RHS Journals

The RHS's Joint Rock Garden Plant Committee staged a very successful one-day Crocus event at the RHS in London in March, with displays of plants and photographs and a series of lectures by distinguished experts. There is no doubt that such events are popular with plant enthusiasts and a good deal of worthwhile discussion took place. Previous similar events have covered south-western China and the genus Daphne. The next one-day event, planned for February 2003, will concentrate on plant hunting in the Himalaya, a region of the world that has inspired plant hunters over the years and one that has proved a rich legion for an exceptional range of fine garden plants.
Returning to Crocus, this issue sees the second and final part of Brian Mathew's overview of the genus, providing an update of changes made since the publication of his monograph of the genus which was published in 1982. A surprising amount of new information has come to light in the intervening years, primarily the result of the larger number of keen gardeners and horticulturists travelling abroad to look at plants in the wild for themselves, while at the same time, no doubt, enjoying a pleasant holiday.
Magnolia must surely be one of the most popular groups of shrubs and trees grown in our gardens, spectacular and exotic in full flower. This year in East Anglia (where I live) they have been exceptionally good with minimal spring frosts to spoil the display of vibrant blooms. Latterly there has been a great resurgence of interest in the genus with breeders in various parts of the world producing some very exciting new cultivars, including several with cream or yellow flowers. Jim Gardiner, Curator of RHS Garden Wisley, relates these developments inn his article.
To say that I have a passion for plants is probably an understatement. My wife would certainly call it an addiction. Although my taste in plants is fairly catholic I don't, unlike some gardeners, necessarily want to possess them all and am often quite happy to see them flourishing in someone else's garden. However, sometimes I do see something unusual that I want both to examine more closely and, of course, to grow. In March I was invited by a friend over to an old estate with woodland and a splendid lake where otters are seen on a regular basis. Here, in the woodland and on the grassy banks close to the lake, huge drifts of snowdrops had naturalised over many years, as they have on many similar estates in Norfolk, while in the leafy glades winter aconites, Eranthis hyemalis, provided a lush carpet of green and yellow. Most of the snowdrops were the common Galanthus nivalis, but there were also large patches of G. elwesii and some G. plicatus together with a considerable number of hybrids, many rather mediocre but others splendid and surprisingly vigorous. Galanthophiles are attracted particularly to the unusual, not to say the bizarre, amongst snowdrop hybrids, but it is the seemingly infinite scope for variation that most intrigues me. There was, for instance, a whole range of G. nivalis/G. plicatus crosses, some with dancing flowers with gracefully upturned outer tepals like Dutch caps. Amongst the patches of G. elwesii there was a plant with two flowers on a single scape, both perfect, the one slightly smaller than the other. I thought that this must be a freak, a one in a million, but on searching around more than 20 individuals were found scattered amongst the normal one-flowered plants. According to the owner these have been present for a number of years. As a result of our trip all the twin-flowered plants have now been isolated and will be carefully nurtured and propagated to increase the stock on the estate. Of course twin-flowered snowdrops are not unknown: the best known is perhaps the rather bizarre 'Mrs Thompson' which throws single, twin or partly fused (Siamese twin) flowers that are often somewhat malformed, or with extra segments. This new find has none of those peculiarities, for the two flowers are quite separate and perfectly formed, the secondary bloom borne from an opposing smaller spathe or bract and pointing in the opposite direction (i.e. the two blooms being at 180 degrees to one another). This is altogether an interesting and unusual novelty that will certainly get galanthophile hearts racing. I am not giving the names of the owners or the estate for obvious reasons!
Hardiness is another aspect of plant performance that greatly intrigues me. So often books give the impression that hardiness is all to do with temperature, but in reality it is a very much more complicated subject. Aspect, soil, moisture content and shelter all play their role as, of course, does temperature. Other important considerations include the provenance of the plant in question and the particular clone. In my garden as I write, in early April, there is a fine clump of Arum creticum in full flower. This splendid lords and ladies with its pale yellow spathes always attracts attention. I grow it against a sunny wall where it thrives alongside other Mediterranean plants. The species is native to Crete and is often said to be tender, as one might expect, yet here it thrives unaffected year after year, In Crete it sometimes grows in close proximity to two other species, A. idaeum (which I find almost as hardy) and A. purpureospathum which, with me at least, is certainly not hardy outside. There are countless similar examples of species growing side by side in the wild whereas in cultivation one proves to be hardy whilst the other is decidedly tender. So this must surely reflect important biological differences in the chemistry of such plants, tipping the balance between 'tough' and tender.
Three years ago I and several friends had the good fortune to visit Namaqualand in South Africa, that region on the west coast sandwiched between Cape Province and Namibia. Namaqualand is famed for its riot of dazzling flowers following good winter rains. Here carpets of gazanias, osteospermums, dimorphothecas, a myriad colourful bulbs and many other plants carpet the ground in a riot of spring bloom, provided that there has been sufficient rain. When we arrived the region had experienced several years of drought and the riot of bloom was confined and by no means extensive. Yet, nonetheless, there was plenty to see and to enjoy, for South Africa has one of the richest and most varied floras in the world, which has yielded many fine garden plants. Everywhere we went we were told about the drought and we never saw any rain, that is until we visited an area north of Kamieskroon where we were keen to see a relict population of quiver trees, Aloe dichotoma. This is a notoriously dry area yet, as we approached the place, the heavens opened and the rain came down like a monsoon, quickly swamping the road and bringing down mud and stones from the slopes all around. We abandoned the day and returned to our hotel. By the following day the skies had cleared and the sun shone hot. The aloes grow on rocky escarpments, facing north and east. They are splendid and ancient and the largest of the estimated 170 species of Aloe growing in southern Africa. Mature trees, which can approach 9m in height, are funnel-shaped, with the branches repeatedly bifurcating, hence the specific name dichotoma. Each branch is tipped by a tuft of spreading bluish-green, narrow, long-pointed leaves with a yellowish, toothed margin. The panicles of flowers are bright yellow, but we were too early to see them. The shape and age of these splendid plants, set in a landscape of barren escarpments was hugely impressive, but it was the wonderful papery, exfoliating bark, grey in young plants but ending up a striking creamy-brown in older specimens, that most attracted me. Amongst the older trees there were quite a few young ones, giving hope for the future. The species is confined to this part of Africa and neighbouring southern Namibia.
Christopher Grey-Wilson