Authors: Margery Fish
No garden should be without
Salvia uliginosa
or
S
.
azurea.
When most of the other flowers in the border are calling it a day these lovely creatures will produce their swaying heads of intense blue high above their dying compatriots. Those tender shrubby salvias,
S
.
Grahamii
and
S. Greggii
, will go on blooming till frost puts an end to their succession of bright crimson flowers, but one must find a very sheltered niche for them.
Belladonna lilies and nerines come in September and October and go on flowering till mid-November. They love a southern aspect, and nerines do best if planted about ten to twelve inches deep. For me they flower more consistently than the lilies, who sometimes sulk for a year, then relent and push up their very naked buds, without a vestige of green clothing, when you least expect them.
Sternbergias, the yellow crocus that blooms in mid-October is very adaptable and will grow anywhere. Its glistening yellow flowers cheer me for a whole day when I see them so late in the year. And to make their blooming even later you can dig up some of the clumps in summer. The process of dividing and replanting gives them a slight setback and they’ll show their displeasure by delaying flowering for a week or two.
Against a south wall I have a clump of
Tulbaghia violacea
and find its heads of mauve keep opening till late November. Looking like an allium and smelling like an allium it does everything that an allium does except that it flowers in the autumn.
But the autumn queen to my mind is the Kaffir lily, schizostylis to give it its proper name. It seems almost indecent to bring in bunches of their scarlet, or pink blooms to rooms bright with firelight. But these lovely flowers, which look rather like miniature gladioli, last well in water, and continue opening their buds. The first to flower is
S
.
coccineus
, and you may find the first flower in September. There is a much sought after giant form of
S. coccineus
, and another red, more starry in flower and more carmine in colour, is named after Professor Barnard. Mrs Hegarty flowers next, and her beautiful deep shell pink flowers are more rounded than the others. Viscountess Byng, who flowers last is the most robust of the tribe, with longer flower spikes and long narrow flowers like pink satin. I have seen a great bowl of these flowers picked on Christmas Day.
Kaffir lilies like a good rich diet, they like plenty of moisture and enjoy sunshine. If happy they increase very rapidly, and seem to like being divided regularly. I have noticed that those in a sheltered position bloom first, and now I plant some roots of Viscountess Byng in a deep trench and cover them with barn cloches to protect those delicate blooms from winter rain.
Schizostylis always give me a thrill especially when I meet them in an unexpected place. The magnificent blooms of
S
.
coccineus
in the garden of an Exmoor manor house were to me far more exciting than the meet that was being held there. I found some coyly peeping from a hedge in a cottage in North Devon where we went for tea, but the greatest surprise of all was a great long bed of them in a Cornish churchyard. The church of Morwenstow is imposing and its churchyard quite big for such a tiny hamlet. The day we saw them was bleak and wet in mid-October but that blaze of scarlet lit up the sombre churchyard. I wondered who had planted them and who tends them now. That they were loved was obvious by the generous offerings of cow manure all through the bed, and that they were happy was plain for the wealth of bloom. I wouldn’t have said they were growing in ideal conditions, with great yew trees nearby, but their long bed had perhaps a slight tilt to the south, all among the graves, and perhaps they had found something else they liked.
A friend of mine is experimenting in growing Kaffir lilies so near a pond as to be practically in the water. So far the results have been worth the gamble as some of the spikes have opened to the last tiny bud, something which never happens in the ordinary way.
Among the shrubs that prolong the season, I would place first
Veronica
Bowles var. It is a tiny little shrub, with tiny leaves, so it can be used almost anywhere. Its flowers look like soft blue lace from the distance, and cover the plant with a soft haze. It is worth looking at them closely because though so tiny they are most exquisitely formed. As you might expect
V
. Autumn Glory comes into its own in October and November, and a smaller, neater bush, with the same late habit, is
V
. Blue Gem. Its foliage is only faintly bronze and the flowers are lighter in colour than those of
V
. Autumn Glory, Another veronica for this time of year is
V
. Warley Rose. Rather bigger than the others it is looser in growth and has larger flower spikes of clear pink, most generously given. But it is not so hardy as the other two.
Some of the olearias bloom late.
O
.
olearifolia
has grey-green leaves, lined with silver, that remind one of the olive, and it smothers itself with small white daisies. I never cut them off because they turn into balls of ivory fluff and stay that way all through the winter.
I don’t know if mine is an exception but the
Coronilla glaucum
that sits at the top of the rock garden near the big gate and leans against the south wall behind it, never stops blooming. It goes into an absolute frenzy when it ought to be settling down for a winter and smothers itself with little yellow pea-like blossoms.
I expect there are plenty more plants that can be found to make the spring begin earlier and the autumn last longer.
Owners of very big gardens have infinite scope for segregating different species—if they want to. I shouldn’t, because I like every part of the garden to be interesting at every time of year.
No one can deny that an iris garden in full flower is lovely, but the foliage of irises is so beautiful at all times that a clump here and there among other plants is a great help in creating a harmonious planting. Irises are excellent with other plants in a small stone formal garden and I feel some of their charm is lost when they are planted in a mass.
A garden or border entirely filled with Michaelmas daisies is lovely in the autumn but exceedingly dull during the rest of the year. Michaelmas daisies are a great help to make the average garden bright and interesting in the autumn and I don’t know how people manage without them for late summer display. They come in so many colours, heights and habits that there is always one for every bare spot in the scheme, and it seems a waste to lump them all together, so that they detract from each other’s loveliness.
White borders and white gardens are lovely and if there is enough room to indulge in such delights I am all for it. The beautiful silver and white garden at Sissinghurst is a delight, and there is nothing more beautiful than white and silver plants against sombre old walls, such as courtyards and priory gardens. A gold and silver border is another luxury for the over-gardened, and one could have great fun finding just the right plants for it, but for most of us white and silver and gold must be woven into the tapestry of just one garden.
I have never been able to work up much enthusiasm for rose gardens, as such, as there always seems to be something artificial and stilted about them. The happiest rose garden I have ever seen is at Cranbourne. Surrounded by lovely old pink brick walls the roses are grown in rather narrow beds with little brick paths between them, and instead of the usual, formal raised beds, here the roses are grown
practically level with the paths. When I saw them they were cosily muffled in the straw from generous mulchings of farmyard manure, and I have never seen roses looking more satisfied and comfortable.
Roses in a large bed always look self-conscious to me. Some solve the problem, and the violas or alyssum or lobelias don’t really quite do. I think the answer is to grow roses in a mixed border, or informally in an odd border here and there. One way of getting colour in one part of the border for a long time is to group together several bushes of one of the polyantha roses. Frensham is to my mind one of the best for a bold display of deep colour. Little Dorrit is good for a position near the front, being low and spreading and a delightful coral pink to blend with lavender or pale blue. Berry Prior is a lively pink and a little trailer, the Pulsen family offer infinite scope, and the lovely shell pink of Break of Day is exquisite in associaiton with
Iris pallida
or nepeta. Ingrid Stenzig has tight little flowers of a very deep pink, which she grows on tall stems in large clusters. She flowers right up to December and is very vigorous and obliging. Another late flowerer is Cocorico, a dazzling scarlet, which is semi-double and has shaggy golden stamens.
Old-fashioned and species roses have certainly come back to stay, but I do wish their proud owners would plant them singly and not lump them together like a shrubbery. Planted in a mass they lose all charm and individuality. They just get big and untidy and loll against each other, whereas a single specimen at the back of a border or against a wall is a thing of beauty. Cranbourne also gives me a lesson in how to grow old roses. Here they are planted in a narrow bed in the middle of a long narrow garden, with borders on both sides. There is grass on each side of the old roses and it is pleasant to stroll along and take in their beauty.
My borders combine all aspects of gardening—shrubs, bulbs, foliage plants, even little patches of annuals to fill any bare spaces. Quite unorthodox, perhaps, but being a greedy woman I want something of everything, and in this way there is always something in bloom. My husband deplored this habit of mine, and could not understand the real excitement of finding something unexpected coming into flower when everything else has gone to sleep.
I am lucky in having little walls that not only hold up the flower beds but give me more places in which to plant enchanting little rock creatures to sprawl or foam or cascade over the stones according to their nature. Then there are crevices and odd chinks between the bottom of the walls and the stone paths for coloured primroses and little daisies, even something a little bigger now and again, such as
Teucrium Chamaedrys
,
Geranium Endressii
or even nepeta.
In the old days of many gardeners, bulbs were lifted every year after flowering and replanted in the autumn, except, of course, those that were naturalized. Nowadays we haven’t labour and in most of our gardens bulbs stay in the ground all the year round and have to take their chance of damage from the gardener’s fork.
Tulips are the main bulb feature in my borders and they usually appear regularly each year, as I know more or less where I have planted them. Some of the clumps increase quite remarkably, others are not so obliging and for that I blame field mice. I have a very pale yellow which looks lovely anywhere. Then there is Niphetos, a lovely greenish white, and nothing gives me as much pleasure as these stately groups of snowy flowers. Tulips look best planted in a clump rather close together, so that they come up like a happy family. In time the flowers do tend to get a little smaller, and then it is time to lift and divide the bulbs, and replant them with generous helpsing of bonemeal.
Hyacinthus candicans
grouped together in a dark corner bring a welcome patch of light in the late summer. This bulb is often misued. It should always be planted in groups of at least six and never spotted about as single specimens. Like the Bermudian snowdrop and the pale blue camassia, its real home should be among shrubs or in a woodland garden. The deep blue camassia I admit to my garden. It doesn’t increase like its pale sister and introduces a wonderful note of intense blue.
Anthericum Liliago
(St Bruno’s lily) I am always pleased to meet. It is a dainty little plant for the edge of the path, and does not ramp. But anemones I think should be grown in a bed by themselves as they have an untidy habit of seeding themselves in odd places. In the small beds round shrubs planted in a lawn is, I think, a very good place to grow such things as anemones. They don’t get in the way of the shrubs and their only competitors are weeds, which shouldn’t be there anyhow.
Nearly all of us introduce a few shrubs into our borders nowadays. They give solidity and permanence, and enhance the beauty of the herbaceous perennials planted round them.
They can be roughly divided into four categories. First there are the evergreen, formal trees, placed in strategic positions to make the bones or structure of the garden, round which the flesh, i.e., the flowers, will be planned.
Then there are the clothing shrubs. I mean by that the informal shrubs that can be planted here and there to avoid that bare, bleak look in the winter, such as a great mound of purple sage or a low dark spread of
Viburnum Davidii.
Grey shrubs come next, phlomis and senecio, santolina and helichrysum, to gentle the landscape and to act as a background for the more vivid colours.
And lastly there are the small, graceful shrubs that mingle so happily with all the other plants.