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.

Autumn tasks at Osterley influence garden assignments

A colourless sky lowered over the gardens at Osterley last Friday, serving to highlight the intensity of the colour of the autumn leaves still clinging to the trees in the gardens and park and those carpeting the ground. Our morning task was to sweep the leaves from the lawns surrounding the mature oaks between Mrs Child’s Flower Garden and the path leading to the Winter Garden. Having filled our barrows, we deposited the golden haul on a new leaf pile on the site of the rich dark cliff face of leaf mould which we mined earlier this year to mulch one of the four large beds in the Tudor Walled Garden.

In the afternoon we worked in an area of the garden between the lake and the wider parkland where a stretch of the fence between garden and park needed to be cleared of brambles. Protected by elbow length red suede gauntlets, and using mattock and spades to sever the stubbornest roots, in two hours our working detail of five volunteers cleared the tangle of brambles from either side of the fence as well as a prickly patch at the foot of the nearby Ice House Mound. As with all weeding it is so satisfying to excavate as long a root as possible without leaving anything behind to emerge stronger than ever next year.

Heading back to the Gardener’s Bothy with barrows of brambles

Our work on the previous two Fridays was slightly more sedate. For example we planted two lowish growing cultivars of Allium bulb beneath the roses in the Cutting Garden: the yellowish green flowered ‘Moly’ and the rose pink ‘Unifolium’ or American Onion. Later, on the bank opposite the American Border, we lifted and replaced divots of turf into which we posted two species of spring flowering bulbs. Both were familiar from Visitor Information team days at Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew when we were often asked to identify the canvas of bright blue starry flowered Chionodoxa forbesii on the triangular lawn near White Peaks cafe with Kew Palace as its backdrop. The path further along from this part of Kew is called Princess Walk where the early flowered Crocus tommasinianus reveal themselves in February. The cultivar we planted at Osterley the other week was ‘Ruby Giant’ which is described on the RHS website as having reddish purple flowers. The squirrels which frequent that part of the garden kept a close eye on our activities and I do hope they find plenty of other naturally available nourishment and do not unearth the treasures we buried.

Planting in the Winter Garden on 9 November included a ribbon of Stipa tenuissima between contrasting tufts of lower growing ornamental grasses, the crowns of which we cleared thoroughly of Field Bindweed, Convolvulus arvensis, as well as less pernicious weeds. In another section of the Winter Garden, other colleagues planted a drift of strap-leaved Hart’s Tongue ferns, Asplenium scolopendrium. Nearby several different species of dogwoods, Cornus, have shed most of their leaves revealing glossy stems shaded from orange-gold, crimson and purple through to almost black, demonstrating why this part of Osterley is a colourful and interesting area to visit throughout the winter months.

Weeds Roots & Leaves has refreshed a local back garden during three days’ work over the last few weeks and I planted three Cornus alba ‘Elegantissima’ in the 1.5 metre deep border I created at the rear of the site. I chose this cultivar both for its red stems in winter to contrast with the surrounding evergreen shrubs and for its cream edged leaves in spring and summer to bring an impression of dappled light into a shadier area of this largely sunny garden.

By coincidence a cultivar of another species of plant which is a dramatic feature of Osterley’s Winter Garden at this time of year turned up in a new client’s garden which I visited at the weekend in preparation for carrying out some seasonal maintenance work this week. Clematis cirrhosa ‘Freckles’ scrambles to the top of a tree in the central section of the Winter Garden forming a cloak of toothed foliage and pale yellow bell shaped flowers heavily speckled inside with maroon becoming a mass of silky seed-heads when the flowering has finished. While carrying out a quick inventory of the plants in the client’s garden we found, on the west-facing wall of the house, an exquisite specimen not unlike Osterley’s ‘Freckles’ but with more finely cut leaves and slightly less speckled flower interiors. After a short online search I identified this as C. cirrhosa var. balearica which is also known as fern-leaved clematis, an evergreen the interior of whose creamy flowers are spotted purple. I have read that the flowers are slightly fragrant and am looking forward to having a sniff when I start work at the site tomorrow.

Volunteering in the garden at Osterley is always very enjoyable and doubly so when it informs the work of Weeds Roots & Leaves. As well as planting ideas and shared knowledge about the poisonous properties of some plants, I am, for example, so grateful for the information about a couple of wholesale nurseries which I would have known nothing about without the generous recommendation of a fellow volunteer.

Very like a hedge

Being able to combine a love of plants with a love of words is for me one of the side benefits of gardening. Few weeks pass without my learning a new plant name, Discovering an expression for a hitherto unknown garden feature is a rarer occurrence, but this was my experience when leafing through a copy of Tim Newbury’s ‘Garden Design Bible’. In a section about planning a family garden I found an illustration of a ‘fedge’- a portmanteau word to describe a combined fence and hedge. Its purpose is to create a sturdy physical barrier where something more attractive than a plain fence is needed. The book suggests a variety of evergreens to plant alongside the wire netting fence, such a yew, Taxus baccata or Lonicera nitida, the tiny golden-leaved member of the honeysuckle genus whose appearance is more box than woodbine. Evergreen climbers, especially ivies, are recommended for tall narrow ‘fedges’ where ground space is limited.

A very substantial ‘fedge’ outside West Thames College in Isleworth: iron railings and privet

Discovering ‘fedge’ prompted me to research if there are other portmanteau words, where parts of multiple words are combined into a new word (think ‘smog’, ‘motel’ and, if you must, ‘Brexit’), in use in the horticultural world. This lead me to the practise of ‘permaculture’ which I confess I had heard of but not understood until this week. The word was coined in the 1970’s, as a marriage of ‘permanent agriculture’ and refers to any system of sustainable agriculture or horticulture that simulates features of natural ecosystems. One example of permaculture is where different layers of vegetation in a garden mimic nature and can be exploited to create a ‘food forest’. This might consist of up to seven recognised layers, with a canopy of tall trees at the upper level, descending through an understorey of lower, possibly fruit-bearing, trees, a shrub layer of berry bushes and a herbaceous layer of plants which die back in winter, including culinary and medicinal herbs. Beneath these four layers lie a ground cover layer which grows close to the ground and a ‘rhizosphere’ of roots within the soil which in the productive garden can include root crops and edible tubers, such as carrots and potatoes. The seventh layer is a vertical layer of climbers such as runner beans or vines. A panellist on the radio garden show ‘Gardeners’ Question Time’ broadcast on 9 November 2018 favoured this method of raising food crops above the conventional one or two layer allotment plot.

Perhaps a fine Quince tree such as this specimen at Osterley might form part of the understorey of fruit trees in a ‘food forest’?

I am two thirds of the way through freshening up a local back garden and two of the plants I have used in the planting scheme share the species epithet ending ‘oides‘. This means that the plants resemble another plant in some way and I suppose might be translated as ‘like’ or ‘ish’. The first of such plants is the evergreen climber Trachelospermum jasminoides, which I have planted near the house so that its jasmine-like scent will drift through the windows on summer evenings as well as perfuming the seating area around the rear of the property. One common name of the plant is intriguing: Confederate jasmine. Until I dug a little deeper I assumed it derived its name from the slavery supporting states in the American Civil War and imagined it entwining the classical pillars of southern plantation mansions such as Tara in ‘Gone with the Wind’. I understand it grows well in the southeastern states of the USA but because the plant originates in Southeast Asia, it is named for the confederacy of Malay states. The other common name of Star jasmine accurately describes the appearance of its waxy white five petalled flowers which contrast beautifully with the small glossy pointed leaves.

In the sunniest flowerbed in the garden I have underplanted a Ceanothus ‘Puget Blue’ with another ‘ish’ plant, Ceratostigma plumbaginoides. The intense blue flowers of this low-growing shrub, which appear in late summer, bear a resemblance to the flowers of the tender climber Plumbago. The common name of both plants is Leadwort but it does not seem to be known definitively whether this refers to their lead-blue flowers, the property of the sap which stains the skin a lead-blue hue or the belief of the Roman author and naturalist Pliny the Elder that leadwort cured lead poisoning. Whatever the derivation of Ceratostigma plumbaginoides‘s tongue-twister of a name it is ideal ground cover in sunny sites and noteworthy for the glorious reds and oranges of its deciduous leaves in autumn. Bill Neal’s ‘Gardener’s Latin’ recommends underplanting it with small bulbs which can flower while the leadwort is dormant in the early months of the year, the dying foliage of the bulbs then disguised by the little shrub’s emerging leaves. This advice pre-empts my agenda for next week’s session in the client’s garden when I plan to plant diminuitive Narcissus ‘Jet Fire’ in the bed in which I’ve put this anything but leaden plant.

Next time I report upon recent planting sessions at Osterley House and Gardens and reflect on my second professional gardening assignment.

Oh no, knot another weed!

In the 80’s, 90’s and noughties, when the author’s life was more ‘Reads Books & Deeds’ than ‘Weeds Roots & Leaves’, the nearest a property lawyer came to horticulture when acting in the purchase of a house, was to enquire of the seller’s solicitors if that large tree in the garden was the subject of a Tree Preservation Order. Since 2013 it is standard practice for the seller of a property to declare whether Japanese Knotweed*, Fallopia japonica, is present on the property in the Property Information Form. This means that it is the seller’s responsibility to check the garden for this invasive weed and if it is present to provide a management plan from a professional eradication company. Once a buyer’s solicitor has noted the presence of the weed when checking the form, and has notified the lender, the latter is likely to seek assurance that it will be eradicated, in the form of a management plan, before agreeing to fund the transition. Failure to disclose the presence of Japanese Knotweed or the lack of a management plan will delay the sale and increase the cost of the buying process or, the worst case scenario, give rise to a potential misrepresentation claim.

How has a plant introduced from the Far East in 1825 as a garden ornamental, and praised by innovative William Robinson in 1879 as ‘one of the finest herbaceous plants in cultivation’, developed a reputation as a possible property deal-breaker? Had Japanese Knotweed confined itself to the garden, the story would have ended here, but it escaped from gardens to establish colonies beside railway lines, waterways, roadsides and on waste land. By shielding lower growing species from light with its dense canopy it obliterates local native vegetation and its fallen leaves form a dense mulch to suppress the growth of any incipient seedlings. In the UK it spreads not by seed but by a huge rhizome system, impervious to many herbicides and needing a saw to sever the rhizomes. I can understand why our gardening forebears liked this plant- it has an attractive and exotic appearance with up to 2 metre tall bamboo-like stems speckled purple, heart shaped leaves about 15cm long and sprays of small white flowers. It would fill a shady corner very satisfactorily were it not for its thuggish tendencies.

As well as competing with native species, it contributes to river bank erosion and increases the risk of flooding. In a residential or commercial property context, it can cause structural damage by forcing itself through paving and concrete foundations. Indeed under the Environmental Protection Act 1990 Japanese Knotweed is classified as controlled waste. This means that a property owner must prevent it from spreading into the wild and causing ecological damage. If it discovered on a property it does not have to be removed but the property owner can be prosecuted for allowing it to spread onto someone else’s property and will understandably wish to find a satisfactory means of control. The bad news is that such means are both drastic and expensive. A few examples follow:

Spraying, over a course of at least three years, with chemicals that are approved herbicides, until the underground rhizomes become dormant.
Burying the waste at a depth of at least five metres (!), having first sought the approval of the Environment Agency.
Arranging for the waste to be carried off-site by a registered waste carrier to be taken to an authorised landfill site.

Needless to say, bio-security precautions are essential when dealing with this species and tools, boots and gloves require thorough cleaning and disinfecting after handling Japanese Knotweed to prevent pieces of plant material escaping and forming a new problem-laden clump. One recommendation I have read for how to deal with Japanese Knotweed is to move house! In light of the issues I have mentioned during the conveyancing process this may be easier said than done.

Before I move onto a more positive member of the knotweed family, I have seen the damage that an invasive plant can do to a building. In this case not Japanese Knotweed but the Tree of Heaven, Ailanthus altissima, whose roots had penetrated the foundations of a local church at the point where the wall of the building met the neighbouring path. I saw the plant material growing between the floor tiles inside the church! The tree, which was beautiful but unsuitable for planting so close to a building, has now been removed, but only after a protracted negotiation with the local authority.

Japanese Knotweed is a member of the knotweed family, Polygonaceae, which also contains the genus Persicaria. I planted a species of this plant in my garden earlier this year and I believe it is Persicaria amplexicaulis, or red bistort, I rescued it (with permission) from the ‘muddy clumps’ heap near the gardeners’ bothy at Osterley, a sort of holding area where discarded plant material is put before the garden team decide whether to compost it or use it for propagation. Although it did not flower until September, it put on a lot of vegetative growth during the summer, and has withstood a couple of overnight frosts and is still going strong this first week of November. The Royal Horticultural Society describe the plant as a robust, clump-forming, semi-evergreen perennial. All good qualities but I anticipate it might one day grow too large for this small garden. In the meantime I shall enjoy its narrow spires of reddish pink flowers atop a crown of pointed mid green leaves measuring 25cm with a slightly puckered appearance.

I am charmed by the idea that Persicaria hails from the Himalayas and can imagine it forming an understorey for Rhododendrons and Camellias on the mountains’ lower slopes. Quite a leap to a suburban garden, but the same can be said for many of our now familiar garden plants which originated thousands of miles away. And it reassuring to know that not all the plants under the knotweed ‘umbrella’ create a headache for the conveyancer.

Useful information about Japanese Knotweed and how to control it and dispose of it can be found at gov.uk and at RHS

Weeds Roots & Leaves is out front

I completed my first professional gardening project a week ago. The site, a local front garden, is already hard-landscaped to a high standard, with a Cotswold stone chip parking area bordered with brick edged paving. My brief was to soften the harsher lines of the space and provide an elegant feature to either side of the front window of the house. The existing layout includes a long rectangular border from street to house, a blank canvas save for a shaggy 2.5 metre high Yew shrub near the front door.

Having carried out a thorough weed and leaf clearing exercise and applied and dug in topsoil and well rotted manure to the border, I lopped a couple of feet off the Yew and clipped it to as boxy a shape as possible. This instantly created a focal point at the house end of the border.

I’ve always admired the airy lightness of Nandina domestica, Sacred Bamboo, which isn’t a true bamboo and has none of that genus’s invasive tendencies. It is a member of the Berberis family. The smallish leaflets have a pronounced tip and possess the photogenic ability to suspend water droplets in a similar fashion to Alchemilla mollis, Lady’s Mantle.

There is an extensive stand of these evergreen shrubs in Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew’s Bamboo Garden, surrounding the Japanese silk weaver’s dwelling, the Minka House. These have reached a height of about 1.5 metres and demonstrate the shrub’s quality of creating a screen without the density of traditional hedging species.

Sprays of white flowers in summer followed by red berries are further appealing features. Four waist height specimens filled the border satisfactorily, with space between them in this season for white ‘winter bedding’ Cyclamen planted in groups of three. I continued the white and green theme with a scattering of Muscari armeniacum ‘Venus’ bulbs along the length of the border.

I sourced a recycled plastic range, ECOPOTS, ecopots.eu, for the three containers for the remainder of the planting scheme. These are high quality, beautifully finished and surprisingly weighty and their mid-grey shade is a good foil for evergreen foliage. Rather than opt for the predictable pyramids of Bay, Laurus nobilis, to fill the tall square-tapered containers to either side of the window, I chose a handsome alternative, Prunus lusitanica ‘Angustifolia’, Portuguese Laurel, which has striking burgundy stems. It will require shaping in coming seasons.

The final space to be filled on the site was a very shady corner behind a low wall facing the street, overhang with a neighbour’s Magnolia. I needed a solution which will in due course screen the dustbin and recycling boxes and which will tolerate the lowish light levels. I found it in the heft and strong structure of a Fatsia japonica with a speckled variegated leaf, the cultivar ‘Spider’s Web’. The white veins of the leaf patterning lighten a potentially gloomy corner. Here I used a large circular container in ECOPOTS’ Amsterdam range.

I was fortunate in my first assignment in having a straightforward site, a few streets from home with clients prepared to host my first professional venture. May it be the first of many projects for Weeds Roots & Leaves.

Buckets, buttons and St Brigid

Embedded in the heart of one of the quadrants of the ornamental vegetable garden at Osterley, I temporarily lose sight of the bucket into which I am putting the debris from this afternoon’s task. We are deadheading dahlias and pulling out Solanum nigrum, Black Nightshade. I have a vision of this large bed in December- its current plenty reduced to blackened stalks by frost, ready to be cleared away and the bed rotated. Standing in its centre, like the proverbial sore thumb, is a large plastic bucket full of rotting vegetation. My excuse for mislaying the bucket is that very plenty. Towering around me are Canna Lilies, some of whose vivid yellow and orange flowers have developed into seed-cases containing the black pea-sized seeds which give the plant its common name of Indian Shot. The red and yellow remnants of Mina lobata, Spanish Flag, cling to the large wigwam constructed from hazel poles. I remember a crisp day last winter in the park when we gardening volunteers graded into separate piles the hazel trunks and stems coppiced by the ranger team. Spanish Flag can be grown from seed and is a colourful annual climber for a sunny position.

From my position in the centre of this sea of plants I can see a tall Nicotiana, with creamy greenish bells clustered in a spire above large green leaves, the scale of which are a reminder of its cousin, Walter Raleigh’s tobacco plant. Clear pink Zinnia heads clash (in a good way) with the bright orange flowers of the Mexican Sunflower, Tithonia rotundifolia, whose flowers resemble the form of the Zinnias. There are fewer flowers than a month ago when they were a magnet for bumble bees.

The feathery claret flowers of Amaranthus wave throughout the bed, busily seeding themselves and eliciting enquiries from curious garden visitors. The ‘pseudo-grain’ produced from Amaranth resembles Quinoa, source of both protein and pronunciation debates.

Relieved to rediscover the elusive bucket, I continue to pull up the shallow rooted Black Nightshade which is doing its best to choke the surrounding plants by sending up stems closely packed together which entwine their victim. It is identified by small white flowers and glossy black fruits, and seems to grow at an alarming rate. Despite its sinister name, I have read that the berries are barely toxic and in some parts of India are regarded as a delicacy (William Edmonds’ ‘Weeds Weeding (& Darwin)’). On the subject of sinister plants, Ricinus communis, with its dark Burgundy hand-shaped leaves, provides a brooding contrast to the cheerful hues of the other plants in this bed. The seeds of the Castor Oil Plant are the source of the deadly poison Ricin.

Within touching distance are the large yellow dahlia blooms I am meant to be deadheading- carefully avoiding the tight buttoned buds and snipping off only the stems supporting the pointed (and confusingly bud-like) spent flowers, their inner petals still visible.

This morning we had the pleasurable job of planting tubers and bulbs for next spring. Into the front of ‘Dickie’s Border’, named for a long-time Osterley gardener, we planted the bizarrely shaped dark brown tubers of Anemone coronaria (of which more later). The central sections of Mrs Child’s Flower Garden were the locations for clusters of tulip bulbs, in my case ‘Couleur Cardinal’, which is a traditionally shaped Triumph tulip whose purple flowers open to bright scarlet as the flower matures.

Before finishing for the day, gardener Ed takes us to the cutting garden to see a row of the species of Anemone we had planted earlier in the day, which has confusingly started to flower this autumn. The label reads ‘St Brigid mixed’. The cerise, white and purple flowers are double with an almost shredded appearance around a dark purple stamens and ovary structure. I leave Osterley intrigued to have discovered a group of Anemone cultivars developed in Ireland and named after a saint The Penguin Dictionary of Saints describes as revered in Ireland ‘only less than St Patrick himself’! I haven’t been able to identify why this name was chosen. The saint’s feast day, 1 February, is too early to coincide with even a prematurely flowering specimen. Whatever the reason, St Brigid’s namesakes are undoubtedly pretty and I shall be looking out for those we planted when they flower next spring.

From Russia with love: St Petersburg Botanical Garden and how a tropical beauty got its name

When I visit a city abroad I try, if possible, to visit the botanical garden. I am lucky enough to live less than a mile from arguably the world’s finest botanical garden, the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew. Inevitably I draw comparisons with Kew when I go to other gardens, but it’s always fascinating to see, for example, how plants are arranged in their plant families, the standard of horticulture and the method of communicating the garden’s message to its visitors.

In May this year I travelled to St Petersburg in Russia and went to two very different gardens. I shall tell you about the gardens at the Tsars’ summer palace at Peterhof in a future blog post. Today it is St Petersburg’s Botanical Garden I would like to introduce to you and, more especially, to a plant associated with it. The garden is located to the north of the city centre, on Aptekarskiy or Apothecary’s Island, one of the many islands which make up this unique and grandly imperial city. The island is named after the medicinal herb gardens founded by Peter the Great in 1714.

The approach to the gardens from the Metro station is along streets lined with turn of the (19th) century apartment buildings, the last stage of the walk being alongside a canal. I confess that my overall impression of the garden was not favourable. I should mention that the weather was unusually hot and dry for mid May, so inevitably the flower beds looked dusty and droughty. But what I found sad was that, unlike the lavishly restored and maintained visitor attractions we had been to, not least The Hermitage and its annexe, The General Staff Building, this seems to be a site which has yet to receive an injection of cash to bring it up to world class standard. Admittedly, we arrived too late in the afternoon to join one of the guided tours of some of the 25 glasshouses, and had we done so I might be giving the garden a more positive review. What I did find impressive was the alpine area where different species of silky haired Pulsatilla nestle in the crevices of the rocks and the Japanese garden featuring a traditional tea-house facing a pond edged with Azaleas. Near the main entrance to the garden stands the Herbarium which is housed in an impressive three storey building, built in Art Nouveau style or Style-Moderne as it is known in Russia.

It wasn’t until last month, when I explored Kew’s Tropical Nursery during London’s annual Open House weekend, for the two days of which buildings usually closed to the public open their doors, that I discovered a link to St Petersburg’s Cinderella of a botanical garden. This was a rare opportunity to see the organisation’s conservation work in practice, where specialist horticulturists help to bring critically endangered species back from the brink of extinction. There are several different zones in the nursery, where the heating and lighting are adapted to particular plant families, for example ferns, orchids and cacti. On a table outside the Bromeliad section, my eye was drawn to plants native to the South American rainforests, Neoregelia, and a sign noting that the genus is named for Eduard von Regel (1815-1892), director of St Petersburg Botanical Gardens from 1875 until his death. I couldn’t help thinking that he might be saddened to see the garden in which he worked for so many years in its current slightly down at heel state. Not so these magnificent plants with their broad, rather flat leaves which are often brightly coloured in greens and reds with banding or striping. The other striking feature of the plant is the reservoir of water which collects in a shallow depression in the centre of the plant, and through which the flower rosette blooms. There are numerous specimens of this spectacular plant growing in the central zone of Kew Gardens’ Princess of Wales Conservatory.

Readers of an earlier blog post (12 December 2017) where I wrote about the quirky and apparently cantankerous Miss Ellen Willmott, will have noted my interest in the personalities behind names of plants. In his obituary in the journal Nature, the German born Eduard von Regel was described as ‘learned and genial’. I hope that one day his garden will be restored to its former glory and in the meantime his name lives on in the name of a beautiful tropical plant.

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?

East meets west, in the west: Sezincote

On the last day of August this year, I visited a unique house and garden in the Cotswolds. From the main road, the A44, the tree-lined drive conceals the extraordinary sight of Sezincote House until its final bend. The grand honey coloured Cotswold stone house is crowned by an Indian style dome and decorated on the four corners of its roof by smaller domes. Peacock tail inspired window surrounds grace the front facade and the Indian theme was reinforced by a classic Ambassador car parked at the front door decorated with flowers in preparation for a wedding at the property the following day.

The garden also contains several Eastern features, the first to be encountered by a visitor being the Indian Bridge at the entrance to which stands the ticket kiosk. The bridge is decorated with kneeling Brahmin cattle sculptures, metal replicas of the Coadestone originals, the manufacturer’s name legible on each plinth. The bridge spans the area of the garden known as The Thornery, an extensive water garden. This descends in a series of pools and streams from a circular pool in front of a small temple dedicated to the Hindu god Surya down to the Island Pool, beyond which real cattle graze in the surrounding meadows. Immediately beneath the bridge and reached by a narrow path, a series of rectangular stepping stones lead you to the Snake Pool, in the centre of which stands a serpent entwined column.

The damp environment of the banks of the streams and less formal pools encourage plants such as Hosta sieboldiana, Rodgersias and Alchemilla mollis to thrive, their contrasting green shades, leaf shapes and structures providing interest at the water’s edge. The lawns to either side of the stream are planted with rare specimen trees and shrubs including three stately Cedars of Lebanon (Cedrus libani). Hydrangeas feature here as do two species of hazel: the ‘wriggly nut’ Corylus avellana ‘Contorta’ and the purple nut Corylus maxima ‘Purpurea’. Late summer afternoon sunshine highlighted the tiered branches of the wedding cake tree, Cornus controversa, which has been given adequate space in which to extend its graceful limbs.

The artfully ‘natural’ planting of The Thornery contrasts with the formality of the Persian Garden to the south of the house. In keeping with the design principles of the paradise garden, this area consists of four quadrants, created by a waterlily filled canal intersected by paths lined with Irish yew columns (Taxus baccata ‘Fastigiata’). At the centre of the quadrant sits a raised octagonal pond. A life-like pair of Asian elephant sculptures placed at the end of the canal have something of Disney’s Animal Kingdom about them. Beyond these beasts a steep slope rises towards woodland beyond the garden.

The Sezincote guidebook contains a beautiful photograph of the garden showing brightly coloured autumn foliage beyond the bridge. A good season in which to return perhaps?

Next time I plan which spring bulbs to buy for containers and observe some bulbs which flower in autumn.

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