowed inter-island travel on rafts and boats–themselves constructed by stitching together the plant’s hollow flower stalks. Resistant to salt water, phormium fibres could be woven into fishing nets and were even used with deadly accuracy to create elaborate tripwire and snare devices that helped hunt giant moas (enormous ostrich-like birds) to extinction.
The antimicrobial chemicals and blood-clotting enzymes that naturally occur in the leaves also made these fibres ideal to use as sutures for injuries sustained during frequent inter-tribal skirmishes. For another piece of warfare kit, the leaves were woven into mats to camouflage buried forts and lookout holes. Remarkably, the Maoris wove leaves into tough, panelled jackets that reduced the impact of the colonialists’ musket shot: the world’s first bulletproof vests.
In more cordial times the starchy roots were used to brew an intoxicating ritual drink, sweetened using the plant’s nectar-rich flowers. With so many applications it is such a shame that us Brits only think of it as an exotic border perennial. Phormium beer anyone?
