On This Page. Despise Not The Commonplace. J.H. - A Spring Sparkler. D.M. - Love and Hate. J.R. - A Useful Plant. J.C. - A Matter of Common Scents. G.P.

1. This article by Judy Harry is, I think, something of a tonic, just to get our palates cleaned before we start. While the first five words of the second paragraph are, at least to my mind, a good short philosophy anyway. N.T.

Despise Not The Commonplace.

Judy Harry. 1997

What is your first reaction when confronted with a list of plants consisting of Alchemilla mollis, Ajuga reptans 'Atropurpurea', Convallaria majis, Sedum spectabile, Vinca major 'Varigata' and Geranium x magnificum? How commonplace? How boring? How ordinary? It may surprice you to learn that Lady's Mantle, Purple Bugle, Lily Of The Valley, Ice Plant, varigated Greater Periwinkle and the good old Geranium that we get given as beginner gardeners, have all received the Award of Garden Merit. This award, granted by the Royal Horticultural Society, is for plants of “outstanding excellence for garden decoration or use, whether grown in the open or under glass.” The R.H.S. recognises something that Hardy Planters forget at their peril. A plant does not have to be rare, new, expensive or miffy to deserve our attention; it needs only to excel at its purpose, which is to be decorative and useful in the garden.

To not despise the ordinary has always been one of my aims in gardening, and has often been given impetus by hearing “common” plants dismissed by gardeners whom I would normally respect, and by hearing criticism of gardens where such ordinary plants are in evidence. Then I saw what I regard as a fine example of the use of “ordinary” plants in a garden. A recent issue of The Garden included an article on the garden of David Way (HPS member and author of the recently published Penstemons booklet) and showed a photograph of his “meditation” garden. What was planted in it? Purely and simply Alchemilla mollis and Hedera hibernica. It looks wonderful, being both stylish and simple, a triumphant example of how to use ordinary plants to great effect.

Hardy Planters are by definition (bearing in mind the aims of the Society) for ever seeking out the rare, the new the exciting. But if we just stick all that into our gardens like stamps in an album we run the risk of ending up with a collection site, not a garden. Moreover, until the new, the rare and the exciting have been tried and tested we may run the risk of ending up with a very patchy collection site. The good old favourite, common, ordinary plants are what they are because they grow well, they perform well and they look good. Good gardeners will know how to use these plants alongside the rarities to form backbone and structure. Moreover, used in a really imaginative way, they lift a garden way above the level of the commonplace Ordinary can become extraordinary: good can become best.

2. However, having said all of that, it is still human nature, and especially gardeners nature, to always want what is just over the garden fence and just a little out of reach; and this will always be a major part of the fun of it, as David Main reminds us here. He also reminds us not to judge a plant entirely on its Award of Merit, or lack of one. For those not familiar with the term, "ericaceous", as it is used here for composts and peat, it is simply gardeners argot for acidic or without lime. It is also interesting how quickly times change, would we be quite as blithe about using peat now? N.T.

A Spring Sparkler.

David Main 1999

I have a great admiration for many acid loving plants; magnolias, camellias and rhododendrons are my great favourites. I am enchanted by great rhodo gardens like Exbury in full bloom, but as I garden on alkaline soil, my choice of acid-lovers is serverly curtailed. My raised bed contains a few choice plants, including Mecconopsis grandis – an early Sikkim form – which delighted me last autumn with its rich blue flowers. Tropaeolum speciosum, a souveinir from Bodnant, also grows here, its fiery red flowers glowing like little lamps among the greenery.

I grow just two acid lovers in the open garden. After a particularly tortuous start, Magnolia sellata finally established itself in the front garden, which has a southerly aspect. Underplanted with red tulips, its a thrilling spectacle in spring although ultimately frosts can wreak havoc (as they did this year) when overnight beauty is ruined.

In 1996 I bought a Rhododendron 'Cunningham's White' for just £4.25. The label described it as lime tolerant, and I bought it to replace a Daphne cneorum which refused to accept my tender care. 'Cunninghams White' settled in without even a trace of sulks. Bagged ericaceous soil wasn't available to me to me at the time, so ericaceous peat mixed into the planting hole was the best I could do. But it prospered and has given a good display in May each year; but this year has been special.

The shrub develops nice large buds which adorn the plant for ages and are a constant reminder of good things to come. The buds open out to lovely glistening white flowers which contrast beautifully with the dark green leaves. This spring I have been entranced by its feast of beauty.

A closer examination reveals delicate honey greeny coloured markings at the top of each flowers throat. Externally, the petals are suffused with a delicate pink at their base, and the white stamens end in a minute blob. 'Exquisite' sums up the perfection of these wonderful flowers which are borne in such profuse abundance. It has been awarded no Award of Garden Merit, and Hillier seems to overlook it, but do not be fooled. If you love rhodies, and you garden on lime, this is the plant for you, it's a real spring sparkler.

Incidentally, you may be interested to note that the name Rhododendron means 'Rose Tree'.

3. Then there are some plants that? But perhaps Jean Rush puts it better than I could, though I must say that I am, maybe even more doubtful about their benefits than Jean, but I think that everything deserves an advocate, and here is a good one. N.T.

Love and Hate.

Jean Rush 1998

I was garden visiting last summer with a friend who remarked that she hated variegated plants. I couldn't agree, but do acknowledge that variegated plants do draw attention to themselves, and as such must be used sparingly in a small garden. Years ago, variegated plants were considered undesirable, but now anything with variegation sells on sight and I must admit a great affection for many of them but an utter dislike of others.

Starting with variegated trees, a superb specimen of Acer drummondiae in a village nearby made me long for one in my own garden, and we do enjoy a large Rhamnus alternus 'Argenteovariegata' and several forms of pittosporum. Recently we planted a Cornus controversa 'Variegata' and hope it does well here. Maybe the trouble with variegation is that you can get hooked on it and feel compelled to buy any available plant. However, I think that there are a few rules to bear in mind.

Don't put too many different sorts of variegated plants together as they then just confuse each other. Spreading them around in regular patterns makes them distracting and they stand out from the rest of the planting. Perhaps the most important point to remember is that variegation does tend to look artificial, so beware when using it in those natural, wild areas of the garden.

Neverthless this winter in our own garden they have contributed so much, and always make me feel that there is growth and light at this 'dead' season. On one of our old apple trees there is a substantial plant of Hedera helix 'Buttercup'; the birds love to nest in it and it glints with pure gold in the winter sunshine. There are also several Euonymus around the garden, so useful in dark, inhospitable places and for flower arrangements. 'Silver Queen' has now after about eight years grown up onto the garage roof and gives year round pleasure. Then how could anyone not appreciate the Cornus family? Cornus alba 'Elegantissima' has leaves strikingly edged in white, while C. alba 'Spaethii' has yellow leaf margins, and as a bonus both have wonderfully coloured winter stems. Amongst hollies there are so many to choose from; either those with warm golden variegation or with cooler silver tones. Drawbacks are that they tend to be slow growing and are uncomfortable to weed around.

We also grow both the gold and the silver variegated privets, and I do love these shrubs, reliable all year round unless there are prolonged frosts when they do lose their leaves. I have a love/hate relationship with the Japanese Angelica Tree, Aralia elata 'Variegata', with its superb pinnate leaves between 3 and 4 feet long. To begin with its expensive to buy; then it needs a very important position in the garden where it looks absolutely awful all through the winter, looking like a collection of thick knobbly walking sticks with seemingly no life in them at all. Sambucus nigra 'Pulverulenta' I also dislike; the leaves are streaked and marbled with white, a complete muddle to my eyes, but S. nigra 'Albovariegata' is a handsome shrub with creamy white margins to all the leaves. Of course there are many more trees and shrubs I could comment on, but perennials are more easily accommodated in smaller gardens.

Foliage plants are particularly useful, but care must be taken not to give the border a spotty effect. In shady areas which are not too dry, Pulmonarias (try the newish cream edged 'David Ward) and Hostas look good. Special favourites are H. fortunei 'Albopicta', with its bright buttery leaves edged with green, Hosta 'Thomas Hogg' and Hosta elata 'Aureomarginata'; Astrantia major 'Sunningdale Variegated' Scrophularia aurculata 'Variegata' and the variegated comfrey, Symphytum uplandicum 'Variegata' are extremely hansome plants to mix with greener companions. For a change of shape, don't forget the Iris, Iris foetidissima 'Variegata' with cream and greyish green stripped leaves will grow in a fairly dry, shady place with excellent foliage all the year round. In a sunnier spot I. pallida 'Variegata' is lovely, but does die down in winter.

There are so many beautiful variegated plants to choose from. A relatively recent introduction is Polemonium 'Brise d Anjou'; so far I have not been tempted as I'm not sure that I like it, but who knows what temptation there will be next season in garden centres and on plant stalls! This is a purely personal view, and thank goodness we are all variegated in our likes and dislikes.

4. Of course some of us just carry a candle for a special favourite. It is strange how often this turns out to be a plant which is, more than anything else, just useful. Janice Chambers gives a mention to one of her favourites, and I also think this article illustrates perfectly, just how much, even in a small way, careful planning is both one of the joys, and one of the props of good gardening. N.T.

Anthemis cupaniana - A Useful Plant.

Janice Chambers 1992

In several of my gardening books and catalogues Anthemis cupaniana is described as vigorous, rampant, coarse, energetic. But interestingly, both of those practical gardeners, Margery Fish and Graham Thomas, use the epithet 'useful'. This is just what I have always found the plant to be.

An evergreen in winter and wet weather, ever-grey in summer and dry weather, with finely cut leaves and a riot of white daisies on long floppy stalks in May and June, this Anthemis is a native of Italy.

A small plant, given sunny, well-drained but not impoverished soil, it will easily spread to cover two square feet by the end of summer.

This may sound like a rampant thug on the march but its manners, if not refined, are quite good as it does not root deeply or widely, it does not spread by seeding, and has no obvious diseases or insect enemies. It covers the soil with wandering overground stems which occasionally root down and make new plants which can easily be dug up and planted elsewhere. The leaves of the plant cover the ground so densely that weeds cannot find their way through.

At the moment the Anthemis is being very useful to me on a forty-foot west facing bank which I am planting with Hebes, Cistus, Potentillas, Mallows and sun loving shrubs. In a few years these shrubs should be large enough to be their own weed suppressors. Until then I am planting the ground between with the Anthemis. Starting with one plant, I now have a dozen by regularly lifting the stems and searching for rooted pieces. As the shrubs spread over the ground the Anthemis is easily lifted away and so makes a useful and mobile ground cover.

5. Naturally as well as special plants there are also special reasons for liking plants, and here George Parker gives us an enthusing introduction to one of the best, as well as suggesting some first class plants for adding to our wants list. Incidentally I have been told that the scent of Helleborus foetidus, to which the name refers may be the scent of the seeds “when crushed”, so you may need a good nose indeed .N.T.

A Matter of Common Scents

George Parker 1992

“Thou art not lovelier than the lilacs: I can stand thy beauty." Such words - from a poem by Millay - may not be quite what a maiden would wish to hear from her lover but they do suggest that, of all the senses, it is the sense of smell that most powerfully affects many people. An exquisitely-shaped rose of blood-red hue may arouse our admiration but it is the rich and indescribably subtle musky perfume that captures our heart.

The strongest memories I have of gardens are all memories of smells rather than of sights: the box hedge in my granny's garden, heavily aromatic in the heat of the summer sun; and. in the same garden, the almost sickly sweetness of the white-trumpeted Madonna Lilies. In our Oxford garden I recall the delicious fragrance of one small bush of Daphne odora filling the sparkling spring air, whilst in the autumn it was the half hidden flowers of an Elaeagnus ebbingii which sent drifts of delight floating across the lawns. I shall never forget an occasion, some years ago, when we looked round a neglected house in a shabby part of the town: the front garden had but one plant in it – a Mahonia japonica whose racemes of tiny yellow bells so flooded the air around with their heady scent of Lily-Of -The Valley that it became a place of sheer enchantment.

Generous plants which freely bestow their fragrance are among life's greatest joys. Indeed if I could choose the time and place of my departure from this life, I would wish to breathe my last from beside a honeysuckle in full flower. If whatever followed could even match such joys then it would be heaven indeed. But not all plants which have scent flaunt it; sometimes our pleasure is enhanced because we have to make moves to discover it - rather like walking, in a well-planned garden, round a screen of shrubs to see what lies beyond. With the Mexican Orange Blossom, Lemon Verbena, Lad's Love and the like we have to brush against the foliage or even to crush a leaf to enjoy the smells that are then released. Some people, I know, do not enjoy Lad's Love (or Southernwood - Artemisia abrotanum) but I find its smell to be almost cleansing – I would say “pleasantly purgative” but I don't think that conveys quite what I mean.

In fact trying to convey what one means when describing smells is frustratingly difficult. We seem to have an inadequate menu of words and an insufficient ability to analyse accurately the smells we experience Very often the scent of one plant is described in terms of another. The clean. Tangy scent of lemons is not uncommon – we all know Lemon Verbena. (which has, irritatingly, just had its name changed from Lippia citriodora to Aloysia triphylla). Cytisus battandieri smells deliciously of pineapple, as does Salvia rutilans, the Pineapple Sage. Herbert Exton delighted me when the Group first visited his garden by introducing me to the “Plum Tart Iris” - Iris graminea – and, as he generously gave me some rhizomes, I hope to enjoy the sumptuous greengage smell (and simultaneously to think of Herbert) many times. The autumn flowering Clematis rehderiana has little bells which smell of cowslips, and the same evocation of childhood days is exuded by Corylopsis pauciflora (but, alas, those of us who garden on chalk can never have success with this delightful shrub). The dahlia-like Cosmos atrosanguineus smells of hot chocolate, whilst Ribes odoratum has little yellow flowers with a strong scent of cloves.

Not everyone is overly fond of the smell of curry and Helichrysum italicum (formerly H angustifolium) "The Curry Plant" is aptly named. We once had a rose called 'Typhoo Tea' which was vigorous of growth and was lavish with its richly scented red flowers. This had a Curry Plant at its feet and, on a hot summer's day, their scents intermingled dramatically and effectively. I loved it and I must stir myself to get hold of another Typhoo Tea before it disappears from the catalogues, so that I can replicate the effect.

Hebe cupressoides has the smell of shavings from a freshly sharpened cedar wood pencil. I find this attractive but have never got the plant to thrive although most Hebes seem to grow obligingly enough. A joy of a plant that grows very easily is that which used to he called Calamintha nepetoides and seems to have gone through C. nepeta to Clinopodium calamintha. (One comes to believe that taxonomists, along with British Rail, exist for the purpose of making life more difficult for those they are supposed to serve!) Whatever we call this little beauty, its low mounds are covered in masses of tiny, bee attracting, blue flowers all summer long and the foliage has a wonderfully refreshing minty smell.

With no sample in front of me to jog my memory I cannot begin to think how to describe the scent of that most useful of ground-coverers, Geranium macrorrhizum, I only know that I like it - though I'm never sure that I enjoy the clammy feel of the leaves! For many plants we simply have to say the name and then rely on shared experience: how else can one convey the smell of rosemary, lavender, and the like?

Not all scents are pleasant, of course; a few plants have their smell described as 'catty', whilst some descriptions are worse Salvia sclarea turkestanica (Vatican sage), which gives a long lasting display of texture and gentle colour with its white and pinky-mauve bracts, is also given the ungallant name of "Sweaty Housemaid"! Conversely, one form of Helleborus foetidus (would you describe this plant as "stinking"?!) is known as "Miss Jeklylls Scented” and has flowers reputed to smell of Daphne. When I grew some from H. P. S. seed I had to persuade myself that I could detect the scent. The plants further disgraced themselves by dying alter flowering but, given the opportunity, I will doubtless try again.

Returning to the lilacs of my original quotation, it is clear that our cottager forefathers cherished fragrance in their gardens. There can have been very few gardens that did not boast a lilac, a mock orange blossom, and a rose or two. Many folk who would never have thought of themselves as 'gardeners' made sure, each year, that sweet peas and night scented stock were sown beside their front doors. I trust that Hardy Planters not only welcome fragrance in their gardens but actively seek after it. Surely smell is an essential element for the enjoyment of our gardens?