Comment
The Garden, RHS Media, Churchgate, New Road, Peterborough PE1 1TT
l e t t e r f rom t h e e d i to r
expressions of interest
Editor of The Garden, Chris Young
RHS / Tim Sandall
If you get together a group of 20 gardeners
in a room and ask them for their favourite
plants, you are likely to get 20 different
answers. The same applies if you ask for their
favourite garden, the most interesting book
they have read, or their views on pesticides.
It is this great diversity in outlook, experience
and ability that, it seems to me, is at the heart
of our horticultural world.
With the redesign of The Garden in
September 2011, we were keen to embrace a
wide range of writers, opinion and topics. This
ethos has continued ever since; one particular
area where it is well represented is in the Comment section. Our
regular writers – Nigel Colborn, Mary Keen and Lia Leendertz – have
been crucial in expanding the breadth of subjects, sharing personal
views and varied experiences through superb writing. Their collective
ability to examine the gardening and horticultural landscape has
been much valued, and I thank them for having been such a
dynamic and essential part of the magazine.
But change is important, and this month we
welcome new diarists and columnists. Plants­
man and RHS Woody Plant Committee member
John Grimshaw (p17), and garden photographer
and writer Nicola Stocken (p21), are this month’s
new faces; in future look for Alan Gray, owner of
East Ruston Old Vicarage in Norfolk, and keen
fruit and vegetable grower Sally Nex. These
passionate writers will share their beliefs and
observations with you this year. We continue
to enjoy diarist Helen Dillon’s personal plant
profiles; Lia Leendertz will now write about
topics beyond the garden boundary; while city gardeners Penelope
Bennett and Daniela Blomeley (based in London and Manchester
respectively) will alternately give their take on urban gardening.
This will make 2015 a stimulating and at times, I hope, a challenging
read. As ever, I welcome your views on what our writers say and look
forward to receiving your letters and emails.
The conifers, however, caught our eye… best of all, the conifer I had long wished to see,
Balfour’s spruce… Roy Lancaster’s Plant Encounters (pp40–41)
f rom m y ga r de n
Winter greens like no other
RHS / Jane Sebire
Author: Helen Dillon, gardener with a sheltered garden in Dublin, Republic of Ireland
RHS / Carol Sheppard
My landscape architect friend only likes a particular green – a plain
mid-green. Not for him the blue-mauve green of Rosa glauca nor the
yellow-green of Choisya ternata Sundance (‘Lich’), and as for anything
variegated, they’re a no-no. I agree that a beautiful, simple matt green,
especially in winter, like that of Fatsia polycarpa, seems appropriate.
Bleddyn Wynn-Jones (of Crûg Farm Plants) found this tropical-looking
woody plant with striking leaves at high altitude in Taiwan, growing in woodland shade among a lush fern
carpet. Here in Dublin, my plant, now 3m (10ft) tall, thrives in heavy shade. Apparently this member of the
aralia family (related to ivy) tolerates −20°c (−4°f) and is tougher than F. japonica. Why don’t we all grow it?
And while I’m about it, what about Phillyrea latifolia? It is a wonderful evergreen, with cheerful, rich
shining leaves reflecting the winter sun, labouring under the unfortunate common name of mock privet.
Much admired and widely grown in the 18th century, now you rarely see it. It isn’t fussy about soil and
appears to be resistant to honey fungus (mine is growing in the very spot where I dug out a victim of
this distressing disease) and is good for topiary. OK, it can grow big (6 x 3m / 20 x 10ft), but it is slow
and likes regular clipping. After all, just think of all the standard bay trees languishing in small pots on
smart doorsteps – if you let them out they’d be up to 9m (30ft) the moment you looked the other way.
Fatsia polycarpa
January 2015 | The Garden
15
Comment
ov e rw i n t e r i n g s t e m s
standing tall
Yorkshire-based plantsman John Grimshaw is a new columnist for The Garden
RHS / Neil Hepworth
What is your position on leaving
stems standing in winter? The
case for letting perennials and
ornamental grasses stand has
been made by designers and
ecofriendly gardeners over the
past few years, and both have
a valid point. Insects and other
invertebrates find a home among
last year’s stems and old leaves,
and there is no doubt about the
beauty of hoar frost and misty
moisture on the sere stems and
seedheads of many plants.
Against these good points
must be set the negatives: an
increasingly untidy, desolate
look to haunt the dank days of
winter – and for every ladybird
there must be dozens of aphids.
My position is conflicted.
Although clever designers,
working with a limited palette and with this purpose in mind,
can successfully construct great borders and whole gardens for
winter-stem effect, in my small cottage garden I am not
prepared to forego the diversity of plants that have no structural
aftermath. There is nothing beautiful about a dahlia once the
frost has had it. Nor do I want to leave early-flowering plants
standing all summer, looking shabby for the rest of the year.
Layers of spring interest
I plant in layers, for a garden that gives colour and interest from
February to its autumnal peak, so if I don’t cut back before
Christmas, emerging bulbs are likely to get damaged by my size
11s. Razing the tops of perennials means I can see their emerging
shoots, an overlooked pleasure of spring.
On the other hand, I welcome the beauty and interest of
perennial stems alongside the evergreen shrubs that give
my garden its year-round backbone. So how do I get round this
dilemma? Most importantly, in late autumn I clear anything
that is ugly or charmless with immediate effect. The garden
looks kempt again, and the standing stems which remain show
up uncluttered. They are left there
until they collapse, when it is easy to
cut down individual clumps.
Odd tufts dotted here and there
can look strange, so it helps to have
a range of plants with persistent
stems, and to grow several together
to achieve a more solid appearance.
Connecting visually along my main
border is a selection of grasses:
densely flowered Deschampsia
cespitosa ‘Goldtau’; Miscanthus
sinensis ‘Yakushima Dwarf’
stands about a metre high (taller
ones would be out of scale in
this situation); a Molinia towers
up in a firework of golden stems
– though these tend to collapse
early; and my favourite,
Calamagrostis x acutiflora
‘Overdam’. It performs superbly
all year; in winter its strawcoloured stems stay upright for
as long as you leave them.
Perennials with
woody plants
With the Calamagrostis I’ve
placed Nepeta kubanica, whose
seedheads turns from purplish
to silvered grey, and on the
other side is Eryngium agavifolium, its dark, clustered knobs
contrasting with the grass. Paired with the Miscanthus is hybrid
Aruncus ‘Horatio’; it flowers in June but its russet seed capsules
are held on stiff stems up to 1.5m (5ft) tall most of the winter,
and go well with the silvery Miscanthus plumes – or as a
contrasting shape to the rounded heads of Monarda (I like
‘Prärienacht’ or ‘Scorpion’).
The dark, stiff heads produced by Veronicastrum are a classic
but need a light background, which could come from association
with Artemisia lactiflora ‘Jim Russell’ as it morphs into silver
heads as winter approaches. With Veronicastrum virginicum
‘Fascination’, the flowering pairing is superb, too.
A particularly effective grouping is Eupatorium maculatum
Atropurpureum Group emerging over the evergreen dome of
Euphorbia x pasteurii, with Deschampsia in front. There is a lot
of scope for associating standing perennial stems with shrubs,
but it’s something I’ve seldom seen. Imagine the beauty of a
stream of silver Miscanthus plumes among a stand of Cornus
sanguinea ‘Anny’s Winter Orange’, perhaps backed by the spikes
of Lythrum virgatum or a good Monarda, with a bold Bergenia
along the front. For me, standing
stems of some perennials are an
added attraction, to be retained if
appropriate, but not at the cost of
my spring displays. But designers
appear to run on defined tracks: you
may have perennials, or you may
have Cornus, but never together it
seems, and that’s a pity.
‘…in my small cottage garden
I am not prepared to forego
the diversity of plants that
have no structural aftermath.’
January 2015 | The Garden
17
Urba n gardener
RHS / Neil Hepworth
the death and life
of a fig tree
London-based Penelope Bennett on the
pleasure of gardening in a small space
I don’t have a garden (what a promising start
to a column for this magazine), but I do have
a 2.5 x 5m (8 x 16ft) roof garden in central
London. I wouldn’t be inconsolable if half of it was confiscated.
The smaller the space, the more you see, smell and taste.
If I happened to own Sissinghurst Castle Garden, I might
never have noticed the mysterious behaviour of my Ficus
carica (common fig) tree which has lived happily (I hope) in a
pot for 10 years until last summer, when its hand-like leaves
started fingering the air rheumatically while turning yellow
before taking leave of the tree. Then the figlets dropped,
leaving only the skeletal branches.
Hoping that Ficus carica wasn’t clairvoyant, I guiltily
wondered with what I might replace her. A few months later
the ends of several branches developed arrow-like tips as well
as sago-sized figs. Ficus carica had become Ficus Lazarus.
✤ One of the most enjoyable gardening presents to both give
and receive is a potato-growing kit. Although December is the
month to order one, January is not too late. I like the Gourmet
Patio Growing Kit which has three planters and nine tubers:
‘Casablanca’, ‘Anya’ and ‘Rooster’. Even if I didn’t have a roof
garden I would grow them on a balcony or windowsill.
18
The Garden | January 2015
Please send your
comments to:
The Garden,
RHS Media,
Churchgate,
New Road,
Peterborough
PE1 1TT or email
thegarden@rhs.
org.uk (please
include your
postal address).
Letters may be
edited for
publication.
Gloves on?
Rosemary Arthur’s remarks about wearing
gloves for gardening (Letters, November
2014, p16) prompted me to write. There is
a romantic notion that getting your hands
in the soil is a pleasure that puts you in
contact with nature, but nature can be
harsh. Gardening is tough on hands – skin
becomes calloused, scratched and split.
It can be difficult to get your hands properly
clean and to get soil from under the nails.
Suburban gardens are also often
contaminated with cat faeces, which is not
only extremely unpleasant, but it carries
dangerous diseases. I am a professional
gardener, but I always wear gloves to protect
my hands and my health.
Graham Wright, Vale of Glamorgan
An artists’ garden
Caroline Beck’s feature on the ceramicist
Gordon Cooke’s garden (The Garden,
November 2014, pp57–59) brought to my
mind the garden of Patricia Jones, who used
to live next door to me. She was passionate
about gardening and spent many hours
tending her garden. Pat and her garden were
a constant inspiration to me and the many
passers-by who she talked to. It was full of
her artworks, which you would catch
glimpses of as you moved around the
garden (below). She loved to tell the stories
about various paving, stonework and
objects. Pat died in 2013 but she, and her
garden, have left a lasting impression.
Katharine Wall, Bristol
Patricia Jones’ Bristol garden was an
inspiration to many – filled with
her art as well as plants.
Diospyros kaki ‘Fuyu’
Memories of war
and gardening
✤ In remembering staff from
the Royal Botanic Garden
Edinburgh killed in the First
World War (The Garden,
November 2014, pp48–49),
Roy Lancaster discussed
Sir Isaac Bayley Balfour,
who was my father’s great
uncle. Sir Isaac’s son,
Bay, was killed in the
Dardanelles in 1915 while
serving with the Royal
Scots. This sadness could
be why Sir Isaac gave up
naming plants after his
staff – he just lost heart.
On a lighter note, the Bayley Balfours lived
in Inverleith House, within Edinburgh’s Royal
Botanic Garden – during the First World War,
Agnes Bayley Balfour kept a cow on the
lawn by the house. She distributed packs
of butter and jars of cream to all the young
relations in Edinburgh as she thought they
weren’t getting enough good nourishment
– my father remembers this fondly.
Elizabeth Salvesen, Midlothian
✤ Ambra Edwards (The Garden, November
2014, pp61–64) reminded me of a time
during the late 1980s when I rode my
penny-farthing with 16 other riders from
Land’s End and St Ives, Cornwall to raise
money for Macmillan nurses. On one
occasion when we left our bicycles for
the night at Lanhydrock
House, we were given tea
and a tour of the house,
including the room of the
late Captain Thomas AgarRoberts, as it was left when
he departed for France that
final time. On a table to one
side of his desk was his case
that had been returned after
he lost his life; it was a
moving experience.
Stanley Joseph Clark,
Northampton
On side with the weeds
Andrew O’Brien (Comment, November
2014, p21) made an interesting argument
for weeds – but what is a weed? Greater
celandine (Chelidonium majus) is a medi­
cinal plant, but those growing near my
compost are weeds. And lupins? Grown in
herbaceous borders, but in summer a
neglected space in my home town has many
blooms, sown by the wind. Weeds? The local
community wants that neglected area to be
tidy, so everything is cut annually with a
huge machine. This creates a no-man’s-land
which is being prevented from being natural.
My own piece of nature is a fairly
Poisonous plants
Some years ago, inspired by an article
by Roy Lancaster about his own garden
(The Garden, December 2010, pp832–835),
I bought some Aconitum japonicum plants.
This year they had become too large so I
moved them. Shortly afterwards, I read about
a gardener who died from organ failure
after handling these plants without gloves.
They are often sold without
warnings and I have several
y
– can you clarify the
nd
dangers of these
beautiful plants?
Anita Hasler,
Oxfordshire
✤ Jenny Bowden,
RHS Horticultural
Advisor, replies:
‘Aconitum is a highly
poisonous plant which
must be treated with respect
and caution. It is widely planted,
including here at RHS Garden Wisley,
Surrey. Untoward incidents are rare and
generally involve ingestion of material.
It is not certain that Aconitum caused the
tragedy as reported in the news but it is
difficult to rule out.
‘All plants, unless known to be edible,
should be assumed to be potentially
harmful – and care taken to limit contact
and to undertake basic hygiene measures
such as hand washing. It is wise to wear
gloves when handling Aconitum. Children
and pets are at more risk and plant
fragments should not be left where they
might be available for inadvertent
consumption or contact.’
cu
My favourite garden view is from my upstairs
back window. It is the place I am best
reminded that my garden is not an island:
head down between the hedges and fences and it can feel like
a whole world of its own. But from up here I have a view: no far
reaching cityscape or countryside vista, but an equally
pleasing wide ribbon of green, stretching up and down the
road, comprising a patchwork of back gardens.
I can see from here that, to the birds and the insects, these
gardens are all one: a smorgasbord of nutritious berries,
sheltering hedges, wood piles, birdfeeders, trees and flowers,
a corridor pointing – rather handily in my case – in the direction
of the local park. These accidental green corridors that run
between rows of houses are a special thing, far richer even
than the larger open spaces that they help link together.
It is only the little mammals that are cut off by our love of
fences from all this corridor joy, and I resolve to make little
discrete gaps in those of my fences that aren’t already entirely
decrepit, as soon as I can bring myself to step fully out into the
cold again. Even if the weather is grim, you can pop your head
out of your own upstairs back window today, and appreciate
your little patch’s contribution to the network of vital ribbons
of green that crisscross our cities.
do you
agree?
More than 50 fruit ripened on
our Diospyros kaki ‘Fuyu’
(persimmon) plant last year.
Advice differs, but clearly no
cross-pollinator is needed.
Grown on a south-facing house
wall, its fruit is delicious and the
autumn colour is also superb.
Roger Clark and
Chie Nakatani, Devon
✤ Guy Barter, RHS Chief
Horticultural Advisor, replies:
‘The brilliant autumn display
from these plants is a point
often overlooked. This parti­
cular Chinese persimmon
(‘Fuyu’) is self-fertile – usually
growers use female trees with
male trees for pollination. I
expect your fruits to be seed­
less, but if a male tree grows
nearby they might set seeds.’
li
Lia Leendertz looks outward
from her Bristol garden
letters
Interesting fruit
/a
kirstie young
Take a view of the
bigger picture
undis­turbed woodland that I hesitate to call
a garden. I co-operate with the wilderness,
planting what blends well with things that
were there before the house. Bluebells
planted by my great grandmother prompted
a neighbour with a ‘real’ garden to say ‘those
are weeds!’. Not to me. I side with the weeds.
Charlotte Klingberg, Sweden
rhs
B e yo n d T h e b o u n da ry
Comment
From rhs.org.uk
✤ For a list of potentially harmful garden
plants and what to do if there is a problem,
search ‘Harmful plants’ at www.rhs.org.uk
✤ Find out about growing interesting
fruit, such as medlars and quinces, at:
www.rhs.org.uk/growyourown
January 2015 | The Garden
19
Comment
peopl e
De sign ru l e s
In her new column for The Garden, photographer
Nicola Stocken marvels at kindred spirits
Writer Nick Turrell is fascinated how good gardens
come to mind again and again… and again
Time is precious, and
gardeners give of theirs
unstintingly, not only to the
plants they tend, but also to
other gardeners. Many of the
gardeners I meet are bighearted souls, freely sharing
their gardens, their plants
and their horticultural
know-how. Theirs is a
generosity of spirit that
derives as much from being
in touch with nature as from the joy of sharing and giving.
Plants are living gifts that constantly give pleasure for
years, and I doubt any gardener has not enjoyed these
gifts, whether it is a cutting handed over the garden
fence or a plant that has been admired in another’s
garden, divided and shared on the spot. These offerings
are often prized just as much for the memories of the
donor as their appeal as plants.
In my garden, there is a wedding cake tree (Cornus
controversa ‘Variegata’) given as a tiny sapling by the
great plantsman Keith Wiley; a Chinese foxglove; a pink
auricula; vintage violas; and a flouncy double hellebore
named Boris after its octogenarian breeder. And my most
cherished snowdrop, Galanthus ‘Cowhouse Green’,
arrived ‘in the green’ in a brown envelope, a surprise gift
from the nurseryman who saw this snowdrop being
photographed by me, while lying on the icy ground as
prostrate as a hellebore after a sharp frost.
It is wonderfully fitting that a David Austin rose named
Rosa The Generous Gardener (‘Ausdrawn’) commemorates
the 75th anniversary of the National Gardens Scheme. This
charity relies totally on the generosity of its fundraisers
who welcome scores of total strangers to their garden
open days. An Englishman’s home may be his castle, but
these gardeners keep their drawbridges forever down.
Of course, there are limits to their hospitality. I heard of
one garden owner who rebuked a visitor for appropriating
cuttings, only to be treated to a shrug of Gallic proportions.
In another case, a visitor caught rifling through the
raspberries was dressed down by the local matriarch.
Feisty and fun, these pillars of their communities often
run the horticultural societies, shows and village fêtes.
Acts of kindness abound in gardening. Once, on
visiting a garden after illness, I was plied with tea and
home-made macaroons. On returning home, I found a
bag of macaroons secreted in my camera bag. They were
worthy of an Award of Garden Merit.
‘What makes a garden
memorable?’ is a question
we could all ask ourselves,
especially if you open yours
to the public. It could mean
the difference between
visitors coming just once or
time and again.
This is where the old
debate about gardens and
art comes in. If you see your
garden as an art form, rather
than outdoor housekeeping, you’ll get repeat viewings.
The greatest gardens, those that we remember best, use a
clever device that has been known for decades, and not
just to garden designers.
The ‘art’ of writing a great speech, for example, is some­
thing gardeners could learn from. The master speechwriter
uses various ways to ensure their words stick in the
memory – the most powerful of which is repetition.
‘We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the
landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in
the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never
surrender,’ Churchill told the House of Commons in
June 1940. Had his speech said the same thing without
repetition it would not have been so memorable.
Creating a beautiful garden is like crafting a good speech:
both must perform to an audience. Successful repetition
in a garden context can be just as memorable. But what
about the negative image repetition has? In conversation
we dread the idea that we might be repeating ourselves.
Fear not. If recent events are anything to go by, we have a
surprising tolerance for it. Last summer Monty Python
delighted hundreds of thousands at The O2 in London
with sketches we had all heard before. If it’s interesting,
we want to experience it again.
Perhaps repetition runs deeper than we think. Maybe
it is even fundamental to our psyche. When you were a
child did you ask for a different bedtime story every night
or was it your favourite one, over and over? We take
comfort and enjoyment from such repetition.
Repetition in a garden provides structure, flow and
impact. A memorable planting composition, carefully
placed around a few times, pulls the whole scheme
together. But don’t overdo it. No more than three times.
Once is an event, twice is a pattern; it’s the third time that
it sinks in. These aspects will ‘frame’ the memory the
visitor has of your garden and, if you can do that, they
will come back for more. Again and again.
Jeanette Sunderland
am I repeating
myself?
RHS / Neil hepworth
the generous
gardener
January 2015 | The Garden
21