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Knifophias: their rise and fall…and rise and fall…

Thursday, July 28th, 2011

It’s always fascinating to chart the progress of plant fashions. Some plants that have been quietly growing away in a few gardens are suddenly swept up in a horticultural fervour to become everyone’s must-grow of the season. Others, once favoured, are cast aside and occasionally banished altogether from all “fashionable” gardens, sometimes to be entirely lost to generations of future gardeners, or else kept alive only by a faithful few, waiting for their moment to return to centre stage.

Kniphofia uvaria - where it all began, with the familiar Red Hot Poker.

Kniphofias, commonly known as Torch Lilies, are a prime example, and these exotic, African, summer-flowering Lily relatives have had more than their fare share of rises and falls in the fashion stakes. Kniphofia uvaria – the classic Red Hot Poker – is a native of South Africa that was originally introduced into European horticulture in Victorian times. The huge stems, reaching to nearly 2 metres in height to bear the vividly coloured flowers, were quite the sensation back in the late 1800′s, and the plants were highly sought after, fitting easily into the Victorian gardening passion for all things exotic.  However coming, as they do, from relatively arid regions, these Pokers could not be grown alongside other prized hot-house exotica, and the plants were, in any event, quite hardy enough to live in outdoors, so they were duly planted out in front gardens and amongst borders.

Kniphofia 'Shining Sceptre' - one of the new generation of hybrids.

Once integrated into general garden planting schemes their inherent showiness started to divide contemporary garden writers, many of whom found them vulgar, coarse and brash. All too soon the Poker’s star was on the wane, and throughout the first half of the 20th century they were not thought fit for planting at all as the passion for recreating the traditional English cottage garden came to the fore. But this was just their first ride on the roller-coaster of fashion. By the 1960′s pop culture was beginning to have a dramatic effect on gardening tastes, and the big, brash Red Hot Poker was just the thing to inject the fun back into the fusty, fussy gardens of England. Their popularity exploded as never before and by the 1970′s Knifophia uvaria was literally everywhere – widely planted both in individual gardens and municipal schemes.

Kniphofia 'Brimstone' - flowers of pure canary yellow.

All things change, however, and within another decade their ubiquity saw the plants castigated as never before – this time not only were they deemed vulgar but also now common – the very epitome of bad taste. So plants were dug up and composted across the land as new fashions for cool colours and subtle foliage effects started to take a hold. This time ’round, however, their time in the shadows was to be relatively short lived  as two different factors came to bear.

Kniphofia 'Samuel's Sensation' - tall flowers of solid orange-red.

Firstly, there was a discovery of the remainder of the genus. K. uvaria is only one of over 70 species of Torch Lily, and until the tail end of the 20th Century very few others were grown or indeed available to gardeners to consider growing. However as garden writers such as Beth Chatto started planting, hybridizing, and extolling the virtues of the smaller, more elegant Kniphofias word slowly began to spread.

Kniphofia 'Little Maid' - one of Beth Chatto's introductions, with slender, cream coloured flowers to around 60cm.

These “new” plants (many of them wild species that had simply never previously been utilised in the garden) were often versatile and subtle and were readily integrated into a wide array of planting styles and schemes, even, ironically, the cottage garden whose bumptious informality had once been the nail in the coffin of the original Red Hot Poker.

Kniphofia 'Jenny Bloom' - one of the current must-have varieties, with flowers of coral-apricot and slender, grass-like foliage.

The second factor was also instigated by garden writers, and Christopher Lloyd in particular. He deliberately, and quite controversially at first, flew in the face of what was perceived to be good taste, and sought to introduce drama, vivid colour, and above all fun back into the garden. His now world-famous “hot colour” plantings were a reaction against the ever more restrained and subtle naturalistic plantings that were dominated by the subtle texture of grasses. Big and bold was his maxim, and as others came to realise that rules could be broken and gardens could be both relaxed and exciting, copy-cat hot plantings started springing up all over the country, pushing the good old Red Hot Poker back to some kind of prominence once again.

Kniphofia caulescens - much sought after for it's highly architectural, Agave-like, steel-blue foliage.

Other species, and Kniphofia caulescens in particular, have become part of the vanguard for architectural plants and are highly sought after for use in modern, formal, often urban settings as well as for more relaxed tropical plantings where they rub leafy shoulders with the likes of Cannas, Gingers and Tree Ferns.

Kniphofia uvalis 'Nobilis' nestled in the Hot Border at Christopher Lloyd's Great Dixter garden.

Although it’s now widely available in a diversity of forms, this time around K. uvaria isn’t the focus of the main attention. An explosion of new forms and colours have reached nurseries and are now available to satisfy the demands of both the hot colour camp and the cool and elegant camp – strength through diversity, you could call it. Kniphofias now supply flowers in bright red (of course) orange, salmon, apricot and canary yellow as well as cream, chartreuse and white, whilst they range in stature from the 2 metre giants to the positively petite, at 50cm or so.

Kniphofia 'Percy's Pride' - one of the most truly green-flowered varieties.

The foliage too, can be bold and hugely architectural or slender and neat – almost grass-like in fact. Their inherent verticality is often used by garden designers to provide a counterpoint to lower plants, and they sit easily and comfortably in many borders. It helps, too, that the plants are extremely hardy and well-used to summer rain, although their native South African habitats also provide them with a dry winter dormancy, which means that good, sharp drainage is essential for long-term success in British gardens.

The delicate beauty of Kniphofia 'Vanilla' is a world away from the old image of the Red Hot Poker.

The best forms of Kniphofia are now rightly and widely championed with major flower shows readily extolling their virtues as they regularly sit amongst the most highly prized of all garden plants – the smaller, cooler coloured varieties, in particular are deemed to be seriously fashionable additions to any 2011 garden.

Kniphofia 'Ice Queen' - pale green flowers that open to near white.

So now, after such a roller-coaster ride on the whims of gardening fashion, the new and ever expanding diversity of forms, colours and uses of Kniphofia, coupled with their relative ease of growth in the garden, may just have finally secured these fascinating plants a permanent place in horticultural hearts.

Kniphofia 'Toffee Nosed' - with highly unusual copper-tipped cream flowers.


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Planting for Wildlife: The Wild Roses.

Thursday, June 16th, 2011

There can be few gardens across the land that don’t contain at least 1 or more roses. Whether they were planted by their current gardener or inherited along with the house and the rest of the original planting, our love affair with the rose has seen them proliferate across our gardens like few other varieties of plant. In many ways, though, they have become a victim of their own success – too ubiquitous and therefore too common to be in any way fashionable. The “modern rose” is also often a very man-made affair – all pumped-up in a powder-puff multitude of petals and a bewildering array of colour combinations – not the kind of thing that sits well with the trends for naturalistic planting and wild-looking plants.

Rosa rugosa, together with a feeding bumblebee.

The hybrid T also comes with some serious baggage – associations with disease (Blackspot in particular), aphids, annual pruning regimens and gaunt, bare, ugly looking bushes through winter. It’s fair to say that many Modern Roses cannot, in fact, be successfully cultivated without resorting to an armoury of defensive sprays and potions to fend off the worst of their many enemies. You could even say that they represent the worst excesses of old-style gardening as a kind of attack on nature, something to be tamed rather than celebrated in it’s wildness. But to tar all roses with that same brush would be a serious mistake.

Rosa canina - the small hips are both attractive and loaded with vitamins.

Rosa is a pretty large genus with over 100 species. Most of these are native to Asia, but, quite remarkably perhaps, some 20 different rose species grow wild in Britain. The majority of that number are made up of non-natives that have escaped from early attempts at cultivation and have naturalised themselves, and still others are varieties that differ only slightly from their species. We do, however, have 4 identifiably seperate native species of rose, all of which are quite charming and none of which suffer from any of the drawbacks associated with their over-blown modern hybrid relatives.

Rosa canina in flower.

Rosa canina (the Dog Rose) is probably everyone’s archetypal idea of a wild-rose. The best known of our native species, it’s a familiar sight in many hedgerows and banks where the slender stems scramble through the stronger supports of other shrubs. Like all of the wild roses the fragrant flowers are simple and single, and open flat to reveal a central boss of golden stamens surrounded by petals that vary in colour from pure white through to deep pink, but are most commonly seen in pale, apple-blossom pink. These flowers are followed by striking flask-shaped, bright vermillion-red fruits.

Rosa arvensis - smothered with summer flowers.

Rosa arvensis (the Field Rose) is a more vigorous climbing species that readily forms dense mounds of stems and foliage and is ideal for growing through a tree. In the wild the species is most usually found at woodland margins, as well as in older hedges, but it’s long been cultivated too and forms one of the essential elements of the traditional English Cottage Garden, which is never complete without it’s climbing rose around the front door. The flowers are invariably white and somewhat smaller than the Dog Rose. The fragrance is also less notable than in that species, but what they lack in individual prowess they make up for in abundance, with the plants becoming smothered in flowers throughout summer and equally numerous small, rounded, sealing-wax red fruit in autumn.

A Blue Tit samples the hips of Rosa arvenis deep in a snowbound winter.

Rosa rubiginosa (Sweet Briar) is a free-standing shrub, rather than a climber, and has thick stems clothed with a formidable armoury of thorns – hence the common name. The foliage is deliciously scented of apples and the beautifully formed flowers are clear-pink fading to a white centre and are also wonderfully, and famously fragrant. Once again, the flowering display is followed by an even brighter one as the teardrop-shaped red hips swell through the autumn. Sweet Briar makes an excellent and very dense hedge in it’s own right, and is readily grown, even in quite poor soils.

The distinctive fruit of Rosa rubiginosa.

The last of our native species, Rosa pimpinellifolia (Scotch Rose), is perhaps the least well-known, at least in it’s true, wild form, but is certainly my favourite of the four. It forms a small bush, commonly found growing wild amongst coastal sand dunes, and limestone pavements, but completely adaptable to virtually all garden conditions. The entire plant is more delicate than the preceding species; the foliage is very heavily divided giving an almost fern-like quality to the plant. The stems are extraordinarily bristly and the young foliage is bright red fading to deeper red with maturity, whilst the white flowers are small, but are borne in profusion throughout May and June when they perfume the air. The globular hips appear from mid-summer are deep purple eventually maturing to shining ebony-black.

Rosa pimpinellifolia.

Added to these four species I have to also single out one of the escapees, now very well established in the British countryside, namely Rosa rugosa, (Ramanas Rose). This is a medium-sized, free standing shrub, strong-growing and rather coarse in appearance, but invaluable in the garden in so many ways. The large flowers are typically dark pink, but the best form, ‘Alba’, has flowers of pure white with a contrasting golden centre. These are very powerfully and intoxicatingly fragrant, filling the air with a spicy warmth – truly outstanding. The plants flower continually for many months running from mid-spring right through to late autumn. As a result they never create a huge floral display but the enormously long flowering season is ready compensation. The hips mature to bright tomato-red and, indeed, are also shaped exactly like cherry tomatoes – highly decorative. Rosa rugosa makes a fantastic hedging plant either in it’s own right or mixed in with other native species.

The large, plump hips of Rosa rugosa alba.

All of these 5 roses are beloved by wildlife and make a near-essential edition to any wild or wildlife friendly garden. Those beautiful and fragrant flowers are visited by a large array of insects, butterflies, bees, moths, hoverflies, beetles and wasps. Bumble-bees in particular seem continually drawn to wild-rose flowers and readily gorge themselves on the plentiful pollen and nectar within. Rose hips are equally important sources of food, particularly since they are extremely long-lasting and often persist well into winter when many species of fruit eating birds, along with deer, rabbits, mice, squirrels and other winter foragers rely upon them for sustenance. Finally the bushy, vigorous, multi-branched and thorny nature of roses makes them perfect for nesting birds and small mammals who can readily create a secure and well-defended home in amongst the branches.

Rosa pimpinellifolia fruit, slowly ripening from deep red to black.


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Going up in the World – the Benefits of Raised Beds.

Thursday, April 7th, 2011

Raised planting beds, in one form or another, have been in use  for almost as long as humans have been cultivating plants – just think of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon….Whatever plants you intend growing, be they ornamental or culinary, these useful and highly adaptable garden features offer a remarkable range of benefits over growing directly in the ground and, so long as you’re not intending to create a new 8th wonder of the world, they can also generally be created simply and cheaply.

Simple but effective - a series of small raised beds awaiting filling.

Amongst the most immediate advantages are that you can cultivate all sorts of things that wouldn’t ordinarily be growable in your garden. Your garden might have soil that is too acid for vegetables, or too alkaline for ericaceous plants, for example, or your ground might be too stony, wet, quick draining etc. Going one step further, raised beds will allow you create planting areas where none currently exist at all, such as in a courtyard or rooftop, or simply make the very most of a small, or awkwardly shaped garden.

The extension of planting choices doesn’t stop at the soil itself however, as the actual sighting of the bed itself can open up new planting possibilities – a hot sunny location is perfect for a herb bed, for instance, and the extra drainage of the raised bed creates the perfect planting conditions too. On the other hand a spot in dappled shade, perhaps beneath the canopies of overhead trees,  would be ideal for growing a collection of woodland gems that might otherwise get swamped in open ground.

The dramatically improved drainage afforded by a raised bed makes the ideal planting environment for alpines.

If your soil is thin, stony, infertile or full of subsoil clay – all of which are common problems for the gardens of many new build houses, amongst others – then the addition of garden compost, well-rotted manure or leaf-mould will allow you to immediately create rich, balanced and ideal planting conditions. Improvements of the garden soil itself could take many years or even decades to come close to providing the same quality of growing environment and annual additions and improvements will be maintained within the beds much more readily than they would in the open ground too.

Another key benefit is that the soil in raised beds is not walked on and so remains uncompacted. In order to create an optimum growing medium  soil needs plenty of water and air moving freely throughout. Compaction progressively destroys the soil structure, prevents the movement and retention of both of these key elements and so seriously limits root growth. Crop yields from vegetables, fruit or flowers are all significantly better where compaction is avoided, and individual plants can also be spaced more closely together, further maximising the use of space.

Lots of veg packed in closely, making the most of the available space.

Even without any additional protection the improved drainage within raised beds means that the soil warms more quickly at the start of the growing season and the start of each day too. The leads to improved growth in general, but also allows Spring vegetables to be planted out earlier, and so the whole crop year is extended, which, once again leads to a more efficient use of space and time.

The benefits aren’t limited to simply extending planting choices, however. When properly sited and built to an appropriate level raised beds can dramatically increase the discomfort and/or pain of bending and kneeling to tend your plants as well as bringing smaller plants closer to eye level where they can be appreciated, tended or cropped, as appropriate. They can also allow access to planting areas that would be almost impossible to gardeners in wheelchairs or with limited mobility.

Raised beds can allow far greater access to soil and plants at a convenient height.

Once established raised beds will rarely, if ever need to be entirely dug over. The presiding principle is to add more nutrition at the surface and let the worms and other friendly soil beasties do the hard work for you, so, as a sub-section of no-dig gardening, working with raised beds requires much less physical work. General maintenance - watering, pest removal and particularly weeding – are also made easier since the soil level is closer to hands and eyes and the lack of compaction allows even the most stubborn weeds to readily be teased out.

Working with a fixed, raised frame bed also allows for the easy attachment of protective covers, when needed. Frost protection can be vital for getting seedlings and veg crops established in spring, and the solid boundaries of the bed can be purpose made to hold season-extending horticultural fleece, for instance. At the other end of the season fruit crops, in particular, can easily be protected from bird damage, by again using the frame of the raised bed as an attachment point for netting.

Highly beneficial though they are, raised beds needn’t simply be all about utility are crop-yields. From a design perspective, using raised beds in the garden is a bit like being given an extra spacial dimension with which to work, and can open up a whole new range of possible shapes, heights and effects that would otherwise be unavailable. It’s not simply a question of  having plants higher than ground level either, as the sides of beds can be turned into cascading walls of foliage or the beds themselves used to divide up an otherwise open space, in turn helping to provide shelter, shade or just simply surprises-around-the-corner in any garden.

Raised beds can make for beautiful, as well as functional garden features.

Despite their great simplicity raised beds certainly are extremely valuable additions to any garden, and it’s no wonder that they’ve been a staple of worldwide horticulture for millennia. In my next blog I’ll be looking at how to create a raised bed and the different materials that can be used.


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The forecast: Snow in March (and throughout April).

Wednesday, March 30th, 2011

Hmm…sounds improbable perhaps? But then, what are those delicate white flakes drifting and fluttering on the lightest breeze?

The answer is petals….and the original owner of those petals is the Snowy Mespilus, or Amelanchier.

One of the finest and least demanding of small trees for the garden, whose virtues I’ve already hinted at previously, as March gives way to April and the countless thousands of poised Amelanchier flower buds open, I thought it high time to give these plants centre stage for a while.

Members of the Rose family – like so many other of the finest Spring-flowering woody plants – Amelanchier is a small and rather confused genus of trees and shrubs. There are anywhere between 6 and 35 species, depending on whose definition you believe. They are all, essentially, identical in their ornamental features, and what’s more the species have interbred with abandon to the point that definitive identification of many plants is all but impossible.

One species, A. lamarckii, is a good example. Considered to be a naturalised British plant, where colonies have spread thanks to the assistance of birds, this plant is, like all but two of the Amelanchiers, a native of North America, but “our” Amelanchier is not the same as the species that grows in the USA, and could be a different species, such as A. canadensis or A. laevis, or a hybrid of one or more of these species, or a hybrid with one of the indigenous Euro-Asian species. The truth is that the differences between all of the species are so small, and variable, that the best anyone can say is that an individual plant is closest to, say A. lamarckii…well, maybe.

Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Ballerina'.

But enough of that confusion, let’s focus instead on the many good points of these delightful trees. Their common names give a few hints of their attractions and also the considerable importance that the plants played in the lives of Native American and European settlers alike. Snowy Mespilus, as already noted, refers to the wonderful blizzard of innumerable tiny petals that grace the trees and then the ground beneath the trees as Spring progresses. “Mespilus” are the Medlars, further members of the Rose family, and ones to which the Amelachiers bore a resemblance in the eyes of the first Europeans to document the new North American flora. The names “shadbush”,” shadwood” or “shadblow” are also references to the flowering season, which coincides with the arrival of the Shad – a fish that formed a staple food for many of those same early settlers.

The flowers are only one of the appeals of the Amelanchiers, however and “serviceberry” and “juneberry” are further much-used common names. These, of course, refer to the fruit – a red-purple berry that eventually matures to black which was considered to resemble the berries of the wild European Service Tree – Sorbus domestica. The fruit are edible, and in the best varieties, quite delicious, which characteristic gives rise to yet more common names including “sugarplum”,”wild-plum”, and “Indian pear”, again, all hinting at the importance of the plant in the lives of the early populations of  North America.

The fully ripe fruit of Amelanchier alnifolia.

To the Cree Native Americans the plant was “misâskwatômina”, a name that was Europeanised into “saskatoon”, after which the town of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, was named. Finally, while we’re talking names here, Amelanchier itself is derived from “amalenquièr” the Provençal name for the European species: Amelanchier ovalis, and, despite some sources that might state otherwise, the name is pronounced:  amma-LANK-ee-er, with a hard “K” sound, which perhaps becomes more obvious when seen against it’s French language counterpart.

Amelanchier x grandiflora 'Robin Hill'.

Amelanchiers produce an abundance of flowers from a very young age, and even the tiniest specimen will pop out a handful of blooms. Within a few years all of the branches of that plant will be fully laden with blossom each Spring. Once opened the flowers are joined by the new foliage which is often flushed with bronze or copper, making for a magnificent contrast and highlighting those dazzling white flowers all the more.

Amelanchier lamarckii with deep red/bronze new foliage.

So we have a tremendous Spring display followed by branches smothered by small, but highly decorative, edible fruit, but these trees have one final trick up their sleeves as the foliage can turn to glorious shades of orange and red in a good, crisp Autumn.  Amelanchiers display their autumn finery with great gusto and reliability in North America, although the colour can be patchy of even absent here in the UK, but that is entirely to do with our erratic, maritime climate rather than any failing on the part of the plants.

Virtually all Amelanchiers are capable of producing fiery autumn foliage under the right conditions.

Despite the presence of numerous selections in cultivation – the RHS Plantfinder currently lists 44 named forms – Amelanchiers are a pretty homogeneous lot, and really there is very little to choose between them. A. x grandiflora ‘Ballerina’ was selected for it’s larger flowers and is now very widely distributed. It’s a lovely plant, but we have it growing amidst 10 or so other named forms, and frankly I’m hard pushed to tell them apart from one another.  There are a few genuinely different selections however. The lovely pale-pink flowered form A. x grandiflora ‘Rubescens’, and pink-fading-to-white-flowered ‘Robin Hill’; the slender, upright growing A. alnifolia ‘Obelisk’ & similar A. canadensis ‘Rainbow Pillar’ and the much smaller growing A. rotundifolia ‘Helvetia’ and equally compact species A. stolonifera are all distinctive.

Amelanchier 'Obelisk' - not exactly fastigiate, but the closest to an upright form the genus has to offer.

Aside from these last two, all Amelanchiers are vigorous, as well as undemanding and easy to grow in many garden situations. Depending on how they are treated and grew as young plants they can form graceful, slender trees or multi-stemmed, more-or-less globular large shrubs. The plants can eventually get quite substantial, but they retain an airy, light quality to them and the slender leaves don’t cast a great deal of shade, even in mid summer. Plants may also be pruned after flowering to retain a desired shape or keep them to a fixed size. Amelachier are tolerant of a wide range of soils, including heavy clay and even water-logging, although young plants should be mound-planted if soil is permanently wet to allow the roots to find their own way through rather than simply plunged into a soggy hole.

Amelanchier canadensis in full autumn colour in the UK.

All parts of the plants are edible and are evidently quite appealing to a variety of browsing animals, from harmless leaf-cutter bees through to more potentially damaging rabbits and deer, so young Amelanchiers should be given some protection where appropriate. They are generally very healthy plants too, although they can suffer from fungal leaf spot, particularly if grown in sheltered areas with limited air movement. Treatment of the newly emerging foliage, together with collection of fallen leaves in autumn will keep this problem in check should it appear, and an opening up of the canopy of more congested plants will help prevent it’s re-occurrence.

Amelanchier stolonifera - the smallest growing of the species.

If sheer flower power in early to mid Spring is your thing, then, whichever form, species, or selection you choose, you won’t find a better small tree than the Snowy Mespilus, and adding one to your garden will ensure that you’ll always have at least a little of the right kind of snow, right where you want it every March and April.


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Heralds of Spring: Catkins.

Thursday, February 24th, 2011

All ornamental plants have their peak season, the time when, however briefly, they eclipse their neighbours and demand your attention. For those that flower later in spring the job is made that much harder, since they have to compete with so many others, big and small, that burst into colourful bloom at the same time. But right now, with almost all leaf and flower buds still tightly furled, the garden stage is relatively clear, and there’s a great sense of anticipation and possibility of the season to come.

All of this allows one species of tree to be pre-eminent in it’s subtle beauty. For right now Hazels - Corylus avellana – are festooned with their male catkins, flowers that might be overlooked if they were produced alongside bold foliage or simultaneous with showier, more traditional floral displays.

Male Hazel catkins aglow in the early spring sunshine.

Many people are probably unaware that catkins are flowers at all, but these are flowers that put all of their energies into pollen production, rather than colourful petals. The vast majority of catkin-bearing trees are pollinated by the wind, rather than by insects, so have no need for flamboyant, but energy-intensive structures with which to attract a pollinator.

Catkins are actually the earliest of all flowers to have evolved, long before the advent of flying (and thus pollinating) insects. The basic structure, though, is both so simple and so effective as a means of fertilisation that is has arisen independently in several different plant families, ranging from Nettles to Birches.

Stinging Nettles bear catkins too.

Catkin-bearing species of plants all produce separate male and female flowers. In some, including our native Hazel, the two different structures are produced on every plant, but more frequently the male and female flowers appear on separate plants,  a strategy that ensures cross-pollination occurs every single time.

The diminutive female flowers of a Hazel nestle above the male catkins.

Catkins develop over the summer months, but they remaining tight, closed and largely inconspicuous until their expansion. Typically this occurs in early spring, starting in the British landscape, as we have, with the Hazel. Most catkin bearing species of tree flower either before the leaves unfurl, or certainly before the leaves fully enlarge, a strategy that allows the pollen to be successfully spread on the slightest breeze without interference by the foliage. Once fertilization has occurred, then the male catkins wither and fall, so, in warm weather in particular, the period of their display can be all too brief.

Of course it’s not just our native Corylus that produces catkins, the Birches, Alders, Sweet Chestnuts, Mulberrys, Poplars, Oaks, Beech, Hornbeams, Hickorys and Willows all employ this method of reproduction too, and together represent perhaps the majority of the trees in our landscape.

The flowers of the Mulberry, Morus rubra.

Some members of this band of trees are relatively modest in their catkin structures – the Alders, for example, produce small-ish cones and the Birches have rather non-descript fawn coloured catkins, neither of which are noted for their aesthetic qualities. Others, though can be highly ornamental as well as fascinating structually.

Castanea sativa – the Sweet Chestnut – produces highly conspicuous cream coloured catkins as long as, or even longer than it’s huge leaves.

The dramatic catkins of Castanea sativa, the Sweet Chestnut.

Several species of Quercus (the Oaks), and particularly the American Red Oaks, bear very pretty clusters of bright red and tangerine orange flowers that make an effective contract with the unfolding foliage.

Quercus nigra - the Black Oak - in full flower.

Garrya elliptica, an evergreen shrub native to the West coast of the USA, is widely cultivated specifically for it’s catkins too. In January and February the male plants produce 30cm long cream coloured flowers that give the species it’s common name of “Silk Tassle Bush”.

Garya elliptica - unmistakable in flower.

Itea illicifolia is another evergreen shrub, this time from China, that has similar appeal, but which, unusually, produces it’s catkins in summer rather than spring.

There are several purple-leaved forms of various of the Corylus (Hazel) species, and these have added appeal for catkin fans, since the red pigment extends to the plants’ flowers (and the fruit too for that matter). Corylus maxima ‘Red Zellernus’ & ‘Purpurea’ and Corylus colurna ‘Te Terra Red’ all produce highly attractive pink-red catkins on completely bare, leafless branches at the very start of spring.

Corylus colurna 'Te Terra Red'.

One group of trees, though, has become synonymous with the appealing nature of it’s catkins, and are often cultivated purely for it’s flowering display. These are the Salix species – the Willows. Hardly anyone can be immune to the charm of “Pussy Willows” – the soft, fur-like catkins produced by a number of species of Salix, and our widespread native tree Salix caprea (the Goat Willow) in particular.

Salix caprea - Pussy Willow - catkins.

Willows, as a genus, take the catkin to dimensions shapes and colours that are present in no other group of plants. Salix gracilistyla ‘Melanostachys’, for instance, produces completely upright, ink-black catkins that contrast vividly with the plants’ bright red winter stems. Salix daphnoides is a variation on the same theme, this time with fluffy silver catkins held on scarlet stems.

Salix daphnoides.

Leaving the best of all catkins bearing trees to last, though, we come to Salix magnifica – literally the “Magnificent Willow”. This Chinese species is special in a number of ways. When he first discovered a non-flowering specimen of the plant in 1909, the famous plant-hunter Ernest Wilson believed he had found a new Magnolia, so large and lush were it’s leaves. The flowers follow suit, and both male and female catkins are show-stoppers – up to 25cm in length, purple and yellow in colour and held upright, like candles on the branches. Truly a magnificent Willow, and truly magnificent catkins.

Salix magnifica.


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The Winter Garden: Early Arrivals.

Tuesday, January 18th, 2011

In my last blog entry I suggested that nothing much grows at this time of the year. That’s not entirely true, of course, because there are a small, but crucial band of plants that can and do emerge into life in Winter. These seasonal pioneers re-appear pretty much regardless of the vagaries of the British winter weather and I’d have to say that nothing throughout the whole gardening year is more pleasing to behold than those first plants that pop their heads out in Winter. They herald the start of new life throughout the garden and really feel like they’re marking a new beginning. With a handful of these plants strategically scattered through the garden it’s easy to kid yourself that spring is just around the corner – even if may still be months away in reality. Garden centres will be bulging with gaudy winter-flowering bedding plants right now – Pansy’s and the like – but let’s not go there…much better to focus on plants that can provide ongoing interest in the garden year after year and winter after winter.

The boldest, most vigorous plants in our garden right now are Arum italicum ‘Marmoratum’, a well-known  marble-leaved beauty that has been in growth since late autumn, but which is peaking just about now. Despite the extremes of cold and snow of the last month the foliage looks completely fresh. The Arum flowers and vivid scarlet berries will appear in later seasons, but in January the lush foliage looks incongruous against the drab weather and so all the more appealing.

Arum italicum 'Marmoratum'.

The last couple of winters have seen the early arrival of snowdrops, often in December, but February is their more usual month, and things seem to have got back to normal this year. Eranthis hyemalis – the winter aconite – is always earlier, though, and it’s fern-like divided foliage and giant buttercup flowers are an essential ingredient of the woodland understory or shady border. Tuberous Cyclamen coum appears a little later in winter, it’s silver-marbled heart-shaped leaves providing a foil for the pink to white flowers.

Eranthis hyemalis.

Careful selection can give your garden a near-continuous succession of Crocuses from Autumn thorough to Spring. The beautiful Crocus laevigatus flowers right in the centre of the season with lilac-stained white flowers appearing in late December.  C. tommasinianus is much bigger and more robust and produces large flowers in a variety of purple shades from late January, whilst C. sieberi closes out the season with white flowers that open in February.

Crocus laevigatus.

Hellebores pretty much dominate herbaceous perennial beds at this time of the year, their exact floral timing varying with the weather and general temperatures.  H. x hybridus (often, though wrongly called H. orientalis , which is a true species in it’s own right)  is an absolute stalwart of winter, and now comes in a dazzling array of forms and colours, but most of the true Hellebore species and their many hybrids also perform in winter and are well worth checking out.

A whole gaggle of winter-flowering shrubs can be deployed, and many brighten the garden with both flowers and fragrance. Hybrid Witch Hazels – Hamamelis x intermedia - are particular favourites of mine, and late January is when the flowers hit their stride in a big way. The citric fragrance (strongest by far in the yellow flowered varieties) is intoxicating and the bright spider-like flowers are a joy, particularly when viewed close-up.

Hamamelis x intermedia 'Barmstead Gold'.

Chimonanthus praecox – Wintersweet – is more understated in flower, but equally fragrant, whilst Daphne odora and the larger growing, semi-evergreen Daphne bholua are phenomenally perfumed and exquisitely beautiful with their winter-borne tiny pinkish white urn-shaped flowers. Daphne relative Edgeworthia chrysantha is rightly the most prized of all winter-flowering shrubs and opens it’s tubular, fragrant, furry flowers of gold and crimson on bare stems right about now.

Daphne bholua.

Not to be outdone the Honeysuckle family can also pack a winter punch. Lonicera fragrantissima, it’s close relative L. standishii and their well-known hybrid offspring L. x purpusii ‘Winter Beauty’ all do their thing round about now, and though none will win any awards for structural prowess these tough occupants of the winter garden reward with a mass of fragrant flowers.

Mahonias are a tad more dramatic, and, if they weren’t so familiar to British gardeners, it would be easy to imagine that they were delicate denizens of some tropical forest. Most Mahonia species don’t actually flower in winter, but the few that do are highly prized. M. japonica and it’s various winter-flowering hybrids are all pretty much bomb-proof, whilst M. lomariifolia and M. napaulensis are more dramatic species that require some shelter to succeed. Each flowers for a lengthy period and often throughout the entire season.

Mahonia nepaulensis.

Viburnums are a large and incredibly valuable genus of plants that collectively can offer something at most times of the year. Winter sees the unfurling of the earliest flowering species and various selections of the hybrids V. x bodnantense, V. x burkwoodii are widely available, reliable and easily grown in most gardens. Sarcococcas are pretty easy to cater for too, and are very much at their best in mid-winter, when the tiny white flowers appear and scent the air with vanilla.

Viburnum x bodnantense.

Garrya elliptica is another subdued prospect, flower-wise, but it’s elongated winter tassels give the winter garden a unique elegance.

Rhododendrons are almost entirely associated with spring, but the delightful tubular-flowered hybrid ‘Yellow Hammer’ bucks the trend and kicks off in January. A number of Camellias do flower in winter too (though not reliably so in our garden) but these need careful placement if those early flowers aren’t to be regularly burned off by frost. The winter flowering Cherry – Prunus x  subhirtella ‘Autumnalis’ – is well known and widely grown and, although it can’t compete with it’s spring-flowering cousins in terms of flower power, it’s tissue-paper petals certainly brighten the season effectively. Prunus mume – the Japanese Apricot – is more showy, but less reliable as a winter-flowering tree, the blossoms being held back until spring in colder years.

Rhododendron 'Yellow Hammer'.

There are very few true climbers that flower in winter. Canary yellow Jasminum nudum is widely referred to as one such, but is really a sprawling shrub that will forever need to be reminded that you’d rather it was a wall climber. Clematis, though, can provide a couple of true winter-flowering species. C. cirrhosa is surely the queen of them with beautiful bell-shaped flowers of cream through to burgundy, depending on the variety. The delicate ferny foliage is a big bonus too. C. urophylla is a less well known but equally worthy species, and the selection ‘Winter Beauty’ produces an abundance of pure white nodding bells in the heart of the season.

Clematis urophylla 'Winter Beauty'.


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What’s in a name?

Friday, May 7th, 2010

The scientific or Botanical name of a plant is a key that unlocks a gateway of knowledge and information about that plant. Knowing that name will let you understand what type of plant you are dealing with, what other plants it’s closely related too, and something about the plants history or physical description. That’s really quite a lot of info to pack into just a few words, and yet, sadly, this valuable resource is too often seen by gardeners  as a source of confusion and complication.

The problem of plant names.

Ever since human kind developed language we have had names for the plants around us. Very often these were highly descriptive, but also highly localised and regional.

Arum maculatum - "maculatum" = speckled.

The common wild arum (Arum maculatum), so familiar from British hedgerows, is a good case in point. Widespread across these Isles, and also the source of many myths, as well as having been pressed into use for food, starch and even soap, the plant has, over the centuries, acquired over 100 different common names .

Lords-and-Ladies and Cuckoo-Pint are some of it’s more widespread monikers, but Devon folks called the plant Dog’s-Dribble, whilst in neighbouring Somerset it was Babe-in-the-cradle and in Sussex Ram’s-Horn.

All of which meant that even close neighbours wouldn’t necessarily know which plant everyone was referring to. This is just one example, but virtually every single European plant is in much the same boat in terms of the multiplicity of their common names.

The birth of Taxonomy.

This situation was greatly compounded when plants started to be introduced into cultivation from other countries and far away lands. It became clear than an unambiguous and universal system of naming was needed so that Botanists and gardeners alike could all know to which plant they were referring.

Linnaeus - the Swede who even gave himself a Latinised name.

The elegant solution to this problem was devised in the mid 18th Century by Carl von Linné, a Swede now regarded as the grand-daddy of Biological nomenclature.

Linnaeus, as he named himself, developed the Binomial System which was applied to plants in 1753 and then to animals in 1756. Under this system all plants are given a two part name with the first identifying the genus to which they belong, and the second the unique species that they represent.

Each species is also placed into an overarching classification that identifies exactly where it sits in relation to all other plants, and ultimately all other living things. This arrangement and classification of life is known as Toxomomy, and is overseen by the International Code of Botanical Nomenclature.

Botanical names.

Under the rules of Taxonomy the description and name of a plant must be published in Latin in a suitability respected Botanical journal or book. Back in Linnaeus’ day Latin was the unambiguous and pan-European language of scholarship, and it’s the adoption of this (rather than Swedish or English, say) that has secured the permanent future of his system of naming.

It’s common to refer to Botanical names as “Latin Names” but actually they are Latinised versions of words or names from many other languages, particularly Greek, so the term “Botanical Name” is both more useful and more accurate.

The meanings of names.

This is where things get really interesting from a gardeners point of view. Those Botanical names are never chosen at random and each carries useful information about the plant to which it’s attached.

Deutzia scabra - deutzia = after Jan van der Deutz + scabra = rough-surfaced (referring to the leaves).

The first half of each name is known as the Generic name, and identifies the limited group of close relatives (the genus) to which the plant belongs. Some random examples with handily descriptive names are:

Nothofagus – “fagus” is a Beech tree, “notho” means false, so a Nothofagus is a False Beech, i.e. a tree that resembles a Beech, but which is something different.

Aquilegia – “aquila” is an Eagle, and Aquilegia refers to the eagles-claw shape of the flower parts.

Magnolia, Fuchsia, Deutzia, Camellia & Stewartia – are all examples of commemorative names that use Latised versions of the surnames of the men associated with early the descriptions of each genus – in these cases, Magnol, Fuchs, Deutz, Kamel & Stewart.

Lavandula angustifolia - lavandula = blue-ish herb + angustifolia = narrow leafed.

The second half of a plant’s name is called the Specific Epithetic and identifies it’s particular and distinctive species.

These specific epithets are always usefully descriptive and cover a wide spectrum of derivations including the habit, shape and colour of a plant, it’s flowers, leaves, bark, fragrance, it’s country or region of origin, it’s season of growth or flowering, as well as various commemorative names.  Some examples:

acaulis = stemless
aestivalis = flowering in spring
alba = white
alpestris = from mountains

angustifolia = narrow-leaved
argentea = silvery
aurantiaca = orange
australis = from the south
autumnalis = of autumn
azurea = blue

Pronunciation.

Trying to figure out the correct pronunciation of Botanical Names is, without doubt, the barrier that prevents some gardeners from embracing them.

Rhododendron sinogrande - rhodo = rose-like, dendron = tree + sino = from China, grande = big!

Names like Arisaema zanlanscianense may seem a tad daunting at first, but they all carry that same valuable information about the plant that they describe,

In this case “arisaema” = closely related to Arums  + “zanlanscianense” = coming from the Chinese region of Zanlan.

In fact all English speakers already use quite a few scientific names in common speech without too many problems.

Amphibian, pachyderm, and Tyrannosaurus all qualify along with familiar, but actually quite long plant household-names, like Rhododendron for instance.

There are also five simple rules that will make the decoding of Botanical pronunciation much easier:

1. “ch” (as in Chrysanthemum) is always pronounced as a hard K

2. “ae” (as in Aesculus) is always pronounced EE

3. “ii” (as in wilsonii) is always pronounced EE-EYE

4. most vowels (including “y”) are pronounced short rather than long (as in maths, ethics, fish, box, bus, and cyst)

5. the emphasis is normally placed on the second to last vowel or pair of vowels, so Clematis should be clem-AY-tiss (rather CLEM-a-tiss) and henryi is HEN-ree-eye (rather than hen-REE-eye)  for example.

Hepatica henryi - hepatica = kidney-shaped (leaves) + henryi = after the famous Irish plant hunter Augustine Henry.

Following these five rules will enable you to pronounce virtually all Botanical names correctly. When faced with a new or unfamiliar name it’s best to sound them out one syllable at a time and then just run the syllables together.

You’ll also find that new names become much more recognisable from the constituent parts that you’ve already come across.

With a little practise the whole world of plant Botanical names and the valuable and interesting information that they hold will open up to you, and your relationship with your garden and it’s floral inhabitants will be that much the richer for it.


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Thoroughly modern Epimediums.

Friday, April 16th, 2010

True rising stars of the gardening world, the Epimediums have only very recently been elevated from being also-rans  to amongst the most treasured favourites of the spring garden.

Epimedium sutchuenense - one of the finest of the new Chinese introductions.

Back in 1938 there were just 21 named species, two thirds of which were natives of China with the remainder hailing from Eastern Europe and the most Westerly regions of Asia. The Chinese species had been discovered, named and introduced into the West by the great Victorian plant hunters, but the virtual closure of China to outsiders – and most certainly to Western plant hunters – for much of the 20th century left the genus as little more than a footnote in most gardens.

That situation started to change in the last decades of the 20th century, when a handful of botanists and plant collectors (Chinese, Japanese and western alike) were able to access the spectacularly rich plant treasures of south western China once again.

Epimedium Ibis - new spring foliage.

Over a period of 20 years some 30 new Chinese species and a number of wild hybrids were discovered, named and introduced into cultivation, and that number continues to grow each year. This represents a unprecedented recent explosion in numbers of species, completely unrivalled by any other group of garden plants.

What’s more these new species aren’t just botanical curiosities, or subtle variations of the same plant with no individual horticultural merit. In fact these new Chinese species are the most beautiful, diverse and garden-worthy members of the whole genus, and it’s their arrival in the West that has sky-rocketed Epemidiums in general to the status of “must haves” for so many gardeners.

Epimedium Kittiwake.

The landscape of Yunnan and Sichuan – the Chinese provinces from which these Epimediums originate – is composed of deep river gorges separated by sheer limestone cliffs. The extreme geography means that much of the territory is virtually inaccessible, which is why so few of the species were found by the Victorian plant hunters, but it also means that populations of plants are completely isolated from one another.

Few plants or animals (that might otherwise move seeds or pollen) are able to migrate from one valley into the neighbouring ones, so each exists as a kind of botanical island, set adrift to evolve independently in it’s own direction.

Epimedium davidii.

The final factor in explaining the huge diversity of Epimedium species in the region is that they are considered to be in a state of active and rapid evolution, this being triggered by the demands of the landscape in which they grow. This means that the species as we now perceive them have only very recently become “fixed” and stable, and are potentially still pretty volatile – which also explains the unusually large number of hybrid forms found in the wild.

Epimediums are herbaceous perennial members of the Berberis family, which may seem quite odd at first, but becomes more apparent on close examination of the flowers. The genus is divided into two groups, one with long, running and spreading rhizomes, and the other with a very compact, woody and non-spreading rootstock.

Epimedium latisepalum x wushanense Caramel

Plants can be evergreen or more frequently deciduous, with delicate flower stems emerging in mid spring, followed immediately by new foliage.

This foliage may be heart-shaped or greatly elongated and dagger-shaped, is generally gently spiny, and and, upon opening is often beautifully patterned, marbled and coloured in shades of red, orange, purple and bronze. By summer the leaves assume a solid green colouration, with some once again taking on rich autumn tints in autumn.

Rarely more that 60cm or so in height, Epimediums were traditionally viewed as ground-cover plants in the garden, and many of the older and more vigorous forms are still amongst the most effective and decorative, as well as the toughest, most reliable and adaptable of  choices for ground cover, including for that most tricky of garden positions: dry shade.

Epimedium Cinnabar.

The newest and most choice selections are all quite robust and easy to accommodate, preferring a fairly sheltered position in dappled shade. Although they occur on alkaline limestone in the wild, they actually grow in the shallow acidic/neutral leaf-litter  layer the sits onto of the bedrock, so none of the species seem to be fussy as to pH although an open and humus-rich soil (mimicking their wild conditions) will certainly suit them best.

Hardiness was initially considered questionable, but as more of the species have been tested in more sites they have proven to be extremely resilient. Certainly none of the Chinese species in our garden have been damaged in any way by the extremes of this last winter, when temps plunged to -17 Celcius on one occasion.

Epimedium x versicolor Sulphureum - autumn foliage colour.

Epimediums are slow to increase at the root, but can be fairly easily divided every two or three years as required. Most species also produce copious amounts of seed and new plants can easily be obtained by sowing this as soon as it ripens in summer. Plants will germinate early the following spring and, if well grown, many will be be up to flowering size within 12 months.

The ease with which the plants hybridise, coupled with the expansion of new species available to use as parents has produced an array of exciting new hybrids which are just starting to become available to gardeners. Many of these are very tough and relatively vigorous in the garden, and they further expand the selection of forms and colours available.

I’ve yet to see any Epimedium that is not worthy of garden cultivation. All are beautiful in their own way and many are simply stunning in both flower and leaf as well as being highly collectable and easy to accommodate in most gardens.


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Getting children interested in gardening.

Monday, April 12th, 2010

One of the interesting developments of the last decade or so has been that as we have all become more tech savvy and more gadget reliant, we have also grown closer to the land and to nature.

Children and plants should be a naturally winning combination.

Whether it’s creating a beautiful flower-filled garden or growing veg on an allotment there’s no doubt that many people are keener than ever to get their hands dirty in their own homes, and it’s vital that this passion and interest is passed down the generations.

As well as being a healthy and rewarding outdoor activity gardening, and particularly shared garden projects where the whole family gets involved, can also be a great way of spending quality time together.

When given responsibility for a task, and the suitable tools, children almost always respond positively and the rewards can last a lifetime.

So in that spirit, here are some suggestions, hints and thoughts to encourage children to become interested in gardening.

Keep it fun.

First off, here’s a suggestion of what not to do. Although gardening certainly has it’s fair share of dull, repetitive, but very necessary tasks, please don’t offload these onto the kids. It’s pretty tempting (for both parties) to enter into a garden-chores-for-cash type arrangement too, but doing so is likely to have your children categorise gardening firmly in the drudge department. There are at least as many tasks and projects the completion of which offer rewards in themselves, and these are far more likely to engage young minds and fire imaginations.

Get down and dirty.

Result!

From a very young age many children enjoy digging in and playing around with and in soil – it’s the same principal as building sandcastles on the beach really.

It might be easy to find this inconvenient or messy, but with a bit of forethought it can be the perfect introduction to the world of the garden.

Try to find an area that can be just for the kids or let them mess around in newly dug areas before they are planted. Get them kitted out in old clothes that you don’t mind getting muddy, and let nature take it’s course.

Tools for the job.

Garden tools, child size.

All young children like to imitate adults, it’s a large part of how they learn, so giving them their very own set of garden tools not only allows them to get involved with all the same sort of activities as the adults but also gives them something uniquely their own.

Many garden tools also come in child friendly, mini sizes, and buckets, spades, rakes, gloves, watering cans and wheelbarrows are all ideal.

Either allocate the children their own patch of the garden, or get them involved in all of your gardening tasks – making a potentially dull set of jobs into fun family activities.

Planting seeds.

Planting seeds using the egg carton method.

Growing plants from seed is a basic task for most gardeners, and perfect one for children to learn too. Sowing and growing from seeds allows kids control of a whole little project and lets them see the effect of their attentions on a day-by-day, leaf -by leaf-basis.

It can be immensely rewarding and a source of great pride to grow something as mighty and downright impressive as a sunflower or a sweet pea from a seed. Start small, with a few seeds in few old margarine pots, or even in an egg carton, and see how they get on.

You can enlarge the task further by getting children to record their plants progress – they could measure or draw them at each stage of growth for instance. Stick with fast germinating, and quick flowering annuals for the most immediate results, if all goes well then try some vegetables from seed – whatever your child best likes to eat.

Collecting and categorising.

Shapes, colours, patterns, textures - leaves in all their glory.

Like the adults that they will some day become, many children enjoy collecting “things” and then arranging or categorising them into groups.

Think about what’s prolific on your plot – leaves, flowers, seeds, bark are just a few of many possibilities – and they can all be collected, decorated, drawn, identified and used to create other things.

Think also about expanding and building up on your child’s’ existing interests and seeing how you can incorporate the garden into them. A spin off activity might also be designing, decorating or making labels for the garden.

Using containers.

Terracotta pots take paint very well & are easily decorated.

A great way of getting creative in the garden is to encourage children to decorate and then plant up their own containers. You can start with a basic terracotta or plastic pot, although any suitable container will do just fine.

Decorations can be painted, glued or tied, shells, seedcases, leaves, paint, sand & stones are just a few of the possible materials that can be tried. Then take the children along to a nursery or garden centre, give them a small budget and let them choose something suitable to plant.

They can even research a bit about their chosen plant, where in the world it comes from, how to look after it and so on. Again, the whole idea is to encourage their ownership of the plant and the planter, to get thoroughly involved and let those green fingers start to grow.

The birds and the bees.

Ladybirds are perennial favourite of children and adult gardeners alike.

Many kids have a natural affinity with and fascination for animals of all shapes and sizes, so exploring the greenery in search of insects is often a very popular pastime. Some of these can also be collected, identified and released once again…maybe not the vine weevils though.

Keeping a list of birds that visit the garden, and what they do when they’re there is a good alternative. The ultimate garden biosphere is definitely the garden pond, the number and variety of creatures that will call it home is really astonishing, and often a source of wonder to even the most jaded tot. If that seems to be working well then the next stage would be to build feeders, nestboxes, habitats and food plants, maybe even create a new pond.


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Magnificent Magnolias.

Friday, April 9th, 2010

Magnolia 'Wildcat'.

April is the month when flower power really arrives in the garden. It feels like things are springing into life almost as you watch them, with new buds opening everywhere each and every day.

It takes real floral star quality, then, to shine through all this colour, life and activity, and be crowned the undisputed (by me at least….)  ruler of the garden in April, but this month nothing can come close to touching the Magnolias.

Aside from their flowering spectacular, which I’ll come back to shortly, Magnolias have a fascinating story to tell. They are considered to be the first flowering plants ever to have evolved on this green earth. Fossils of those very early flowers date back over 100 million years and preserve records of flowers that look almost exactly the same as today’s wild Magnolia species.

Magnolia 'Felix Jury'.

What’s more, these very early proto-Magnolias evolved well before flying insects. It’s actually the arrival of their flowers that triggered an evolutionary arms race that would eventually lead insects to take to the wing so that they could more effectively reach those same flowers.

If you take a close look into any Magnolia flower today you’ll most likely find a seething mass of tiny, pin-head sized pollen beetles, and it’s actually these little guys who today, as 100 million years ago, serve as the plants’ principal pollinators. All beetle-pollinated flowers share a few common characteristics – very large, simple flowers coloured white pink or red with masses of pollen and virtually no nectar.

Magnolia 'Judy Zuk'.

Nectar arrived later, in more highly evolved flowers where it serves to attract the likes of butterflies, moths, bees and eventually bats and birds to serve as pollinators. Magnolias do, in fact, exude a nectar-like substance in small quantities, although it’s function is to capture pollen from passing beetles (to improve pollination chances) rather than to feed flying insects.

There are well over 100 species of Magnolia currently recognised and many more hundreds of cultivars and hybrids, but until very recently here in Britain you’d be very lucky to see more than three or four of these anywhere outside of large specialist gardens and collections.

Magnolia 'Atlas'.

M. x soulangeana is the rose purple and white bicolour-flowered plant (eventually a medium/large tree) that is so widely planted here in the UK, including as a street tree. M. stellata is the smaller Star Magnolia, usually grown in pure white forms, whilst M. grandiflora is the North American evergreen species in which the best forms have large, felted leaves, and which is often seen planted against the walls of stately homes. M. x loebneri is the fourth, though less commonly planted Magnolia, producing huge numbers of strappy flowers of white or pink.

For the last 50 years or so handfuls of dedicated breeders have been working on improving the selection of Magnolias available for the garden. Some of the aims were to improve hardiness by pushing back flowering time (thus avoiding the earliest frosts) widen the selection of sizes, colours and perfumes and attempt to create smaller Magnolias better able to fit the average garden.

Magnolia 'Daybreak'.

There are a huge range of wild species to draw from, but developing new Magnolias is a painfully slow business that also requires huge amounts of space so that new crosses can be grown on to flowering age – we’re talking decades rather than seasons. Still, now there really is a kaleidoscope of colours and forms of these majestic plants out there just waiting to be planted.

Although three of those widely grown varieties are still very much worthy of any gardeners attention, the ubiquitous hybrid M. x soulangeana has been completely surpassed and superseded as a garden plant.

Magnolia 'Sweet Merlot'.

The magnificent giant Himalayan tree species (all very slow maturing and early flowering and hence pretty frustrating outside of very large, sheltered, southern gardens) have been crossed with later flowering and smaller growing species and hybrids, bringing intense violets like ‘Black Tulip’, ‘Sweet Merlot’ & ‘Old Port’,  near reds – ‘Felix Jury’ is one of the best yet – a wide range of true pinks including  ’Daybreak’, ”Star Wars’, ‘Apollo’ & ‘Spectrum’, and many large flowered bi coloured & whites like ‘Athene’, ‘Sayonara’ and the truly giant flowered ‘Atlas’.

Magnolia 'Eva Maria'.

The very late, American yellow flowered M. acuminata has been crossed with everything possible, creating a very exciting, extremely hardy range late flowered hybrids.

Colours range through pinks – ‘Daybreak’ (which is also regarded as the finest of all Magnolias for fragrance) ‘Pink Royalty’, ‘Rose Marie’, ”Coral Lake’, ‘Denis Ledvina’, ‘Blushing Belle’, ‘Phil’s Masterpiece’ – creams – ‘Ivory Chalice’, ‘Yellow Lantern’, ‘Gold Cup’ – yellows -’Daphne’, ‘Yellow Bird’, ‘Limelight’, ‘Lois’, ‘Judy Zuk’ – and even peach – ‘Peachy’, ‘Eva Maria’, ‘Amber’, ‘Apricot Brandy’.

Magnolia 'Goldstar'.

Finally, the smaller M. stellata (itself one of the parents of M. x loebneri) has been successfully crossed and backcrossed to widen the range of smaller Magnolias. The yellow/cream flowered ‘Goldstar’ is a real favourite, as are the semi-doubled ‘Wildcat’ & ‘Powder Puff’ and the beautifully formed, pure white ‘Donna’.

Once it’s been planted (and well tended of course) a Magnolia will grow to form a very substantial garden feature for generations to come, so it’s got to be worth taking the time to seek out and plant one of the superior forms that are now available. In gardening terms the reward, each spring, will be almost unparalleled.


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