Day 89 - Whiffy

I'm not going to dwell nostalgically on too many plants, although I thought I might originally. I did go through a few obsessions though. For a while I had a thing for foxgloves, especially the perennial ones, although we had plenty of the common ones dotting themselves around too. In my time I grew Digitalis lanata, D. ferruginea, D. ambigua and D. obscura, which was so obscure nobody noticed it except me, and various others besides. D. ferruginea was always a strong performer, reaching shoulder-height with its yellow, brown-tinged narrow flowers and forming large clumps. Others did less well and needed constant replenishing with young seedlings which we grew in the greenhouse, such as D. lanata, which was predominately white with brown markings and a pronounced lip at the base of the trumpet. Can't remember which one this is, and it is not a particularly clear photograph, but it's a fine thing anyway -

In some ways, though, you can't beat the common wild arrivals, which do sow themselves in nice informal drifts if you can bear to leave them there -

I could go on at length about individual plants, but I'm going to rein in my natural volubility and restrict myself. Perhaps I'll get back the readers who have deserted me if I am more concise? Nevertheless, I might just mention that we had a fine collection of Viburnums. These included the ubiquitous V. plicatum 'Mariesii' with its tiers of lacecap flowers which are so popular. Much better was the variety V plicatum 'Pink Beauty', which the Old Man obtained by accident when Hilliers Nursery phoned him up and said, 'We've got a Viburnum we can't get rid of, would you like it? to which he answered 'Yes'. It has the advantage that it is much more compact and the white flowers age to pink over a period of 6-8 weeks, followed by the berries. Plant that next to a Hydrangea paniculata type to flower later with a similar colour shift, and you will have flowers for more than quarter of the year for no more outlay than the price of a couple of shrubs.

On the terrace we had a Viburnum which was listed as V. juddii in our plant catalogue. I'm not sure that it was, as it differs significantly from the other specimens of V. juddii I have seen. In fact this one was far better, with handsome strong pink buds opening to white, and giving off a glorious powerful perfume right in front of one of our benches, which was rarely without a guest when these were in flower -

Other similar varieties dotted around included Viburnum carlesii and its hybrids. These were similarly highly scented, but lacked the attraction of the deep pink buds which gave this one its character. They were still a sensory delight to insert your nose into though -

I found very early on that it was a good idea to place scented flowers near the benches, and encouraged this as much as I could. On other occasions, I had to have my little joke. One plant I had discovered when looking over a hedge into the butler's garden while cutting the top, was a spectacular tuberous individual of the Arum lily family, with enormous dark spathes which were visually spectacular. I could see that the butler's garden never received attention, and when there was a change of personnel within the house, I took the opportunity to nip in and lift all the plants, which in any case had belonged to the property my organisation had inherited and were in danger of being lost through the neglect of the private staff in whose garden they now found themselves. Presumably they had been placed there originally because they are not reliably hardy, and needed a sheltered spot in the lee of a hedge.

Once I had got my grubby hands on them, I sought a sheltered enough spot for them, and decided that they would be best suited to a prominent position under the south wall of the mansion, which although susceptible to strong winds, was nevertheless quite warm, especially as the occupants had the central heating ramped up to choking levels all winter. It was only later when we added in some extra benches carefully spaced along the terrace that I realised that I had placed the foul-stinking Dracunculus vulgaris right behind one of the seats, which remained conspicuously empty for a couple of weeks while the clump gave off its insect-attracting stench of rotten meat. Even gardeners have to have fun, and I never moved it -

Never mind the smell - those are a foot long and more!

So that's it. No more from this garden. My wife had left me a couple of years before, my kids were grown up and had left with her, favouring the town with its pubs over the simple country life in a place where the public transport shut down at 6.00 in the evening. But it had been a great place with considerable freedom for them to grow up in. It was time for new directions.

As for me, I had started a new relationship, and needed a fresh angle on life. We were both lucky enough to find employment back north of the border at the same time, and fresh beginnings beckoned. See you later with fresh challenges.

But I can't say I wouldn't miss my lovely garden, the place where all my ideas formed and the high-point of my career -

Look at all that colour in the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. Can't fault it, and it takes me right back to day 1 of this blog, when I mentioned the subtle charms of Abelia chinensis, with its lack of ostentation and throwaway scent which surprises every time you walk past it. It's just out of the picture to the left. Tantalising, huh?