Chiswick House camellias

In the second of a series of regular midweek posts with the emphasis on images rather than text, I’d like to share a few photos from a visit a week ago to the Conservatory at Chiswick House. Some of the collection of Camellia japonica housed in the Conservatory survive from specimens planted in 1813 when Samuel Ware completed a large glasshouse commissioned by the 6th Duke of Devonshire. From one end to the other of its two wings, spreading from a central dome, is a distance of 96 metres. Because of their sheltered location, the spectacular blooms do not display the frost damage evident on many camellias when planted outside. The cultivars in the collection include ‘Flore plena’ and ‘Pompone’.

Edgeworthia chrysantha

Most flowers reward close examination and Edgeworthia chrysantha, the paperbush plant is no exception. Its often downward facing flowerhead are made up of a mass of small yellow flowers opening from a cluster of buds covered in a fine silky down. These images are of a specimen which grows near the building housing the Botanical Cafe at the Royal Botanical Gardens, Kew and which I make a point of scrutinising at this time every year.

The shrub is named for Michael Pakenham Edgeworth, an Irish botanist, who whilst working in the Indian civil service in the mid C19, collected plants, reporting upon his discoveries in scientific papers when he returned to London. The shrub which bears his name originates in China. The fibres from the bark of the plant are used for making ‘mitsumata’ a kind of Japanese tissue.

From Smethwick to Knightsbridge

I mentioned salmon pink geraniums in a children’s book in a recent blog post and have found a reference to geraniums in another work of fiction. In Gail Honeyman’s ‘Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine’, the eponymous heroine visits her friend Raymond’s mother in a suburb of Glasgow: ‘We approached the front door and I noticed that she had red geraniums in window boxes. I find geraniums somewhat unsettling; that rich, sticky scent when you brush past them, a brackish, vegetable smell that’s the opposite of floral.’ Unlike Eleanor Oliphant I am not unsettled by geraniums, or more accurately Pelargoniums, but I agree the scent of their foliage is most distinctive. I would however apply Eleanor’s description to the aroma of tomato leaves which for me summons memories of my maternal grandfather’s greenhouse in Smethwick which was always packed with tomato plants. Another of his horticultural passions was growing the pillowy red and yellow annuals Calceolaria, which are no longer fashionable. My only attempt at following his example and growing them from seed came to nothing, but I intend to sow the dust like seeds again next year (Suttons Seeds’ Calceolaria ‘Sunset Mix’) and shall hope for more success.

This post is a hotch potch of topics, reflecting the state of mind in which most of it was written a few days ago, jangled after a break in at home. One of the recommended deterrents is to plant something spiky around the perimeter of the garden. A friend who kindly carried out some urgent repairs for me in the garden suggested a thorny and prolific rambling rose to cover the trellis atop the fences. I have started researching potential cultivars and am deliberating between two. Rosa “Rambling Rector’ has thorny shoots and sprays of small white flowers which I can see would complement the two climbing roses which grow up the wooden archway at the entrance to the seating area in the sunniest corner of the garden: Rosa ‘Blush Noisette’ and Rosa ‘White Star’. But I am also tempted by the open and pollinator attracting white flowers of another rambler: Rosa ‘Bobbie James’. Both can grow to 25 metres: enough to protect at least two boundaries!

One of the climbing roses I just mentioned, Rosa ‘White Star’, grew tremendously last summer. It has glossy dark green leaves and open ivory blooms. Touching wood as I write this, it also appears to be resistant to disease. It gleams in the dusk of a summer twilight and is graced with a strong perfume.

When I visited the Faringdon Collection at 28 Brompton Square in Knightsbridge a couple of weeks ago, I was interested to see the different window boxes around the square. I was dismayed to note the plastic box ‘plants’ (in both ‘hedge’ and ‘ball’ form) on display at several properties, but when I noticed the parched brown remains of a blight affected box hedge in one of the window boxes, I began to understand (though not condone) the owners’ rationale in installing such monstrosities. Another house sported a prickly affair of cactuses and succulents which was certainly eye-catching, and perhaps protected from frost in this central London location.

The most attractive window boxes were outside our destination: immaculate white pelargoniums. This was not surprising given the high standard of horticulture at Buscot House in Oxfordshire, the National Trust run property owned by Lord Faringdon. A visit to his London home to see part of his art collection (£10, booking required) does not include a visit to the garden but there is ample opportunity to survey its symmetrical design from the upper windows of the house. One of my favourite places in the house was the ‘Gazebo Room”, decorated with a trellis design and comfortably furnished with two chairs and an elegant writing desk overlooking the formal garden. Of the two garden sculptures visible from the house, one, a stylised figure of a young man, came from the Commonwealth Institute.

It was a wet and gloomy November afternoon, but the strong structural design of the space remained evident. An arcade of green metal arches draws the eye along a brick herringbone path to a small classical statue. To one side of this is an area of low growing box balls of equal size clustered at the foot of a smallish tree, almost naked of leaves: a Mulberry?

On a balcony at the front of the house I noticed two fleece covered containers. I learnt from the caretaker who showed us around, that the pots contained Agapanthus. In such a sheltered location I would not have thought such a precaution necessary, but the neatly fleeced and pegged structures were themselves an intriguing feature.

Next time: I plant winter themed containers for the front garden and recall a winter visit to the High Line in Manhattan.

Container Hort.

Anagallis monelli ‘Skylover’ is a good plant with which to introduce blue into summer containers, making a change from the hanging basket and window box standard Lobelia in its upright and trailing forms. The intensely blue star shaped flowers of Anagallis repeat flower for months and the dense foliage is almost succulent in its habit. The common name of this plant is Blue Pimpernel but there was nothing elusive about the consistent display it provided last summer when I used it in the three troughs on the south facing bay window of the house.

Less successful was my attempt to plant it with white ivy-leaved Pelargonium which struggled after a month or so. I believe the combination would have worked better in larger containers. For next year, I have my eye on the window box version of the dark grey recycled plastic containers I mentioned in my blog post dated 26 October 2018, ‘Weeds Roots & Leaves is out front’. I feel the deep classic boxes will bring a contemporary accent to the front garden as well as providing a much larger planting area for a more adventurous summer scheme. A small lavender in the central trough was also overwhelmed by the vigour of the newcomer. Despite this, I shall certainly plant Anagallis again, because apart from its beautiful colour it required little or no dead-heading, maintenance consisting of a daily watering and a weekly dose of tomato food. I bought the six plants as small plugs from Suttons. They arrived in early April and I potted them on into larger pots for a few weeks before planting out in May.

*Anagallis monelli* ‘Skylover’ with white *Pelargonium.* Detail from window troughs summer 2018.

This winter I have planted the bay window troughs with a mixed scheme of large flowered ‘Cadbury’s purple’ pansies, Bird’s Foot ivy (Hedera saggitifolia), Golden Japanese Rush (Acorus gramineus Ogon) and White Sea Campion (Silene Druett’s Variegated). The slim leaves of blue Grape Hyacinth (Muscari armeniacum) are already emerging, a tantalising preview of the further layer of colour to come in early spring.

I have already decided that another element of the scheme next summer for the terracotta pots on the patio in the sunniest corner of the garden and in a pot beside the front door will be a particular shade of ivy-leaved Pelargonium. Of the many exquisite garden images in the Royal Academy’s exhibition ‘Painting the Modern Garden: Monet to Matisse’ in 2015, I found one of the simplest the most memorable. Highlighted against a dark green background, a swag decorated terracotta pot stands atop a plinth at the foot of a stone staircase, warm toned salmon pink pelargoniums spilling down beside the steps. The painter is Spanish impressionist Joaquin Sorolla, in whose courtyard garden in Madrid the canvas was painted. I was thrilled last week to read, thanks to a Madrid based friend’s Facebook post, that the National Gallery is to stage an exhibition of Sorolla’s work from 18 March to 7 July next year, ‘Sorolla: Spanish Master of Light’. Whether this canvas will be included I do not know, but I do hope that at least one of the 60 plus paintings in the show will feature his beautiful garden.

Salmon pink geraniums (Pelargonium) also take centre stage in a book I read as a child, ‘The Little White Horse’ by Elizabeth Goudge. Why I have recalled these particular plants so vividly for all these years I cannot fathom, but the description of a West Country garden in which these flowers proliferated, still resonates. Another plant from the book will also feature in my container planting next summer. A principal character in the magical story is Miss Heliotrope and scented purple heliotrope (Heliotropium) will act as a perfect foil for the brighter coloured geraniums.

Tulipomania

The arrival of the autumn equinox ten days ago and the accompanying unsettled weather signalled to this gardener it was time to plan a display of bulbs for next spring. Cooler temperatures and heavy rain justified a few hours of armchair gardening, studying cultivars of tulips recommended by the Royal Horticultural Society for planting in containers and I compiled a wish list in preparation for a visit to the plant centre at RHS Wisley.

I try to achieve a display spanning as long a period as possible, from late March through to early May. Variety of both colour and form influence my choice and whilst it is tempting to stick to the old favourites, I am keen to try some different colour combinations next year. I particularly like the ‘lily’ tulips which have narrow, goblet shaped flowers and pointed petals curving elegantly outwards. Into this category falls sugary-pink Tulipa ‘China Pink’. On a visit to an open garden day at Petersham House in April this year, I discovered the spectacular Tulipa ‘Flaming Spring Green’, its white and green flowers streaked with scarlet. Sadly, these bulbs cost twice as much as their more subdued cousin, Tulipa ‘Spring Green’, and prudence outweighed extravagance on this occasion.

To ensure that the display is not bland, I’ve also bought mauve Tulipa ‘Blue Parrot’ which will open into a curly parrot flower, and Tulipa Cistula, another lily-flowered cultivar with lemon and cream flowers. Glancing back at an image of my tulip display in April this year, I shall certainly also include the orange lily tulip ‘Ballerina’ for both its impact and long flowering period.

When I plant the bulbs in November, I plan to use a 50:50 mixture of compost and horticultural grit, to prevent the bulbs from sitting in a waterlogged growing medium during the winter. Unlike other bulbs, e.g. daffodils, which can be planted any time from now onwards, the experts recommend planting tulips in November to avoid a fungal disease called ‘Tulip Fire’ which distorts the leaves and makes the plant looked scorched. For the third year, I shall protect the planted containers from squirrel damage with the chicken wire cloches made for me by a friend.

I also bought a packet of Snakeshead Fritillary bulbs, Fritillaria meleagris, to plant in pots for a couple of friends who have admired my container of these under the kitchen window. I resisted the temptation to buy a Fritillaria Persica whose flower spires I also admired in April at Petersham House, as it is too large for my borders.

A recent visit to Kew Gardens reminded me that bulbiferous flowers feature in the autumn garden as well as the spring garden. I found a substantial clump of Sternbergia lutea, Autumn Daffodil, in the Mediterranean Garden, its yellow crocus-like flowers tricking the viewer into thinking that spring has arrived. Nearby, bordering Holly Walk, lilac shaded swathes of Colchicum speciosum glow in luminous contrast to the rich dark soil in which they are planted. These Autumn Crocus are also called Naked Ladies to describe their habit of flowering only when their leaves have died back. Overnight rain had flattened some of the flowers on the morning of my visit, but the overall effect remained striking beneath the evergreen foliage of the holly specimens.

Next time: what links Imperial Russia with Kew’s Princess of Wales Conservatory?

Such a bind: two foes and a friend

Having spent many of my hours in the garden this summer waging war against an invading army of the twining stems of Hedge Bindweed, Calystegia sepium, I found myself pondering whether other members of the Convolvulaceae family might have more merit in a garden context. A recent day in the Tudor Walled Garden at Osterley House and Garden provided the answer: yes and no!

Although its white trumpet shaped flower is attractive, it is better to prevent Hedge Bindweed flowering in the first place so as to avoid the plant setting and scattering seed. A pernicious perennial weed, it also spreads via a prodigious root system which can colonise mixed borders and, if left unchecked, strangle the plants it scrambles up and around. Where this is allowed to happen, the plant beneath is all but obliterated by a cloak of overlapping heart shaped leaves with prominent drip tips.

Calystegia sepia on the banks of the River Crane in Twickenham

I’ve always tried to control this unwelcome tenant in the flower bed to the left of my own garden by removing it by hand, carefully prising the roots from the soil and taking care not to snap off the white fleshy root before extracting its tip. This is easier said than done and I’ve learnt that the roots extend for several metres like an underground rail network with numerous branch lines. When the bed is filled in the growing season with herbaceous specimens, it is impossible to remove the Hedge Bindweed completely and it is just a question of being vigilant and removing it as soon as it emerges. When the plants in the bed have died back in the winter months is the time to dig out as much of this root system as possible.

This summer, for the first time ever, I became so frustrated by this wretched weed penetrating from the neighbouring garden beneath the gravel board at the base of the fence and entwining itself around every plant in this bed, that I resorted to using a chemical control in the form of a herbicide gel. Applying Glyphosate gel to the leaves of the weed is a tricky task because it is imperative to avoid the foliage of other plants. The gel took effect within a few weeks with the treated stems turning brown and the leaves withering. However, in the meantime, a report about the potentially carcinogenic impact of the chemical was widely publicised and my brief flirtation with non-organic gardening came to an abrupt end. When the bindweed was at its worst I nursed a megalomaniac’s fantasy of replacing the fence with a wall with footings deep enough to stop the onslaught, but the thought of the disruption and expense soon put pay to that.

Field Bindweed, Convolvulus arvensis, is another unwelcome member of the bindweed family. It is singled out for special attention when weeding the four large ornamental vegetable beds which make up Osterley’s Tudor Walled Garden. With smaller leaves than is cousin from the hedgerows, its flowers are smaller and pale pink. Its habit is to creep along the soil, supported by another immense root system. I’ve read in a wonderful book, ‘Weeds Weeding and Darwin’ by William Edmonds, that the roots can descend as far as five metres. Like Hedge Bindweed, the upper roots are brittle and because the weed will regenerate from any fragments left in the soil, one of the cohort of garden volunteers is appointed to concentrate on Field Bindweed removal and to extract as much of the root as possible collecting the debris in a separate bucket from those used for other less pernicious weeds. This material is not tipped onto the heap waiting to be composted but is placed in a separate container in which to rot down, lest it contaminate the compost carefully created by the Osterley garden team for use as a mulch throughout the garden in early spring.

It was while working in this spectacular section of the gardens at Osterley a fortnight ago, in a bed where cucumbers and courgettes grow alongside lime green Nicotiana and white spider flowers, Cleome spinosa, that I encountered, trained up an obelisk, the benign and very handsome Ipomaea purpurea ‘Grandpa Ott’. This is a cultivar of Morning Glory, an annual cousin of the unwelcome bindweeds mentioned above. Osterley’s Head Gardener observed that unlike the plant bearing the clear blue flowers of the classic Morning Glory, ‘Grandpa Ott’ does not succumb to powdery mildew. Its deep purple flowers are velvety and prolific. I was assigned the task of gathering the black peppercorn like seeds into an envelope and a few minutes of popping open the fragile dried seedheads yielded a substantial harvest, ready to sow for next year’s display. I am happy to have observed that not all members of the bindweed family are a bind.

Ipomaea purpurea ‘Grandpa Ott’

The more common blue Morning Glory