The Mix, caught in early sunlight, Tostat, June 2019
At this time of year, the light becomes so bright that photography is an early morning or late evening activity. The light creeps over the house in the morning like a ranging searchlight, and the other day, it was the right place and the right time. Standing by the Mix, my now 3 year old perennial planting with the occasional small shrub and grass, the sun spotlit the tops of the clumps of perennials, picking out the Monarda fistulosa and the Lychnis chalcedonica ‘Salmonea’ as the tallest in town just yet. This area has been a real experiment- made even more experimental this year by the one-armed bandit requirement of ‘no weeding’. About 6 weeks ago, it looked pretty awful. But now, with the rain and sun we have had, the perennials are powering upwards, and, unless you have a pair of binoculars, you mostly can’t see any serious weed activity. There is a lesson here for the future.
Papaver somniferum, from Biddy Radford, Tostat, June 2019
This has been a good year for self-seeding- another bonus for one-armed gardening. Opium poppies, Papaver somniferum, have popped themselves all over the gravel paths and into some of the more orthodox places as well. As self-seeders, you can get years when the colours are very washed out- but this year has been loads better with good mauves and soft pinks. The bees and insects love them- and I do, for their unfurling architecture as much as for the flowers.
Unfurling Opium poppy and Penstemon ‘Dark Towers’, Tostat, June 2019
Playing with Penstemons has become a bit of an obsession. I grew some Penstemon digitalis ‘Husker Red’ from seed the year before last, and so with the wait, this is the beginning of seeing the plant in action. Slim, upright growth, dark beetroot colouring on the stems and leaves, and buds which are creamy-yellow. Not yet a big player, but with potential. I also bought some Penstemon ‘Dark Towers’ a cross between ‘Husker Red’ and ‘Prairie Splendour’. Now this is a big, beefy plant. Strong upright, dark crimson, darker than ‘Husker Red’, stems and leaves, altogether bigger and more imposing, and then, on filigreed stems, big pale mauve flowers. So far, so very good. Not yet tested for drought tolerance, but that will come.
Trifolium rubens, Tostat, June 2019
Two years ago, visiting the stunning gardens at Kentchurch Court, I was seriously smitten by what seemed like giant clover flowers on speed. It was a variety of Trifolium, and so I have been growing some from seed since last summer, and it is just about to flower. This is the species form of Trifolium ochroleucon– more to follow. But, I have also bought plants of two more Trifoliums, Trifolium rubens and Trifolium pannonicum ‘White Tiara’. Both are doing well so far in their first year, seeming to cope well with the conditions- the true test will come.
Trifolium pannonicum ‘White Tiara’, Tostat, June 2019Philadelphus ‘Starbright’, Tostat, June 2019
A bargain basement buy this year in the new area, still covered in cardboard, and holding its own, is a newish variety of Philadelphus called ‘Starbright’. A recent Canadian selection, it has dark-red stems and strong, single white flowers and is very cold and drought tolerant- hence my giving it a go.
Phlomis longifolia var. bailanica with Allium nigrum behind and a sprinkling of Dianthus cruentus, Tostat, June 2019
This has been the year of the Phlomis- all my plants have adored the weather and conditions. Phlomis longifolia var.bailanica has doubled in size, and has emptied the custard tin over itself, with incredible Birds Custard coloured flower heads. I am responsible only for the Phlomis and the Allium nigrum, also enjoying life- the Dianthus cruentus is self-seeded, I think from a few feet away.
Tomorrow, we are off to visit Jardin de la Poterie Hillen– this should be a lovely garden day with great patisserie as well. Not to be knocked. And some splendid planting, such as this extraordinary rose, Rosa ‘Pacific Dream’, photographed by my friend Martine in case I missed it….
Rosa ‘Pacific Dream’ Jardin de la Poterie Hillen, Thermes-Magnoac 65, June 2019. Photo credit: Martine Garcia
Riad As-Sultan, Kasbah Museum, Tanger, Morocco, April 2024
In a cold and wet Tanger last weekend, we found another Andalusian garden. The Kasbah Museum at the very top of the Medina, is really worth a visit. Built probably around the 14th century, it has been the home and seat of government for many rulers of Tanger, from Sultans to the British. Tanger has had many landlords over the centuries. So the garden likely dates from the earliest incarnation of the building. It is a little neglected now, but still holds the mysteries of light and shade, flowers and fruit, that typifies the islamic garden traditions. I have never seen coloured and curved paving before though, and though you might imagine that the bare earth would have been planted, the starkness of the bare earth really showed the tiling off, gleaming in the moisture from the rain.
The cracked pot, Riad As-Sultan, Kasbah Museum, Tanger, Morocco, April 2024
I love a cracked pot. This one is a very good specimen. In a wetter climate, it would split eventually I guess, but in Morocco, it can still hold it’s own.
So back to sunny Rabat, where, for the third time, I had a chance to revel in the Jardin Andalou des Oudayas, again in a striking and beautiful collection of imposing buildings at the top of one of the Kasbah hills, looking over the sea and the town. The history of this garden continues to say much about the history of Rabat itself.
Hubert Lyautey photographed in 1927, photo credit: wikipedia.org
Like the Jardins d’Essais, the Oudayas garden was created under the French Protectorate in the 1920s. Hubert Lyautey (1854-1934) was the Resident-General of the French Protectorate from 1912-1925, and whilst his photograph shows him to be the epitome of French military bearing and approach, he interestingly combined militarism with what might be called a ‘softer diplomatic approach’, and maybe being too generous to him, this might have included an interest in garden creation. However, this would only be garden creation in the French way, and in the case of the Oudayas, Lyautey chose the esteemed artist and architect Maurice Tranchant de Lunel. There is a hint that a garden existed before Tranchant de Lunel completely restaged it in the 1920s, but as the Protectorate Director of the Department of Antiquities appointed by Lyautey, he chose to honour the islamic traditions of gardening in his design.
Some say nowadays that the garden is losing it’s islamic heritage and becoming too French in the planting. But I think that this is an oversimplification. To my eye, the garden is a good example of a fusion garden. The lower sections are set out in the tradtional islamic cruciform shape, with a central fountain and four rectangular areas separated by a rill of water. The planting here is composed of a mix of pomegranates, orange trees, aromatic shrubs, flowering bulbs and roses as you would expect. Of the three gardens I have seen, this one is the most well tended and planted, so that there is a real feeling of generosity in the layers of planting and the use of the ground.
The central fountain, Jardin Andalous des Oudayas, Rabat, April 2024Tulbaghia violacea, Jardin Andalous des Oudayas, Rabat, April 2024Really generous planting, Jardin Andalous des Oudayas, Rabat, April 2024
And then the fusion comes into play. A generous pergola, with dramatic Erythrina crista-galli flowering, is placed to the side of the cruciform layout. A really pleasing stepped terracing that takes the level of the garden up the hill to the gate, rises up to meet one of the probably 12th century towers of the orginal Sultanate palace. More restoration has taken place in the early 2000s, which has incorporated wheelchair and buggy access to the terraced areas, brilliant for the very many tourists and local families who enjoy the space. And as well as the terracing, there is great use of the original walls and sides of the garden to make interesting use of pots and walkways.
The rise of the stepped terracing, Jardin Andalous des Oudayas, Rabat, April 2024Symmetry, Jardin Andalous des Oudayas, Rabat, April 2024Jardin Andalous des Oudayas, Rabat, April 2024The stepped terrace, Jardin Andalou des Oudayas, Rabat, April 2024
For me, it’s a garden that looks to the past and to the future. And authenticity is not everything. A garden still has to function for the living human beings who use it, and this is a charming and loved place.
Erythrina crista-galli flowering on the pergola, April 2024, Jardin Andalou des Oudayas, Rabat, MoroccoJacaranda mimosifolia just breaking out, Jardin Andalous des Oudayas, Rabat, April 2024All to come….
Yellow Grevillea, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
This fabulous yellow Grevillea has just erupted into flower, but as it was in a tree canopy some 20m high, it took a lot of pointing and squinting in the hot sun to even get this ‘artistically’ slightly fuzzy photo. Just a small group of these magnificent trees made a golden halo over our heads. From a distance, I thought it was a Callistemon, but the arching, almost horn-like flower structure confirmed it as a Grevillea. Maybe a Grevillea Robusta.
I have never experienced an extended period of acquaintance with a botanical category garden before. The chance to watch and wait as shrubs and trees emerge and bloom is really fabulous. Can you watch an overture? Not in musical terms, but you can in a garden. Although maybe calling Spring in Morocco an overture, probably the best season of all before the real heat and dry kicks in, is a real misnomer. But never mind, the general idea still works. Of course, in my own garden, the watching and waiting is precisely the great joy of it all, but in another space, where you have had no hand in making it, it is a real pleasure and surprise. And, as well, the surprise is really surprising! What follows is my inventory of surprise over the last week or so.
Strelitzia augusta, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
Here is another 20m high flowering wonder. To the casual eye, these immense plants, from a distance seemed almost banana-like. But hiding high in the canopy were these surreal white and blue flowerheads, which gave the game away as a Strelitzia of giant proportions. Running down a wide path close to the Jardin d’Andalus, they almost guarded the space. For those with a giant conservatory or greenhouse in the UK, Strelitzia augusta would be a show-stopper.
The whole thing, Strelitzia augusta, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
The Stelitzia more commonly known to gardeners is the Strelitzia regina, below. Growing to a good metre tall and wide in the warmth it needs, it is also the mascot flower for the city of Los Angeles, it is a striking and colourful plant. My mum adored them. And, in my favourite historical vein of finding the hidden women in horticulture, there is a significant connection between both these plants and the House of Hanover in the UK. Princess Augusta of Saxe-Gotha, mother of King George the Third, contributed to the enlarging of the smaller botanical garden at Kew, outside London, that her husband had developed to create a collection of tropical plants. The great Pagoda at Kew, still universally loved, was built as a present for Augusta in 1761.
Her son, King George the Third, married Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz in 1761, the same year that the Great Pagoda was built. She was, by all accounts, an accomplished botanist, and so the Strelitzia family of plants was named for her. I haven’t found a reference for the naming of Strelitzia augusta, but it isn’t a big leap to imagine that it was named for Princess Augusta, while the smaller, colourful plant is known to have been named for Queen Charlotte, Augusta’s daughter-in-law.
Kew Palace, a small royal palace inside Kew Gardens, was a favourite residence for Charlotte, and Queen Charlotte’s Cottage, at Kew, which Charlotte had built as a summer house, can still be visited today, as can Kew Palace itself.
Strelitzia regina, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, MoroccoThe Great Pagoda, Kew Gardens, built in 1761, photo credit: http://www.wikipedia.org
Another high-flying flowerer caught my eye, and I was only able to identify it from a French inventory of unusual specimen plants in the garden which I fell over on the internet. Calodendron capense has huge flowering bunches of almost lily-like pink flowers and is very striking, but you won’t see it if you’re not looking up. In amongst other trees, it grows slender and very tall, and flowering happens at the top of the canopy. I only spotted one tree in the garden.
Calodendron capense, from 20m below, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, MoroccoAnd when it’s in cheerleader mode, Calodendron capense, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
Here is a plant which I do know. My own Cestrum elegans is still in recovery mode after a severe pruning last Autumn. It got completely stripped by some beastie and being at the back of the Barn Garden, I didn’t spot it till it was down to bare twigs. So desperate measures meant digging it up, no vine weevils fortunately and potting it up in the hospital ward. This Spring , so far, it looks much better and has produced good, sturdy growth, but no flowers, never mind. It was a bit of a stunner in better days, and so let’s see what next year brings.
Cestrum purpureum, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
This is probably it’s first cousin, Cestrum purpureum with a mauve flower bunch. In the UK, what is called Cestrum Purpureum by many nurseries, is the same lipstick pink as my Elegans, so I have chosen a different link for this plant seen in Morocco. It is less knockout in terms of colour, but very sweet all the same. It wasn’t looking altogether happy in Rabat, I suspect it needs quite a bit more water than it will ever get in Morocco. Dryness might have been a factor for mine too, as that feeds weakness and then the bugs move in.
Cestrum elegans in better days, Tostat, January 2019
This closeup below, does show this Portea alatisepala off as a Hammer Horror extra, but when the purple buds break, it looks rather wonderful. Insects love it, as you can see, but it rather too closely resembles a bleeding stump of a hand to me right now.
Portea alatisepala, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
It’s a shame this plant, Strophanthus speciosus, is entirely poisonous top to toe. Who wouldn’t love this crazy spidery flower growing up and down a pergola? Ah well.
Strophansus speciosus, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, MoroccoAloe arborescens, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
I think this kind of speckled light is the best way to see Aloes of any kind. The spikes, the new growth, everything is illuminated rather than flattened. And here, they reach for the sky.
White mulberries on the way to ripeness, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
Lots of the women gardener workers have been busy harvesting these little fruits in the garden, and you can buy them in the souk. I have never knowingly eaten a mulberry, but had always assumed they were a very dark fruit. These taste subtly sweet, as I found when a gardener offered me one to taste. The tree is statuesque, which you can’t see unless it is on it’s own in a big space, as below.
The magnificence of the tree, Morus alba, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
And a store for the future…
Store for the future, Crocosmia seedpods, Les Jardins d’Essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
Today in the sun, the Minzah, a 19th century evocation of a Neo-Moorish pavillion front face, April 2024, Jardins d’Essais, Rabat, Morocco
This blog is dedicated to our friend, Del, who would have joined us today for a few days, but has picked up a nasty infection and so is at home in the Languedoc. Get well soon!
Although the Forestier designed Jardins d’Essais were developed between 1914-1919, the Minzah, shown above and below, was probably constructed at the end of the nineteenth century, and restored again in 1924. A period of use and then disuse followed until the development of a new Andalous style garden within the Jardins d’Essais located the new garden adjacent to the Minzah. This revitalised the old building into a new context as a small museum describing the use of water in gardens and agriculture in the Mediterranean basin. It is a very handsome building and a good little museum.
Med-O-Med is a cross-country project collaboration between the government of Spain and other Islamic countries in the Mediteranean basin, intended to promote sustainable social and cultural development. In this spirit, the Med-O-Med Al Andalus Garden was designed using the skills of historians, landscape experts and gardening specialists from the Universities of Cordoba and Granada, as well as from the Islamic Cultural Foundation.
Restored late 19th century Neo-Moorish pavillion from the rear, April 2024, Jardin d’Essais, Rabat, Morocco
The design team wisely chose to locate the new garden adjacent to the MIznah, because as a dedicated small space within a large park-style botanical garden, the Al-Andalus garden could have been a bit lost. The Miznah roots the garden inside the bigger whole.
Four immense conifers surround a square pool, by contrast the pool edging is a very pretty block of small blue osteospermum, which I really like for the simplicity of it.
Immense conifers introduce the Al-Andalus garden, April 2024, Jardin d’Essais, Rabat, MoroccoSmall blue osteospermum frame the first pool at the entrance, April 2024, Al-Andalus garden, Jardins d’Essais, Rabat, Morocco
The garden is laid out in the traditional cross pattern, with a central rill connecting two square pools and a small central fountain. Four square beds fill the quadrants of the cross pattern. Each bed contains small architectural evergreens, fruit trees, bitter oranges and pomegranates, as well as aromatics, rosemary and lavender, small to medium robust shrubs and some spring and summer flowering bulbs. The design evokes the themes of an Andalus garden without specifically copying an original.
I suspect that the garden has slightly suffered over the years since 2013 when it opened. There is no sign of Rosa damascena, which was planted orginally, and what must be replacement roses are visibly toiling and are largely modern, which is a pity. The pools and fountain were empty, which may also be due to water restrictions and climate change. The trees and shrubs have done well, being perfectly suited to the conditions.
The North-South axis, pools linked by rills and fountain, Al-Andalus garden, April 2024, Jardin d’Essais, Rabat, MoroccoThe central pavillion, framed by tiling and symmetrical planting, April 2024, Al-Andalus garden, Jardin d’Esssais, Rabat, MoroccoBitter orange and non-fruiting pomegranate, ‘Mme Legrelliae’, aromatic underplanting, April 2024, Jardin Al-Andalus, Jardins d’Essais, Rabat, Morocco
It took this garden to remind me how I loved Punicum granatum ‘Mme Legrelliae’! I wrote a blog nine years ago about the naming of this beautiful large shrub/small tree- it’s quite a fascinating story. In the Al-Andalus, the trees had been fairly battered by the prolonged heavy rain in the last 10 days, but in drier conditions, the flowers emerge from a huge rosehip-like bud as if a very fancy edged handkerchief is being gently pulled from a breast pocket. Quite gorgeous, and the delicate cream edge is so pretty.
Gardens like this are known to have contained flowering bulbs in the spring, so the narcissi and some Iris waiting to flower were good to see. But you do need bulbs to be planted closely, each plant looked rather lonely, stranded from the others.
I found one rather exhausted small pink rose, which may have been an original planting, and at least did a good job of evoking the rose choice that would have fitted the style of the garden. Needs more…
But if you are in Rabat, go and visit. It’s not perfect, and it could do with some tlc, but as a garden for repose and quiet intimacy, it works really well. Small groups of local women could be found talking or gently praying together in the enclosed niches at either end of the garden. And the benches are well made, strong and comfortable. So it really does work as a space. Just needs some more botanical support.
Tony Tomeo, a faithful reader of the blog, gave me a very useful correction on the name of that spectacular palm in the last blog. Thanking you, Tony.
Brahea armata, thank you Tony Tomeo, April 2024, Jardin d’Essais, Rabat, Morocco
Formal avenue and steps, Les jardin d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
Hallo from Rabat, the capital city of Morocco. We are living here for a month whilst Andy studies Arabic, and we are living, as luck would have it, only a few minutes walk from the fabulous Botanical Gardens. Interestingly, they were founded by the Moroccan ruler at the time, with the support of the French Protectorate, just before World War One. The principal aim of the project was to scientifically examine the possibilities of growing different non- native plants to support agronomic research. Many decades later, the Gardens were re-classified as ‘botanical’ gardens as Rabat developed into the capital city that it is now.
And there is magnificent planting to be seen. The gardens are bounded by modern roads and divided into two halves by another major road. But the planting is so well placed and now much of it mature, that at the centre of each half, the traffic noise is only a hum, whilst the bird song is symphonic. The space really encourages the visitor, with generous comfortable seating placed everywhere, and of course, as much shade as possible from the pathside tree planting, and clever creation of newer paths that wind, as opposed to the straighter early 20th century paths which seem like boulevards by comparison. There are formal areas and many enchanting corners, as well as an entire re-imagined Jardin d’Andalous. I am waiting for a cloudier day to show you that.
Butia odorata, I think, April 2024, Les jardins d’essais, Rabat, Morocco
On my four visits so far, I have been captivated by the simple but effective accompanying planting that is used in the garden. For example, the Butia above, is a thrilling golden shower of flowersprays at the moment, which draw the eye from the moment you enter the gardens. And it is underplanted with a block of short pale violet osteospermums and a low rosemary hedge, so effective and so simple.
Butia odorata flowerspray, April 2024, Les jardins d’essais, Rabat, Morocco
In another part of the garden, this fabulous stand of Bismarkia nobilis flank the path. The fierce sunlight produces an effect as if the contrast button has been turned up, and you are confronted with full drama of light and shade.
Bismarkia nobilis, I think, Les jardins d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
The last time I saw the poinsettia plant in flower, Euphorbia pulcherrima, was in Ethiopia in October one year. But here in Morocco, the flower appears before the leaves, and at first from a distance, I thought it was an exotic bird that had popped onto the top of the tree. I actually have an irrational hatred of the Xmas potted poinsettia (never buy me one if you are a friend) but on trees, out in nature, it is a fabulous thing.
Euphorbia pulcherrima, April 2024, Les jardin d’essais, Rabat, Morocco
This shrub and small tree, Acalypha wilkesiana, was fortunately labelled, and is used as contrasting plant with the greens of other trees and shrubs. It is a flaming chestnut in the sun, with beautifully polished pink-rimmed toothed leaves, and I think I could adore it, were it not a native of the Pacific islands and therefore not likely to love South West France.
Acalypha wilkesiana, April 2024, Les jardins d’essais, Rabat, Morocco
Here it is, doing it’s flaming best.
Acalypha wilkesiana, Les jardins d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
Rabat has had four days of heavy rain in the last 10 days, and the gardens, even in the brilliant sunshine, are looking very very happy.
Looking down an allée, April 2024, Les jardins d’essais, Rabat, MoroccoSpectacular bougainvillea, April 2024, Les jardins d’essais, Rabat, Morocco
The bougainvillea is just erupting, spurred on by the rain. I asked a gardener how old he thought the trees might be, and he suggested eighty years old, they could even date back to the original plantings between 1914-1919. The trunks wind and bind together, forming a giant bonsai structure, very impressive.
Bougainvillea tree, Les jardins d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, MoroccoLes jardins d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
The immense tree Euphorbia, I think, above, is actually formed of four huge split stems, so the photograph above captures only one of those stems. It was almost magical to stand underneath and look up into the immense canopy.
Looking into the canopy, Les jardins d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
Across the road, there is a spectacular cactus and succulent section. It took visiting Australia a few years back for me to latch onto exceptional dry landscape planting, including cactus and succulents. My eyes jsut couldn’t see the magic of them before that. It is the play of bright light and dark shade on fiercely strong structural shapes that gives this group of plants such majesty and drama.
Cactus and succulents, Les jardins d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, MoroccoCactus and succulents, Les jardins d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
These huge bulbous, beautifully pruned palms, below, with their dark stems create an atmosphere, I think, a bit like the grandeur of heavy Victorian furniture in a shuttered room. And yet, there is a friendly warmth in the shelter that they also provide.
Palms, Les jardins d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
Beatrix Farrand would have approved. Using ivy as a groundcover for avenues of trees, in her case English ivy, was a favourite planting combination in her early 20th century American gardens. The ivy here in Rabat, handles the dryness and the varying light levels well without, I imagine, getting above itself. The play of light and shade is constantly changing.
Ivy groundcover, Les jardins d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
And here’s another favourite plant, Farfugium japonicum, doing the groundcover job. This encourages me to think that I could give it a try in the Barn Garden, which must be damper in the hot months than Rabat, even with irrigation.
Farfugium japonicum, Les jardins d’essais, April 2024, Rabat, Morocco
Looking up the slope to our pink house, Garrigue/front garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
The first time we saw our house before we bought it, three and a half years ago, the front garden, which is separated from the house by a small lane, was a sight. It was a steepish slope, covered in rocks and debris, masses of bramble and bindweed, perched on the hill, overlooked from below and to the sides by other houses. To the right of the rocky slope, looking down, there was tufty grass, saplings growing everywhere, several trees that had moved in, three nutbushes that were aiming for global tree status, and two very unloved cherry trees. But it spoke to me. And as we loved the house as well, the garden, ha ha, came too.
Today was a misty day. So I took some photographs, because a garrigue garden is really hard to photograph in the sun. Too much light bleaches out the slender twigs of the plants, rubs out the soft greens of the shrubs and makes it look like a bad soup. So for the amateur, with one camera, a misty day gives you a fighting chance.
So this seemed pre-destined, to tell you the story of the Garrigue garden, and to try to describe it better than I have done before. I wrote an article for the Mediterannean Garden Society journal in 2022 which sums up in detail the approach that I took to tackling the slope and the rest. I have a link here to my own draft copy as the journal is not available online. So this is the continuation of that story, inspired by this misty day.
The top photograph looks up the slope to our house, you can’t quite see the small lane. So I planted Anisodontea capensis, which flowers all year round, a Cornus Mas which is still too small to see from below and a range of Phlomis, which I brought from Tostat as whole plants or cuttings, and they have all done brilliantly in three years. This is the moment for the Euphorbias too, and they are just beginning to self-seed so I will need to do some removal. The Phlomis are all named in the MGS article. Generally, the plants have all bulked up to fill the space, some may be, in a purist sense, too close to one another but I am not bothered at the moment. I love the undulation of the shapes and have learnt to just ignore the odd tuft of scrubby grass that pops up between.
Looking across the Garrigue/front garden to the side, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
This is a more elegant view because it looks across to the now still tufty, but mowed occastionally, rough grass, which I think, moreorless accidentally, frames the garrigue part really well. The Agave is about a metre and a bit tall and wide, with several babies surrounding it. Despite the exposed situation, it copes really well because of the brilliant drainage of the stony slope. We took out all the saplings and extra trees and Andy has been gradually pruning the old trees to give them back the ‘a bird can fly through’ look. I have ringed one of them with plants, and as a bonus, Andy planted some of last year’s spring bulbs, which have given it a Maynards wine gums sort of look. I love that bench just there in the distance and am often to be found there with a cuppa in my hand. And Molly the dog too.
Detail of planting near the botoom of the Garrigue/front garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
Here is the brilliance of the Achillea groundcover that I rave about. It has made the bottom of the slope a verdant pasture. Achillea crithmifolia is a star. The Stachys byzantina you can see in the foreground is ‘Big Ears’, the tripod is supporting Rosa x odorata ‘Mutabilis’, next to it is Medicargo arborea with the yellow flowers, and a nicely sturdy Grevillea rosmarinifolia is flowering red by the wall.
Towards the bottom of the slope in the Garrigue/front garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024Unedited view into the Garrigue/front garden featuring black plastic, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
I have used black plastic sheeting a lot to help get started, and there is one last patch that needs lifting. Not pretty but it does help although it needs one growing season to be worth it. I love Photinia serratifolia ‘Crunchy’ which you see, with the copper coloured new growth, to the side of the photo. I have three in a triangle half way down the slope, making a nice break with the garrigue.
Same view composed to remove black plastic, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
Looking more Homes and Gardens here! To finish the story, thus far, I have lost many plants here, it’s a complex environment to work with, the differing effects of the sun on the slope, the stoniness varies, and there are always ‘hidden bombs’ of huge galet rocks deep under the surface of the ‘soil’- and there is not much ‘soil’ either. And I never water, apart from on planting in. As you move sideways to the grassier part, the soil is better and the rocks decrease, but not entirely. So, for example, an Indigofera heterantha that I planted three years ago, has died back twice, and is only this year beginning to make growth. But I love what survives!
Anemone fulgens x multipetala in full throttle, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
The ‘Last Post before Rabat’ is not the title of an obscure Marlene Dietrich movie from the early 30’s, but it tells you what is about to happen next with us! Next week, we are off to Rabat in Morocco for a month while Andy takes his Arabic on the next leg, and then we will have 10 days or so to travel a bit in the Eastern side of Morocco. Our house sitter will man the barricades back here in Oloron, and I will be researching the Moroccan spring as much as I can. Meantime, Spring is hotting up here…
And this is the final Anemone moment in it’s full scarlet glory. And this year I am almost in double digits with flowers, so it’s a happy, if slow growing, plant.
Koenigia x fennica ‘Johanniswolke’ just waking up, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
This Koenigia used to be known as Persicaria polymorpha, and still is in France anyway. Just a baby as you can see, but I am looking for giant, voluminous cream flower heads and a substantial bush by the end of the year, I think it’s a fast grower, or I’m hoping that’s the case. It likes shady conditions, which should make it ideal for under next door’s tree overhang, as it is not off to a quick start, and should be gathering pace as the overhang fills up with leaves.
Pennisetum villosum re-homed to the front garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
Last weekend, we had a major wrestling match with 2 huge pots of Pennisetum villosum. It’s probably not a plant to recommend for containers, but it was worth a shot. But by the end of last summer, it was clearly seriously congested, and so surgery had to be performed to get them out of the pots without knocking great holes in the pots themselves. A lot of dead stuff was discarded, and we ended up with six reasonable clumps, which have gone into the ground in the front garden as a half-ring round the young Chitalpa tashkentensis ‘Summer Bells’. This is a hot, stony position and should suit the Pennisetum. Could look great…
Salix gracilistyla melanostachys ‘Kurome’, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
I had to take this photograph. ‘Kurome’ is really spectacular, even if isn’t cerise, and the golden pollen looks stunning against the cranberry colouring. I have to be careful that I don’t end up with a forest though.
Euphorbia ‘Miner’s Merlot’, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
This is a new Euphorbia that has beetroot-red colouring- there must be some Atropurpureum in there somewhere. It darkens down to a deep burgundy colour and flowers for longer than your regular Euphobias. I bought this as 3 young bare root plants and am letting them bulk up before slinging them into the boxing ring for plants that is the hot, dry bit of the Barn Garden. I have three dark leaved Pittosporum tenuifolium ‘Tom Thumb’ already in there, so these new Euphorbias will develop that theme. Apparently, it is also a compact, maybe 75cms all round, kind of sized plant, so ideal where there isn’t masses of space. Euphorbias take pretty much anything weather throws at them, with the likely exception of flooding, so they give a lot and should also self-seed, which might be welcome or not, but you do have the choice.
Disporum longistylum ‘Green Giant’, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
Sometimes when you are drawn to something new, which is also something new to the supplier, you end up with plants or bulbs that, to be truthful, are too young to do what it says on the tin. Thus it was with my Disporums. Hopeless for the first year, getting better in the second, and now in the third year, actually looking pretty robust- but that’s quite a bit of a wait. Still, here is the first flower beginnng to edge itself out of it’s covering- so maybe by the time we leave next week, it might have fully emerged. I really hope so. This one, Disporum longistylum ‘Green Giant’ may well end up living up to it’s name. It needs semi-shade and no strong sunlight, and should be a lovely, wafty clump about a metre tall. One or two sites in the UK say ‘full sun’- I would say ‘Don’t’.
Two Euonymus, ring round the cherry, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
This is a case of lost plant names! The evergreen Euonymus on the left, which is beginning to spire upwards, is Euonymus japonicus ‘Benkomasaki’, and it is probably nearly 7 years old, so lovely though it is, it’s a long term investment. Having said that, I would go for that every time over a more expensive, older plant. It is just brilliant. Lovely structure and small-scale drama all year round, with tight, glossy, dark green leaves- it has presence.
The Euonymus on the right, with the pale green new foliage is another newer variety- probably bred to open up the market with a faster growing plant that will keep customers happy. I think it was ‘Green Spire’ but don’t hold me to it. This plant, already as big as the other, is only 3 years old and much cheaper to buy at the outset. I am actually warming to the pale green new foliage, at first it seemed a bit weird. And It is doing a good job, so it is a good thing, just different. I love them both ringing the cherry tree in the front garden.
Narcissus ‘Sailboat’, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
This utterly charming Narcissus was new to me this Spring. I have to admit that I don’t spend hours swithering over one Narcissus or another, I kind of dive in, make a choice and order it, and then it’s all a bit of a surprise. I did also choose ‘February Gold’, which has just finished- but I think I prefer the soft cream to the very bright yellow and ‘Sailboat’ has a perfume I can actually smell, a lovely sweet floral scent. It is also multi-headed so you seem to get more flowers than you thought you would.
Anemone x fulgens Multipetala 1, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
The rain has continued to pour down, bringing flooded fields and a good dollop of soft snow on the tops of the foothills of the Piedmont Pyrenees, which we can just see from the Barn Garden. But this week we have had a few breaks in the rain, and so those doughty plants that are bashing on with spring growth regardless have had a little cheer. Patience is the virtue most required for gardening, but it is essential in Spring. I don’t want to stamp around on soaked soil and compact the life out of it. But the patience part is hard to muster sometimes, I will be frank.
I first saw this Anemone x fulgens Multipetala growing in a big clump in front of a gate in Auriebat, a village a short way away from Tostat, where we used to live. It is a wonderful flaming red when in full flower and I had to dig deep to identify it, plainly an Anemone, but now quite a rare sight. This is one of those plants that was common in farmyards and vineyards in the Southern end of France, but has largely retreated as the countryside has been liberally dosed with pesticides in the last 50 years. So, eventually, I found some seriously pricey bulbs and planted them in a good place in the Tostat garden. They are not speedy growers, and once flowered, they go back underground in the summer, and remain invisible till the next spring. So, when we came to move in the Autumn of 2021 to Oloron Sainte Marie, I had to take a stab at trying to dig them up and bring them, whilst not slicing them in half. Net result, I dug up only about half of my clump. Never mind. I still have some.
The foliage has been emerging since Christmas, and a week ago, the shy flowerheads have started to lift themselves out of the soil. I have them in a pot in the courtyard, so I know where they are. There’s nothing much to see in the early stages, see photo 1, but all will be revealed…
The Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
The Barn Garden is waking up. I love this mix of plants. From the left, you can only just see the bare, but budding branches of Amelanchier alnifolia ‘Obelisk’. I bought these as 6″ weaklings about 10 years ago, and had them in tall cream pots at the back door in Tostat. ‘Obelisk’ is such a great plant, svelte, upright, and doesn’t grow too big for the smallest garden, has lovely bright green foliage, late Spring cream flowers, small dark fruits and autumn colour. I don’t usually get the autumn colour because of summer dryness, but that’s fine. My two plants have greatly appreciated being back in the ground since we moved, and are really liking the Barn Garden.
Next left is a Mahonia eurybracteata ssp. ganpinensis ‘Soft Caress’ and muscling in from behind, a bright green leaved Fatsia polycarpa ‘Green Fingers’. The Mahonias, two of them, came from the Tostat garden and had become a bit tortured in shape from the big conifer that they grew under. I rather like the contorted shape, and they are straightening up a bit now. This is a more elegant, delicate shape than other varieties of Mahonia, and is also not prickly. I am convinced that it’s botanical name has been changed as I could swear it was only half the length the last time I talked about it.
The Fatsia was a bit touch and go for the first couple of years, as the conditions in the Barn garden were not brilliant, but this past year it has begun to motor. Which just goes to show that not disturbing the ground too much, leaving leaves to lie over the winter, basically giving the process time, and also leaving little weeds to grow and then letting them decompose, is what helps soil to recover. That is a very good use of patience. You can see I have not yet got to pulling the little weed population, but they will be left where they are.
The dry grass that has kept such a good shape through the winter is Pennisteum ‘Black Beauty’, another plant that took time to settle in. But it is now settled, as I potted up a couple of babies in the Autumn for the first time. Tostat was too dry for Pennisetum, but it’s just fine here. Those flowerheads get darker and more striking as the plant matures. The short spikey plants in the foreground are Dianella tasmanica ‘Little Rev’. These have never flowered for me, but this could be due to the tree cover that leans over, reducing the sun reaching the plants. But I like them for their stiff spikiness anyway.
The heucheras are the last thing to mention- survivors of a vine weevil attack when in pots, they are a really great plant, though I admit not being a fan of some of the more outrageously coloured varieties being developed now. These, I think, are Heuchera ‘Caramel’ and I love the apricot tones of the foliage. I split them every now and then, and just poke them in where I have a gap as they are tough and very obliging. A workhorse plant that I used to be sniffy about.
Aspidistra ‘Asahi’ and trimmed Muehlenbeckia grandiflora or complexa, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
I bought a tiny, dried up pot of Muehlenbeckia grandiflora or complexa a few years back, and just stuck it in a better pot. Two years later, and it was in a tall pot, beautifully tumbling with it’s twiggy, tangled growth and it seemed to love wherever it was put. Some sites say it needs sun, mine, just after it’s pruning last week, will soon be doing the tumbling thing and it is pretty much in semi-shade. It does lose leaves in the winter, but they are already popping back as you can see. I like the airy look of it next to the Aspidistra ‘Asahi’.
Anemone 2, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
Here is the Anemone four days later, just beginning to paint itself with colour.
Yellow cerinthe, self-seeded, Barn Garden, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
I love Cerinthe. I do like the blue, but I adore the yellow. Yellow is such a good spring colour. These were grown from seed last year and have self-seeded this year. So, I will need to grow some more for next year as they probably won’t make it back for a third year.
Salix gracilistyla melanostachys ‘Kurome’, Oloron Sainte Marie, March 2024
Last year, I went a bit mad and ending up buying two Salix gracilistyla melanostachys or ‘Kurome’. It was knd of a mistake, but having got myself into that, I bit the bullet and they are both in the shady corner of the courtyard in big pots. These may get very big so I am going to be doing salix pruning to keep them manageable. This is the first catkin, and I am very excited. I tought it would be blacker but on close examination, it is more of a dark cranberry colour with almost chocolate coloured fringing. Imagine that on a sizable shrub. Great Spring drama.
Anemone 3, Oloron Sainte Marie, a week later than 1, March 2024
The cold has slowed the Anemone down, so it will be next week before we get full colour. Can you wait?
Utterly biblical rain for nearly a week, the ground, even in the garrigue garden, is drenched and squelching- it is not to be touched or worked on and so indoors I have been. And so the mind turns to…’a mild form of mania’, as the ground-breaking American landscape gardener, Beatrix Farrand (1872-1959), said of herself in her young years. She was describing her young self as she battled to find a foothold in the entirely male echelons of landscape gardening and architecture. Of which more in a bit.
I have been reading Sandra Lawrence’s excellent book about Ellen Willmott (1858-1934), which is written with passion and verve underpinned by exhaustive reseach and scholarship- a great combination of skills. And I was struck by how many threads interconnected Ellen and Beatrix’s lives even though 14 years separated their births and they never met.
Ellen was born in 1858 and Beatrix Farrand in 1872, so that their lives really did straddle the two centuries when landscape design and gardening emerged into the limelight. Even though only 14 years separated their births, in some ways, Beatrix became what Ellen was unable to be- by her thirties, she was forging a fully independent professional life as a landscape gardener, having been a founder member of the American Society of Landscape Architects, and the first female admitted to membership.
Lime Walk, Biddulph Grange, UK, 2014
I had briefly touched on them both as significant women bridging the 19th and 20th centuries when I did the garden history section of my design diploma, but I have really enjoyed the last few days of research imposed by the weather, and so you are now getting the full effect of it, dear reader. I have ordered the revised edition of Judith Tankard’s biography of Beatrix, so my mild mania continues.
I was reminded of Beatrix way back in 2014-5, when I visited Biddulph Grange, you can follow the link for that connection in my head. Beatrix Farrand was very partial to English Ivy as groundcover, especially if gently sculpted as at Biddulph Grange in the UK. At Dumbarton Oaks, her huge Georgetown, Washington DC project, today the team are largely replacing the ivy as it has proved to be too invasive, as can be seen in the Prunus Walk, where the underplanting is now based on epimediums.
But let’s start with their early lives. Both were born into wealth. Ellen lived most of her life with an inconceivable extravagance backing her many talents and interests, from fashion to antiques, from woodworking tools to photography, from plants, funding important plant hunting expeditions and creating huge personal gardening projects across three countries. In a way, Ellen never grasped or accepted the limits of her wealth, and in the Victorian age, there was no professional exit for her which might have taught her that.
Beatrix also came from ‘Gilded Age’ wealth, and an incredibly useful network of wealthy connections, but she knew the social and financial price of failure as a young teenager when her parents scandalously divorced, and perhaps this fired the engine of her determination to make her professional life create independence.
Both women were very skilled at keeping contact, and deep friendships with other influential and significant plantspeople, botanists, scientists and others- importantly, they were able to inspire mentoring, encouragement, sometimes a little manipulation from powerful male colleagues and mentors. Both, for instance, were significantly prompted and supported by Charles Sprague Sargeant, the Director of Harvard University’s Arnold Arboretum in Boston, a botanical titan of the late nineteenth century. Beatrix met him through family connections, and despite the fact that professional education and training in gardening and landscape was still closed to women, he invited Beatrix to study and train with him. He supported her in her first tentative steps in taking paid commissions and encouraged her to travel in Europe, to study great works of art and broaden her experience and contacts.
Around the same time, Ellen had started a regular and detailed correspondence with Sargeant in which she discussed her gardening projects, plant development work, her botanical successes and experience in plant propagation and her interest in plant-hunting in China in particular. Sargeant was quick to realise that Ellen could provide both money and professional partnership for plant and seed collecting expeditions, and together they were instrumental in making happen, amongst others, Ernest Wilson’s groundbreaking expeditions to China. Ellen became reknowned for her skill in germinating seed sent back by Wilson from these expeditions.
Ernest Wilson, his wife Nellie and their daughter, Muriel Primrose c1910, photo credit: www.plantexplorers.com
Whilst in England in 1895 on her travels, Beatrix was tremendously inspired by meeting the very old William Robinson and also Gertrude Jekyll. Robinson’s work in relaxing the rigid frame of acceptable Victorian gardening style and fostering native and perennial plants in more natural combinations in sympathy with the prevailing Arts and Crafts movement was a great inspiration. Similarly, visiting Jekyll at Munstead Wood introduced her to thinking of painting with plants in coloured drifts.
By the same year, 1895, Ellen’s photographs were regularly published in Robinson’s famed periodical ‘The Garden’. Despite his advancing years, William Robinson was the only horticultural publisher who saw the immense potential of photography as a selling point- and Ellen, by now an exceptionally skilled photographer, was a key contributor. She had already created her immense and extremely well received rock garden for her huge alpine collection at Warley Place, her childhood home, and was busy developing her garden at Tresserve near Aix-les-Bains in the Savoie region of France. She was two years away from being recognised by the Royal Horticultural Society, with Gertrude Jekyll, as the first two women to receive the society’s highest honour, the Victoria Medal of Honour
Two years after the RHS honoured Ellen in 1897, Beatrix set up her business in her mother’s house in New York on her return from the Europe trip, and over the next four years, she built her business as a landscape gardener, culminating in her work being honoured by the becoming the first founding woman member of the American Society of Landscape Architects in 1899.
After 1899, their lives moved in different directions. Beatrix continued working with enormous professionalism and diligence, often criss-crossing the US by train to supervise work projects, working with her secretary alongside, during the journeys. She completed more than 200 garden projects, with, perhaps, her most enduring legacy being the gardens at Dumbarton Oaks, Washington DC.
Ellen, by now the developer of three exceptional gardens, Warley Place in the UK, Tresserve in France, and Boccanegra in Italy, had also never quite realised that her money, once a bottomless purse, would run out, and the last part of her life was spent frantically, and unsuccessfully, trying to manage the debt. The only garden that we can now see of hers, is Boccanegra in Italy, which has been painstakingly restored by the current owners, Guido Piacenza and Ursula Salghetti Drioli. She was born before her time in a way, and is only now being remembered as the supremely talented garden maker and plantsperson that she undoubtedly was.
Beatrix Farrand is better remembered and her legacy can be seen in several gardens, including the iconic Dumbarton Oaks, and her papers and designs are largely intact and kept at the University of California in Berkeley.
Curiously enough, we owe it to Beatrix Farrand that Gertrude Jekyll’s collected papers were saved for posterity. Beatrix bought the collection in 1948 for her own enjoyment and then donated the Jekyll documents along with many records of her own work to Berkeley.
Two small memories of Beatrix: The Sunken Garden, below, was created from Beatrix’s design after her death, and the small but lovely Terrace at Garden Farm, has recently been restored. Garden Farm was Beatrix’s last home.
Crocus ‘Orange Monarch’, Oloron Sainte Marie, February 2024
February is the month for ‘just’ and ‘nearly’. The days are lengthening, with light until about 1845 depending on the day, and this, plus some suspiciously warm days, after buckets of rain, is conning quite a few plants to give it a go. Not altogether wise, but they are wired to work to the conditions, so precocious Spring activity is starting early. Last April, we had a night of slushy snow and hail, so they had better watch out. But I love to see first shoots and the bulbs that can be early, like the Crocus. This is the only orange Crocus, aptly called ‘Orange Monarch’, it’s a newish variety whichI tried last year, but got nothing at all from a potful of bulbs. This year’s bulbs come from the brilliant Cathy Portier in Belgium, and have flowered, albeit they are tiny flowers. Also, they really are much more orange than the photograph suggests!
Unknown hellebore, very pretty with a ruffled centre in lime-green, Oloron Sainte Marie, February 2024
The thing about hellebores is that they mostly protect their flowers by holding them downwards. So you either cup them with your hand, or lie down full length and look up. I myself like my hellebores cream or white, and fairly simple in flowering terms, so this pretty lime-green ruff is about as fancy as I want my hellebores to be. There are breeders going nuts with very fancy flowers and also varieties that hold the flowers up. But I like them like this.
But ‘Mrs Betty Rannicar’ is a new one for me, and is, shocking for me, a double! Or maybe triple or quadruple, but otherwise she is quite plain. Apparently a prodigious flowerer, she was discovered by an Australian breeder, John Dudley, who handpollinated Betty as a stock plant for developing his new double strains at his Tasmanian nursery. Betty never quite took off as a variety in the UK, but I think she’s a bit of a gem in her own right, and I will be watching her closely to see how she does.
Just flowering, Euphorbia myrsinites, Oloron Sainte Marie, February 2024
The first Euphorbia to burst out was this great, stringy, crawling plant, one of my favourites in the ‘garrigue’ garden at the front. Euphorbia myrsinites really is a sprawler, so rocks or border edges are best for it, but the zingy yellow is a knockout.
Salix gracilistyla ‘Mount Aso’, Oloron Sainte Marie, February 2024
I adore this Salix. But I nearly killed it off last year. The first year in Oloron suited it fine, and I was congratulating myself at growing a thirsty Salix in a garden that I don’t water at all. Fast forward a year and a bit, and I realised that I was indulging in plant torture. It was seriously not happy and produced no lovely pink catkins at all. So out it came, into a pot, and into a shady corner of the courtyard where I do water pots in the summer. By October, it had shot out several very happy looking stems which were reaching for the sky, and this February we have the return of these sumptuous raspberry coloured catkins. So it will stay in a pot, and I will just let it get to it’s approximate 2-3 metres tall at the max. It will give that shady corner a bit of a green-over in the summer months. People cut the catkins for Valentine bouquets, but leave them on, they will last longer and create more joy on the plant than off.
Colletia cruciata, Oloron Sainte Marie, February 2024
Colletia cruciata has to be the spikiest plant ever, and what’s more, it even carries two kinds of spike, the ones you can see in the photograph and then, as well, other more fern-like foliage which carries…well, smaller, thinner spikes. I have planted it in the front garden, in the corner produced by our surrounding drystone walls, and a good 2m away from the bench that we often sit on to have cups of tea in good weather. So we should be fine, and not be spiked. I shall simply hope that it likes it there, and that we get the tiny fragrant flowers in the summer. It will be my equivalent of the Victorian monkey puzzle tree.
Just flowering Cornus mas, Oloron Sainte Marie, February 2024
My Cornus mas is doing fine. It was a mere twig when I planted it 3 years ago and now, it’s just over a metre high and wide. Last year we had maybe 4 or 5 of these brilliantly yellow flowers, which smell gorgeous if you get right down onto them. This year, 2 big stems have the fat buds followed by the flower breaking through. No fruits yet, but you have to be patient.
Just appearing, new growth on Melianthus major, Oloron Sainte Marie, February 2024
Myriam, our lovely neighbour, gave me a big piece of what she called ‘the peanut butter bush’ or ‘Melianthus major’, and I was delighted, as this had been a plant I had had two shots at growing in Tostat, but both had failed. So, third time lucky, and last year it really did well and this year, joy of joys, there is already new growth on it- and this despite that fact that I moved it at the end of Autumn. I hadn’t picked the best spot the first time around, and it had been fairly sat upon when the Colquohounia coccinea got decked to 45° by the July storms. So, I have moved it so that it has the drystone wall behind it, which should help it hopefully this year.
A big clump of very frilly, double orange hemerocallis was inherited when we moved to Oloron. They flower just outside the front gate, and are much beloved by passers-by, so much so that the flowers are regularly picked! So, despite my great support for human enthusiasm expressed in almost any way, I dug them up and have moved them into the Barn Garden, and at the same time, I split the big clump into smaller chunks, and have popped them in around and about. So maybe this year, I’ll get to see some of them!
Just appearing, unknown but gorgeous double orange Hemerocallis in new spot, Oloron Sainte Marie, February 2024
I am delighted to tell you that I have finally, after hours of internet searching, found a nursery, Pepiniere Roses Loubert here in France, which stocks, in bare-root, Rosa ‘Ellen Wilmott’. I spent hours looking but I could have found it straightaway on the helpful back tabs of the rose history website, www.helpmefind.com.
Silly me. So this is typical plant-nut behaviour. I get interested in something, a plant or a person, and then I go on the hunt- and invariably, this all ends with a plant purchase. So, here is a short synopsis of the story. I wrote a blog post about Ellen Wilmott (1858-1934) in 2017. I was really struck by her life and reputation, which at the time, seemed to me to be a case of the largely male horticultural world branding a clever woman as mad and reckless. Gertrude Jekyll, her contemporary, on the other hand, regarded Ellen as ‘the greatest of living women gardeners’. Enough said. I rest my case with Miss Jekyll.
Last year’s new book on Ellen Willmott, has expanded the story. Finding Ellen’s letters and papers, Sandra Lawrence has been able to correct, very probably, much of the tone of the discussion about Ellen. Ellen suffered a terrible personal tragedy when the love of her life, Gian Tuffnell, walked away from her to marry an elderly Lord George Mount Stephen. This break-up coincided with the award ceremony for Ellen’s receipt of the prestigious RHS Victoria Medal in 1897- and in her distress, Ellen ran away to France, never attending the ceremony. This was a public shock that she would never recover from, though, of course, the real reason for her disappearance was never known. For more about the discovery of this story follow this link.
So back to the rose. Three roses were bred to celebrate Ellen. The first was bred by Bernaix in 1898, a Hybrid tea and the second, in 1917, was another tea rose, ‘Miss Wilmott’ by Sam McGredy. The third, ‘Ellen Willmott’ was bred by William Archer and Daughter in 1936, two years after Ellen’s death.
Stop a moment. Yes, William Archer’s nursery business was called ‘William Archer and Daughter’. What a surprise. In the 1920s, Muriel Archer and her dad, William, were jointly in business together and they recognised this by trading as ‘William Archer and Daughter’.
Both the connection to Ellen herself, and the redoubtable Muriel Archer and her Dad, were far too intriguing to me as a plant-nut….and then I saw the rose, see top picture. Open, generous, single therefore good for pollinators, shell pink tint to a creamy colouring, and then those dark pink eyelash stamens. Oh my. Bred by crossing Rosa ‘Dainty Bess’ and ‘Lady Hillingdon’, it has great parentage and such a good back story.
And oddly enough, only 6 months ago I had bought a Rosa ‘Dainty Bess’. Also bred by the Archer team, and named for Muriel’s mum, Elizabeth, it became a very hot seller and remain so to this day. You can see the parental influences if you compare both photographs. Thank you, to Trevor White, for the excellent photographs. I would have bought both roses from Trevor White were it not now impossible to export to France, thanks Brexit. Rosa ‘Dainty Bess’ photo credit: www.trevorwhiteroses.co.ukRosa ‘La Belle Sultane’, Oloron Sainte Marie, May 2023
So both roses will be planted in the Barn Garden against the stone wall, and they will be accompanied by Rosa ‘La Belle Sultane’ a cutting from the parent plant across the way. ’La Belle Sultane’ is an earlier rose from the end of the eighteenth century, possibly bred in the Netherlands, but will create a darker pink mood alongside ‘Ellen’ and ‘Bess’. I’m going to underplant them with Indigofera kirolowii, some other as yet undecided bits and bobs, and weave in a bit of Pennisetum for a bit of waftiness. It’ll be my ‘Archer Daughter’ corner.
Many thanks to, and for further information on ‘William Archer and Daughter’ please see:
jardinecofriendly 
