One of the joys of writing this blog is having the incentive to seek out and learn about new plants. Today, on a training course at our company conference centre, I took some time out to explore the grounds. In the otherwise flagging herbaceous borders I spied these curious fruits and lush leaves, which belonged to a helpfully labelled specimen of Phytolacca polyandra.

Otherwise known as Chinese pokeweed, Phytolacca polyandra is a robust perennial which first produces white or pale pink flowers in long spikes, a little like a polygonum. These develop into tiny clasps of immature green fruits. The flower stems slowly turn magenta-pink as the fruits, which are toxic, develop a glossy black sheen. How marvellous this exotic plant would look amongst deep purple and pale pink dahlias, or with Sedum ‘Purple Emperor’ and Fuchsia arboresecens. An unusual contender for the late summer border and one which has already joined my extensive wish list.

Have you grown Chinese pokeweed in your garden? If so, I’d love to know more…

Whether it’s candy floss, baby, lipstick or rose, when it comes to autumn flowering bulbs, shades of pink are decidedly de rigueur. Right now there are colchicums, schizostylis, crinums, cyclamen and nerines, all emerging blushing and bright when earlier flowers are starting to fade. Queen amongst these rubicund beauties is Amaryllis belladonna, a slightly tender bulb native to South Africa but widely naturalised in warm temperate regions of the world. Like colchicums, Amaryllis belladonna produces flowers before coming into leaf, and shares the same unflattering common name ‘naked ladies’. The large bulbs enjoy the shelter of a south or west facing wall where they will remain dry in summer and find protection for their late developing leaves. If in doubt, they make lovely subjects for an unheated greenhouse. These particular blooms were captured emerging from the earth at the foot of the curved wall in Sissinghurst’s rose garden, flattered by a backdrop of vine leaves. Pure pink perfection.

The shelter and warmth created by a south or west facing wall helps to protect Amaryllis belladonna

By late summer both of our plots have started to run out of puff, so I am always keen to seek out gardens which manage to keep up a good head of steam into autumn. Sissinghurst is open almost every day of the year and has to cope with hoards of garden-loving pilgrims expecting picture-book perfection. This makes it the ideal place to go in search of ideas. The gardening team keep the place looking tip-top with meticulous maintenance and by continually filling gaps with seasonal plantings.

Sissinghurst’s White Garden still looks exuberant after a long summer

On my last visit, at the end of August, the scene was stolen by flowers at two ends of the colour spectrum: the cool whites and the fiery oranges. The intensity of light in late summer brings out the best in assertive shades and Sissinghurst’s White Garden positively sparkled. An early clip in June meant that the complex arrangement of box hedges had once again assumed a soft, fuzzy outline, gently penning-in the exuberant perennials and roses inside.

The flowers of Zephyranthes candida sparkle like tiny stars in a dry, sun-baked spot

Zephyranthes candida is rather poetically known as the white rain lily

At the foot of a wall, basking in the warm sun, was a carpet of sparkling flowers belonging to the white rain lily, Zephyranthes candida. Rain lilies are bulbous perennials native to the Rio de la Plata region of South America. In the wild they burst into bloom following heavy periods of rain, hence the common name. After the soggy August we’ve had, these little stars were right on cue.

The white form of Thunbergia alata cascades from a glazed urn beneath The White Garden’s arbor

My first experience of the white form of black-eyed Susan, Thunbergia alata, was at Sissinghurst, where every year it pours gently from the lip of a glazed ceramic urn. The thunbergia’s flowers are a deliciously soft curd-white, centred around a bitter chocolate ‘eye’. It’s a lovely contrast and one of this garden’s typically well composed ‘moments’.

Arctotis x hybrida ‘Flame’ creates a bold sweep either side of the South Cottage front door

All this cool whiteness is juxtaposed in the The Cottage Garden, where fiery heat reigns supreme. As enduring as the thunbergia are the blooms of Arctotis x hybrida ‘Mahogany’ and ‘Flame’ skirting Harold Nicholson’s hideaway. Harold bought one plant of each at an RHS show in 1959 and they were propagated until his gardeners were able to plant bold sweeps either side of the front door.

Stalwart Dahlia ‘David Howard’ is a tall, vigorous variety for the back of a border

Helen, one of Sissinghurst’s gardeners, had recommended to me the Dahlia ‘David Howard’, so I was keen to seek it out. Making a big splash in the middle of a border was this sturdy hybrid, blessed with burnt-orange flowers and dramatic, purple-bronze leaves. This truly is the ultimate dahlia for a ‘hot’ border or exotic planting scheme, best underplanted with shorter perennials to disguise any legginess.

A relative of the alstromerias, Bomarea caldasii has a climbing habit

Occupying a pot next to the cottage’s rose-red brickwork was a divine specimen of Bomarea caldasii, the Peruvian lily vine. This rare twining plant can be found scrambling over other vegetation in its native South America, producing pendulous clusters of orangey red, waxy, bell-shaped flowers. This plant had especially vividly coloured flowers and was clearly in its element. A joy to see such a splendid plant grown so well.

I was equally pleased to see my favourite ginger, Hedychium ‘Tara’, ablaze with tangerine flowers. I recently acquired three healthy plants from Great Dixter, which I am growing on in pots ready for planting out next year. I can already smell the sweet spicy scent of the spidery flowers wafting across the terrace at night.

Sissinghurst never disappoints, offering gardeners inspiration at any time of the year. I came away full of ideas to keep our gardens’ engines running, whether it be with carpets of colchicums, cool waves of Aster divaricatus or classic Anemone japonica.  Whether you’re blowing hot or feeling autumn’s chill, I hope something in today’s post fuels your fire.

Tantalising Hedychium ‘Tara’ has strong stems and fragrant flowers

Begonias are such stalwarts of the summer garden that they are often overlooked, even sniffed at, by so-called fashionable gardeners. I’m not attracted by the enormous, dinner-plate sized blooms of most tuberous begonias, but find single flowered hybrids essential for colour in my partially-shaded garden. They do not demand day-long sun and look all the better for it, flowering better when the weather is warm, sulking slightly during cool spells. In my begonia armoury (or should that be ‘amoury’?) are Begonia ‘Million Kisses Devotion’, B. ‘Million Kisses Passion’ and B. ‘Firewings Orange’. But, after their flames have died down, I am always left in love with Begonia ‘Glowing Embers’. It’s a plant that positively smoulders its way through summer, in no need of re-ignition come autumn. The bronze, prettily veined foliage provides a strong backdrop for the simple tangerine flowers that rain down all summer like sparks from a welder’s gun.

Begonia ‘Glowing Embers’ flowers non-stop from June until the first frost

The school summer break is over and the kids are back for the autumn term, which means it must be time to take our holidays. I love September: the hazy light, the gentle warmth that seems to radiate from the ground and the ebullience of the garden. For me, this is my last hurrah before work becomes too chaotic to take time off. It’s an opportunity to reboot, recharge and start preparing for winter and the ‘C’ event (only 107 shopping days left!). Over the next two weeks we’ll be visiting some of our favourite places in Devon and Cornwall, reconnecting with family and meeting my favourite blogger Gill Heavens, author of Off The Edge Gardening. On a scrap of paper secreted safely away from Him Indoors, I have a long list of nurseries and gardens to drop in on.

I wouldn’t be without Aster divaricatus at this time of year, a plant with tumbling, wiry stems which cover a multitude of sins

Leaving our gardens at this time of year is to some extent the easiest option. Many plants are growing less fast and concentrating their efforts into flowers or building up strong leaf rosettes to get them through the colder months. However, in the vegetable garden we are approaching the peak time for harvesting. I remember, when I was a child, returning from long holidays in Cornwall to lawns strewn with apples and damsons, and to courgettes-turned-marrows which my mother would then try to stuff and cook until we could take no more. Not much chance of a glut in our tiny garden, but maybe more than we can eat at once. The best solution here is a friendly neighbour who can help themselves whilst you recline on a beach or live it up at the pool bar.

A little forethought can make all the difference when planning time away from the garden and means you don’t have to worry about returning to a wilting, mildew-molested mess. Here are my top tips for preparing your garden for a late summer holiday.

Water the day before departing, allowing time for a good soak

Watering

Watering is every gardener’s number one concern when going on holiday. Unless you’re into cacti, the prospect of a hot, dry spell is a nightmare if you’re away for any length of time, especially if you grow many plants in pots. Solution number one is a trusted friend who will come around to quench your plants’ thirst every day or two. Should you not have one of those to hand (and I don’t trust many people with my watering) an irrigation system is an option. However, these are only suitable for relatively small areas and seem to me heavy-handed unless you’re away frequently. Instead I use a loam based, water retentive compost for my containers which dries out more slowly than other growing media. By grouping several pots together you will shade the surface of the compost and reduce evaporation. Better still, move any pots which are portable to a lightly shaded position. This may result in temporary legginess or a lull in flowering, but is better than complete dehydration.

Be careful about standing plants in trays of water (this works a little better for some houseplants). Rain may keep these topped up for long periods of time and very few plants relish having wet feet. Better to water thoroughly and allow pots to drain naturally.

Any pots that can be moved will benefit from relocation to a shaded part of the garden

Disease Prevention

Second on the list of potential vacation spoilers are bugs and diseases. Snails and caterpillars can wreak havoc in the space of a week and cause fatalities within a fortnight. If you are prepared to use slug pellets then do so, especially around vulnerable plants like hostas. General tidying up of dead or dying foliage and flowers will reduce the garden’s appeal to a whole range of pests: get the air circulating around your plants and avoid anything that will attract the little blighters.

Spray plants like dahlias to protects against attack from greenfly or red spider mite. Powdery mildew (an unsightly whitish mould) can be a real nuisance during prolonged periods of dry weather. There are anti-fungal sprays which are meant to defend against this non-fatal blight, but once you have powdery mildew, it tends to stick around. Remove and burn infected foliage and fresh new leaves will quickly emerge.

These mildew-infested polemoniums will come back with fresh green leaves after removing the old foliage

Be Prepared

The British weather is unpredictable and perennials are at their tallest right now. Any that are spent can be given a haircut and will divert their energies into building up strong crowns for winter. Stake any plants that are still in their prime, such as asters, heleniums, rudbekias and dahlias, if you haven’t done so already: a single gale could see them flat on the their backs. I like to interplant early flowering perennials with Aster divaricatus (above) which blooms in September and lolls about, covering and gaps or unsightly foliage in the border. Tie in tomatoes and remove the lower leaves to allow the sun’s rays to ripen the fruit whilst you’re away.

Unless they open automatically, leave greenhouse ventilators ajar to improve air circulation and keep things cool.

With their lower leaves removed, tomatoes will ripen fast in the autumn sunshine

Plan Ahead

Pick everything you can before you go and freeze it, gift it or take it with you. You will prolong the flowering season of dahlias, cosmos and annual bedding by deadheading and then picking any open blooms. This will encourage the formation of new buds, which should be opening by the time you return. If you have a lawn, mow it the day before you leave, setting the blades high if the weather is warm and/or dry. Pinch out chrysanthemums and fuchsias which will still be growing strongly, and pot young plants on so that they can be making roots whilst you languish in the sunshine.

If you like to be organised, order your spring bulbs before you go so that they are waiting for you on your return. Narcissi and any remaining autumn flowering bulbs should be planted immediately.

Narcissi bulbs will already be putting down new roots, so can be planted immediately

Whatever mirth one encounters when wheeling the suitcase up the garden path after two weeks on the Costas, it will always look worse than it actually is. Do not postpone a thorough watering unless it’s been vile whilst you’ve been away (which always feels so good!) and follow up with a quick mow, deadhead and weed, concentrating on the bits that show. You will soon restore a semblance of respectability and be able to enjoy the fruits (and vegetables) of your labours.

I’d love to hear your top tips for making a garden holiday proof…..

‘A Cottage’ is how Georgina, sixth Duchess of Bedford, described her country home at Endsleigh in Devon. Most visitors today, whether to the garden or elegant hotel, would describe it in somewhat grander tones, but after the formality of Woburn Abbey, the Duchess wished for something far more rustic. Endsleigh was her passion, created in the likeness of her ancestral holiday home in Scotland. She chose the spot for her West Country escape personally, on a loop in the River Tamar, with Devon on one side and Cornwall on the other. Then and now, all that can been seen from house’s terrace is a vast amphitheatre of forest and farmland without another dwelling in sight: two ancient counties interlocking as one sweep of trees after the next plunges towards the dividing water.

Viewed from the banks of the River Tamar, it’s easy to understand the sixth Duchess of Bedford’s passion for Endsleigh

The first stone at Endsleigh was laid in 1810, following a design drawn up by architect Jeffry Wyatt, later Sir Jeffry Wyatville. (A prominent regency architect, Wyatt earned the suffix ‘ville’, and his knighthood, after remodelling Windsor Castle for George IV.) Wyatt collaborated with celebrated landscape designer Humphry Repton on the project after the Duchess expressed disappointment in the architect’s initial layout for the grounds. It was to be one of Repton’s last commissions (he died in 1818), but his great experience did not prevent him from embracing the growing fashion for the Picturesque style. If ever there was a site suited to this romantic genre, characterised by rustic buildings, craggy cliffs, plunging ravines and ‘heightened nature’ it was Endsleigh, and Repton went to town.

“My Lord, in delivering that opinion which Your Grace has done me the honour to require concerning the treatment of the scenery at Endsleigh, it is impossible to divest myself of the feeling, that the most picturesque subject on which I have ever been professionally consulted, should be reserved to so late a period in my life ….. in such a task I should joyfully dedicate every energy of body, limbs and mind, although of these, only the latter fully remains.”

 

Humphry Repton in the preface to his red book for Endsleigh Cottage, 1814.

As with his other commissions, Repton produced for the Duke and Duchess one of his sumptuous red books, describing in words and pictures his vision for the pleasure grounds. (A facsimile copy is displayed in the hotel’s hallway.) By the time of his four day visit in August 1814 Repton was already quite infirm and had to be carried around the grounds in a sedan chair. What he imagined was a landscape with “steepness of ground – abrupt rocks – and water in rapid motion” with pretty rather than grand formality closer to the house. For an estate occupied by the owners for just a few weeks each year, the plans were ambitious and ultimately prohibitive. The cost of creating Endsleigh left the sixth Duke in serious debt by the time of his death and it was never loved again as it was by his Duchess.

The long border is planted to give hotel guests enjoyment throughout the growing season

Fast forward exactly 200 years from when Repton’s proposals were made and Endsleigh remains almost intact, one of the finest surviving examples of his work. Happily, as a rather swish hotel, there is once again a clientele which values the peace and seclusion of this exceptional location. Financial considerations meant that not all the ideas in Repton’s red book were executed, but most of the work that was carried out by the Duke and Duchess can be seen and appreciated today. Head Gardener Simon was kind enough to take me on a guided tour, explaining the joys and challenges of maintaining such an historically important garden.

A view down the Dairy Dell from one of Repton’s typically rustic bridges

We began our walk in the Dairy Dell, not all of which is accessible, but sufficient to appreciate the scale (and success) of Repton’s vision. The great landscape gardener discovered in this south-facing dingle the perfect ingredients for a picturesque scene. The Edgecumbe stream was dammed and diverted to create a system of streams, waterfalls, cascades and pools, most of which still function as intended. The crests of the ridges to either side were planted with tall trees, such as Douglas fir, Nordman fir, beech and sweet chestnut to actuate the height of the ravine. A mild, sheltered microclimate was created that suited giant rhubarb (Gunnera manicata), bamboos, rhododendrons and camellias, which were planted in clumps and groves to suggest they had arrived there of their own accord. One can imagine the Duke and Duchess’ guests in raptures over this emphatic landscape, seemingly natural but actually anything but. Simon described how he still manipulates the flow of water to create drama and excitement, even maintaining branches overhanging waterfalls so that icicles will form on them in winter. I can only think that Repton would have deeply approved.

The gardeners at Endsleigh constantly adjust the flow and direction of water to create picturesque effects

All is not as idyllic as it seems, and Simon points out the difficulties in maintaining such a precipitous area. Rock faces need to be kept clear of brambles, Japanese knotweed and Rhododendron ponticum have to be kept at bay and heavy rain can destroy paths and topple trees. Clearing debris along narrow paths with no vehicular access can be hard and dangerous work. Simon’s approach is to maintain the dell as Repton would have envisioned it, maintaining a careful balance between naturalism and wilderness. It’s a garden he’s known and loved for many years and it shows. He points out a weeping beech, its branches swooping low and resting on boulders by the side of the central stream. The sunlight dances on the ground as it filters through the tree’s leaves. A more picturesque scene it’s hard to imagine.

The dell’s central stream flows beneath the boughs of Simon’s favourite tree, a weeping beech

At the foot of the ravine Repton sited a thatched dairy building, in which the Duchess would ‘play’ at being a milk maid. The restored interior is remarkably fine, with sinks crafted from cool grey Ashburton marble and the walls adorned with Wedgwood tiles. From the veranda of the Dairy can be seen a large pond and Endsleigh’s most ancient feature, the Holy Well, a baptismal font originally sited at the hunting seat of the Abbots of Tavistock Abbey.

Apart from the tumbling stream, which was constructed further to the right of the dairy, this bucolic scene is recognisable today

The Grade I listed rockery is approached via a steep flight of stone steps, which passes through a remarkable tunnel occupied by bats. The quality of the build is here much in evidence as the tunnel has not moved or failed at any time in its 200 year history. Repton’s vision of gnarled oaks and cedars perched on overhanging boulders has come to fruition, but occasionally results in calamities when limbs or trunks are severed by storms. Maintaining such a landscape requires more brute force and tenacity than delicacy, but Simon was keen to point out one of the garden’s finest trees, Halesia monticola, the mountain snowdrop tree, which carpets the slopes in spring with millions of tiny white blossoms.

The fabulously complex rockery is made up of stone from all over the country, barged up the Tamar to Endsleigh

Not much is known about the original planting of the rockery, but it is thought to have been occupied by ferns and is maintained as such. The Picturesque style required the garden to be aesthetically pleasing rather than pristine and so foxgloves and native ferns are encouraged to seed themselves about. Planted in the 1920s, Endsleigh has some exquisite mature acers, which must be just weeks away from being at their finest.

Repton’s adjustments to Wyatt’s Parterre, which included a small boating pool, appear not to have been made.

The gardens around the house exhibit much greater formality than the dell, although Repton would have liked them to be more fanciful. A feature designed by Wyatt, which exists almost exactly as the architect would have imagined it, is the Parterre. This fan-shaped garden between the main cottage and the childrens’ wing, was designed with little ones in mind. The radiating beds, some composed of pebbles rather than plants, are bordered by a water-filled channel in which the Duchess’ thirteen children played with their sailing boats. Today the borders are filled with a simple colour mix of annual clary, Salvia viridis.

Endsleigh’s parterre is currently filled with a simple combination of bedding and neutral pebbles

Now that Endsleigh is run as an hotel, it’s important that the area at the front of the house affords as much year-round interest as possible. The centre of attention is undoubtedly the sloping long border, reputedly the longest, unbroken stretch of herbaceous planting in England. An image in Repton’s red book shows the long border backed by an elegant conservatory, fretwork arbours and incised hedges. These were never realised, although the pierced retaining wall was.

Repton hoped for a more elaborate treatment to the long border and croquet lawn

In summer the planting basks in direct sunlight from 8am until dusk, perfect conditions for herbaceous perennials, although challenging for the gardeners in a dry spell. The border was restored in 1998 and looked absolutely splendid during our stay. Simon’s team plant thousands of mixed tulip bulbs in November to kick off the spring display before the perennials get going. Golden-leaved dogwoods, Cornus alba ‘Aurea’ AGM, are a masterstroke in the planting, lifting the purples, reds and pinks out of mediocrity. Getting the look is easy, as most of the plants in this border are widely available.

The early morning mist hovers above the herbaceous border, amongst the longest in England

Essential Endsleigh Plants for Autumn colour:

• Sedum spectabile ‘Autumn Joy’ (stonecrop)
• Aster x frikartii ‘Mönch’
• Kniphofia maybe ‘Ice Queen’ (red-hot poker)
• Cornus alba ‘Aurea’ (golden dogwood)
• Gaura lindheimerii (Lindheimer’s beeblossom)
• Eupatorium purpureum (Joe-Pye weed)
• Polygonum affine ‘Dimity’ (Himalayan fleece flower)
• Lythrum salicaria ‘Feuerkerze’ (purple loosestrife)
• Perovskia ‘Blue Spire’

Endsleigh’s long border is cleverly devised to be colourful right through the autumn

Any walk at Endsleigh should end at the Shell House, another Wyatt creation, designed as a summerhouse to display geological specimens and shells. A burbling well fills the gloaming with therapeutic sound, ‘a great gin and tonic spot’, says Simon.

The roof of the Shell House was once covered with climbers and is occasionally used for wedding ceremonies

From the terrace outside the grotto there are staggering views across the valley to a bend in the Tamar, the water rushing over stones around the black rock, a renowned salmon fishing spot. Simon plans to remove some seedling ash trees which are beginning to block the vista. Maintaining Repton and Wyatt’s plans for Endsleigh requires tenacity, vision and not just a little hard cash. Hopefully in the hands of Simon and the current owners, the Polizzis, the particular passion the Duchess of Bedford had for Endsleigh Cottage will endure.

One can only imagine that Repton and Wyatt would have approved of this picturesque scene on the Tamar, below Endsleigh Cottage

With thanks to Hotel Endsleigh and Head Gardener Simon for his valuable time and amazing knowledge.

Few plants hold their flowers as gracefully as fuchsias. Whether large or small flowered, the blooms typically tremble at the end of fine wiry stems. How I enjoyed unceremoniously popping the balloon-like buds of the varieties we grew in our garden when I was a child. They deserved better treatment. I have always found fuchsias utterly captivating and easy to grow, although over the years my tastes have turned away from fat, ruffled doubles towards slender, elongated singles.

I have trifled with F. triphylla and F. speciosum and flirted with F. boliviana and F. arborescens, but when one encounters a well grown specimen of Fuchsia magellanica var. gracilis none of the exotics are a match for its sheer poise and elegance. A hardly species, Fuchsia magellanica var. gracilis is often overlooked because it is, in a word, common, especially so in the south and west of England near the coast. Here in moist, sunny climes, it forms floriferous hedges in gardens, occasionally making a foray into the wild. It’s a shrub that deserves more than a second glance, especially in September when the flowers, with all the poise of ballet dancer, fall so graciously from the tips of the arching branches.

Fuchsia magellanica var. gracilis produces an abundance of flowers through summer and autumn

Rarely do I find myself lost for words but tonight, as I consider my return to work and the inevitability of autumn, I feel a little subdued. This is a far cry from my elation earlier today when Ipomoea indica AGM (blue dawn flower) finally deigned to produce a pair of its short-lived flowers on a day when we were in residence. This rampant tropical rambler has been producing enormous ultramarine trumpets for the last six weeks, unfurling from buds as tight as a gent’s umbrella, teasing us at weekends when we return home to find spent blooms littering the front doorstep. It was worth the wait …. the snapshots say it all.

Before the Second World War kniphofias, better known as red hot pokers, were one of Britain’s most popular garden plants. They sustained gardeners’ Victorian fascination with the exotic, whilst enduring our less than alluring weather. The Dig for Victory campaign saw flower gardens ploughed up from Land’s End to John o’ Groats, making way for vegetable plots. With them went many old varieties which were never returned to cultivation.

One of the most impressive red hot pokers, and one which survived the war years, is Kniphofia rooperi. Flowering through the autumn, it is much less less widely grown than common-or-garden summer flowering cultivars. This is a pity, as K. rooperi has sufficient charm, stature and staying-power to make it a garden mainstay.

To begin with K. rooperi is evergreen, with robust, arching, dark green leaves that build into a dense, architectural clump. Then there are the flowers – chunky, bottle-brushes that start out a soft tangerine and eventually fade to lemon yellow at the tips. In low autumn light they glow and fizz like Roman candles, rising 4ft or more above the ground in close succession.

A native of South Africa, K. rooperi was was once considered doubtfully hardy, however experience now reassures garderners that it can survive unscathed in pretty much any garden in the country. Of course, like most garden plants this red hot poker likes a well drained soil and consistent moisture, plus protection from the worst of the elements. Drought may inhibit flowering. These simple conditions satisfied, feel free to light the blue touch paper and stand back for an explosive autumn display.

Photographs taken at Trebah Gardens and Trengwainton, Cornwall, in mid September.

It’s always nice to be noticed, and even nicer to be appreciated. Today I am walking tall and smiling like the Cheshire Cat as not one, not two, but three organisations have good things to say about The Frustrated Gardener.

First off, my company magazine ‘The Gazette’ has written a lovely profile about me and my hobby and passion, gardening. This involved a two hour photoshoot in our London garden which was terrific fun and the nearest I’ll come to being a supermodel. David Gandy need not watch his back!

Secondly, the team at Notcutts Garden Centres have nominated The Frustrated Gardener for their 2014 ‘Notcutts Loves’ blog awards in the category ‘urban gardening’. I hadn’t really considered myself an urban gardener before, but I guess it’s fitting for someone who tends two town gardens. If you’d like to cast a vote in my favour, or eye up the competition, click here.

And, last but not least, the website UK Doors Direct has included The Frustrated Gardener in their Top 10 gardening blogs. I had no idea about the accolade until I started to spot visitors coming from their website, but I am delighted to find myself in the company of so many great blogs. If you are a new visitor and like what you find, why not follow me?

The Big Time? Maybe not, but it makes for one very happy Frustrated Gardener.

These flowers may faintly resemble those of a Nymphaea, but here the resemblance of Colchicum ‘Waterlily’ to an aquatic plant ends. Like other colchicums, the flowers of C. ‘Waterlily’ emerge naked, buxom and blushing from fecund, cinnamon-coloured bulbs each autumn. They prefer a well-drained soil, which remains moist rather than wet in summer, and full sun or light shade. Introduced in 1928 C. ‘Waterlily’ is unusual in that it has fully double petals. This makes the flowers rather top-heavy, so it’s best to grow them through ground cover plants, such as vinca, so that the blooms don’t collapse onto the ground and get spoilt.

Growing Colchicum ‘Waterlily’ in pots helps to protect the blooms from slugs and rainsplashes

I like to grow these luscious beauties in a terracotta pot, which allows me to display them in a prominent position when flowering and hide them away in spring as soon as the ungainly leaves emerge. A top-dressing of horticultural grit gives a modicum of protection from slugs, and prevents any compost splashing onto the petals. Like other colchicums, a faint chequerboard pattern can be seen in the petals when the light is behind them. The freshness and vitality of C. ‘Waterlily’, at a time when all else is waning, is very welcome and provides a wonderful contrast to crisp, fallen, autumn leaves.

The generously double flowers of Colchicum ‘Waterlily’ resemble a dahlia rather than a waterlily

‘Lilies in October!?’ I hear you exclaim. Maybe in the southern hemisphere, but not in England, surely? Well yes actually, these wonderful, fragrant flowers are in full bloom in our coastal garden now. The reason? The bulbs were purchased at Hampton Court Palace Flower Show in early July and have taken until now to grow and flower. And very welcome they are too with their fabulous scent, mingling with Cestrum nocturnum (also, rather suggestively, known as ‘Lady of the night’), filling these balmy autumn evenings with a heady concoction of sweetness and spice.

Lilium ‘Kushi Maya’ is a ground-breaking hybrid created by Dutch breeders using cutting-edge embryo recovery techniques. A flower of shy but beautiful Lilium nepalense was pollinated with pollen from an Oriental hybrid and the resulting embryos nurtured in a test tube to prevent them being aborted. All a little unromantic, but what remarkable offspring. L. ‘Kushi Maya’ retains its species parent’s fabulous apple and blackberry colouring, but gains strength and stamina from its hybrid genes. Given an acidic soil (or compost) and a year or so to get going, the bulbs produce stems up to 1.5m tall, each adorned with a number of gently nodding, backswept flowers. Planted late it makes a great companion for damson-coloured dahlias such as D. ‘Arabian Night’ or Aeonium arboreum ‘Zwartkop’. Alternatively, set against a background of plummy foliage this special lily is guaranteed to create a little bit of autumn ecstasy.

Lilium ‘Kushi Maya’ is available in spring from both Harts Nursery and H. W. Hyde and Son. It is protected by Plant Breeders Rights and remains relatively uncommon.

‘Kushi Maya’, a name given to female Nepalese children, can be translated as ‘Happy Love’

I’ve just come in from the garden, where the temperature has dropped dramatically since lunchtime. A brisk, rain-laden breeze has whipped up, carrying away summer’s last whispers. I fear autumn is finally here. This means one thing – it’s time to prepare the garden for winter and spring.

Stoic dahlias are plodding on, albeit with slightly smaller flowers now, and my late planted lilies are going strong. Fat buds of Lilium ‘Tarrango’ are about to burst open to reveal shocking pink flowers – something to look forward to next weekend before I head off to China. Lilium ‘Kushi Maya’ is making great friends with Dahlia ‘Twyning’s After Eight’ and Aeonium arboreum ‘Zwartkop’ in a threesome I hadn’t planned, but which works well. The blooms of Colchicum ‘Waterlily’ have been tragically short-lived; they flopped and turned brown after a warm week and won’t be seen again until next September. Following on is the lovely single crocus, C. speciosus ‘Conqueror’ which has graceful, violet-blue flowers. I think I prefer the crocus to the colchicum, although the corms need more light and greater freedom than I can offer them. On the kitchen worktop, Fuchsia arborescens is doing a great impression of a lilac, forming a 1m high shrub covered in big heads of clear pink blossom.

Dahlia ‘Twyning’s After Eight’ combines bronzy foliage with sparkling white flowers, occasionally tinged pink

I had expected Ipomoea indica to drop down a gear as the nights drew in and cooled, but not a bit of it. Ultramarine trumpets are now coming thick and fast as this vigorous climber rails against the ageing year. Likewise, Colocasia esculenta ‘Black Magic’ seems to be throwing up gigantic new leaves with abandon. It’s not known as ‘elephant ear’ for nothing. The merest sniff of frost will reduce the leaves to pulp, but I shall enjoy their water repellent darkness while they last.

A dry day tomorrow should allow for some bulb planting. A box containing Fritillaria ‘William Rex’ is stinking out our entrance hall, permeating every corner with its special blend of fox and marajuna. I can’t see Tom Ford releasing this particular fragrance any time soon. Narcissi won’t wait much longer either and need planting now. No time to waste as the winds of change blow winter ever closer.

Still going strong, Dahlia ‘Twyning’s After Eight’, D. ‘American Dawn’ and Aeonium ‘Zwartkop’

There comes a point every year when I begin to lose sight of our London garden. It’s nothing to do with my failing vision (although I do like to sport a natty pair of specs), or exuberant foliage, but everything to do with the shortening day-length. Come October there may be a few precious moments of daylight before I leave for the office, but already it’s dark by the time I get home.

The next three weeks will be spent in Hong Kong and China. When I return the clocks will have changed, effectively ending my gardening season in London and plunging me into four months of perpetual darkness.

Begonias, nasturtiums and Abutilon ‘Nabob’ are still going strong despite the cooler nights

The occasional day spent at home in autumn reveals our garden in a different light. This Saturday, for example, dawned dank and dispiriting; leaves, flowers and vegetables showing their first signs of senility. Quickly the weather sharpened up its act to offer a crisp, warm autumn day, perfect for tidying and bulb planting. Having had success this year, I am planting more Lilium martagon ‘Album’ and Narcissus ‘W.P. Milner’ wherever there’s a little gap to fill.

Fading fast, the leaves of Hosta ‘Patriot’

Our neighbours, vocal Italians who seem to have a penchant for rampant climbers, provide us with a backdrop of Virginia creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) intertwined with equally pernicious Russian vine (Fallopia baldschuanica) and Clematis armandii. The long, wandering stems of the creeper, invisible until autumn, now appear bright, ruby-red against the white flowers of the vine and glossy foliage of the clematis. A dazzling combination when lit by the mid-morning sun.

For just a few weeks every year, our neighbours’ jumble of climbers becomes a feature worth looking at

With flowers of the truest blue you’ll find in a flower, Salvia patens is looking terrific right now, even in low light. I planted eight of them in August to replace mildew-ridden sweet peas, alongside frothy Gaura lindheimerii. The late-flowering duo will need to make way soon for a colourful planting of tulips and wallflowers, which will duly be replaced by more sweet peas in spring.

Salvia patens brightens up a dank, dark autumn morning

Hidden in the shadows beneath a magnolia is a lovely variegated form of the toad lily, Tricyrtis hirta ‘Variegata’. The cream-coloured leaf borders are very minimal so won’t offend anyone who dislikes strong variegation. Long, slightly angled stems, reminiscent of willow gentian (Gentiana asclepiadea), produce lots of plum-freckled, starry white flowers. It’s worth pushing on through the undergrowth and a carpet of Cyclamen hederifolium to find them.

Toad in the hole. Tricyrtis hirta ‘Variegata’ is tolerant of any level of shade

Daylight hours at home during winter offer precious gardening opportunities. Keeping up with fallen leaves is a chore, but it’s essential they are kept out of the pond. The vegetable garden has already been cleared of anything that’s ceased to be productive so that the rain and frost can get to the soil. The last tasks of the year, reserved for a fine day in November, will be planting tulip bulbs and clearing away faded perennials. Before we know it the snowdrops will be pushing their thin, silvery shoots into the cold air and the cycle will begin again.

Bought as a tiny plant from Homebase, ‘David’ the tree fern now produces fronds 4ft long

If you’ve ever passed a gorse bush on a cliff top or heath and wondered why it’s covered in something resembling a blanket woven from strawberry bootlaces, then you’ve encountered one of Britain’s most curious plants, Cuscuta epithymum, otherwise known as dodder.

Dodder begins its annual lifecycle in spring when it germinates and twines around a host plant, preferably a gorse bush (Ulex europaeus), heather (Calluna vulgaris) or clover (Trifolium spp). Once the dodder has become established its lower stems wither, effectively leaving the young plant high and dry. All is not lost, because suckers on the dodder’s wandering, chlorophyll-free threads penetrate the stem of the host, allowing the dodder to live as a parasite. It then spreads rapidly, often completely smothering its unwitting victim.

Far from doddering along, this ‘outbreak’ of dodder will spread like wildfire

The whispy, red-pigmented strands are not designed to photosynthesise and become even more interesting when spangled with clusters of tiny pinkish-white flowers in summer. Dodder is one of life’s survivors, a unique energy-sapping oddity which occupies a unique place in our island’s flora.

These photographs taken in Zennor, West Cornwall, in September 2014.

Strawberry bootlace anyone?

Since the 1970s, Flower Market Road (花墟道) has been the go-to place for plants and flowers in Hong Kong. The term ‘market’ conjures up an image of a large open space packed with stalls, but Hong Kong’s floral focal point is made up of about fifty privately owned shops extending along two parallel streets and the short roads that connect them. Although originally the heart of the city’s wholesale flower industry, the market’s customers are now mostly local people, purchasing house plants and cut flowers for every occasion. For those with a balcony, or anyone fortunate enough to have a garden (a rarity in Hong Kong), there are pots, compost and all the usual gardening paraphernalia.

Don’t go to Flower Market Road expecting anything fancy, but enjoy the sights and scents of this busy area

Whilst the flower market has become an attraction in its own right, it’s a practical affair and tourists are advised to stand back in favour of serious shoppers on a mission. The atmosphere is relaxed, friendly and laced with the heady perfume of lilies, carnations and jasmine. I paid an evening visit, vying with workers buying flowers on the way home from the office. The choice is fairly pedestrian by UK florists’ standards, bright and colourful but with no pretence. Bouquets are more Liberace than Liberty, featuring concentric rings of chrysanthemums around roses or lilies, all imported from China or further afield.

Carnations in every colour can be bought at a fraction of the UK price

Most people in Hong Kong have busy lives and reside in compact apartments, so there are all sorts of solutions on offer for small spaces, including air plants, succulents, the ubiquitous orchid and decorative arrangements of foliage plants growing in nutrient-rich solution. It’s rare to visit a home (or showroom in my case) that doesn’t have an arrangement of Chinese ‘lucky bamboo’ (a plant entirely unrelated to bamboo, called Dracaena sanderiana), which is available in every shape and size at the market. I can’t stand the sight of it myself, but it’s popular because it survives without much natural daylight and plays an important role in Feng Shui.

Plants grown hydroponically are a great solution for time-short Hongkongers

If you’re in Hong Kong, Flower Market Road is definitely worth a diversion and is open from 9.30am to 7.30pm every day except the first day of Chinese New Year.

Halloween is becoming more popular in Hong Kong, although the relationship to succulent plants isn’t clear!

My regular trips to China offer few opportunities to observe nature up close. By and large I’m confined to big, ugly cities few people in the UK have heard of, but today I am in Hangzhou which must be one of the greenest and smartest cities around. On my last visit I wrote about the city flower Guìhuā (桂花) (Osmanthus fragrans) which perfumes the streets with its unmistakable, spicy fragrance. You know you’re in Hangzhou when the Guìhuā is flowering.

En route to Hangzhou from Ningbo we visited a small factory in a rural area. The farmland around was studded with peach and cherry trees, rice paddies and poly tunnels planted with strawberries. Each tiny rice field was golden yellow, spangled with amber grains waiting to be harvested. Here and there small patches of pak choi glistened in the warm, hazy sunshine.

From the first floor window of the typically austere factory I spied a small field of cloud-pruned trees, which the factory manager explained to me were owned by a farmer living in a remote spot in the mountains. He brings his trees here to a more accessible place so that designers can come and select them for local landscaping projects. The finest can fetch up to 10,000RMB (about £1000) and are nearly 70 years old. Their value makes them a magnet for thieves, who recently made off with three precious specimens, so they are now kept out of harm’s way, behind locked gates.

My bird’s eye view offered little detail, but two very old trees in front of the factory carried small, burgundy leaves which would soon be followed by fluffy magenta flowers. Further research has revealed the shrub’s identity as Loropetalum chinense var. rubrum commonly known as Chinese fringe flower and related to witch hazel. As a simple bush it is commonly used in landscaping in this part of China, but seemingly only on the middle of busy roads where would-be thieves would have to risk life and limb to get at them!

The list of plants I’d like to grow if I had space is endless and trees would make up many of that number. I am increasingly anxious to get on and start planting so that I might one day see them in maturity, but suspect I may already be a little late to achieve such a lofty ambition.

A tree which offers quick rewards for impatient gardeners is Rhus typhina, the stag’s horn sumach. It’s actually half way between a large shrub and a tree, often wider than it is high. Stag’s horn sumach is prone to suckering, which on the upside means it can be grown very beautifully as a multi-stemmed tree, but on the downside makes it a complete nuisance in the wrong place. However for picturesque effect, blazing autumn colour and a touch of the  exotic Rhus typhina is very hard to beat. Despite its North American origins it has a wonderfully oriental aesthetic and is easy to imagine pushing its way up between the boulders and waterfalls of a traditional Chinese brush painting.

A variety with finely divided leaves, R. typhina ‘Dissecta’ AGM makes an equally lovely plant with a more feathery outline. Both trees are at their most ravishing in autumn when their umbrella-shaped canopies turn every shade of orange, red and purple before falling. Dark red, densely flocked flower spikes (looking rather like Devils’ horns) remain through winter, giving Rhus typhina one of its other common names, velvet sumach.

Planted now Rhus typhina will have a chance to settle in before winter arrives, so go on, what are you waiting for?

On the turn. The leaves of Rhus typhina need full sun to achieve their most dazzling colours

From a very early age my parents took me and my sister to visit gardens. I like to think the reason was to cultivate our interest in flowers and plants, but as one follower of this blog commented recently (with reference to another Cornish garden, Trebah), it was probably to keep us both from wreaking havoc elsewhere. The upshot of all this outdoor activity, which worked for me either way you choose to look at it, is that I have enjoyed a lifelong relationship with a handful of gardens, mainly in Cornwall. Return visits to these precious spots are imbued with a completely different sense of understanding and recognition. Without thinking I can spot where trees have grown or been felled, where standards have fallen or new opportunities opened up. It’s like seeing an old friend who has moved abroad and returns home once in a blue moon, except I am the one doing all the travelling.

We were never without helichrysums (Xerochrysum bracteatum) when I was growing up.

Trengwainton in West Cornwall is one such garden. Like an old friend it rarely changes except perhaps for the horticultural equivalent of a new hairdo. Since those earliest visits the carpark had grown (as, sadly, have all National Trust carparks), smart visitor facilities have been built and the productive side of the walled gardens has been reinvigorated. Apart from that, change has been organic, the 90 year old gardens progressing gently towards the centenary of their creation by one Lt-Col. E.H.W. Bolitho.

On retiring from the army Colonel Bolitho became High Sheriff of Cornwall and was later knighted. His horticultural masterstroke was to recognise that his head gardener, a Mr Creek, had a gift for propagation. He was given carte blanche to develop his talents at Trengwainton. Other great Cornish gardens, including those at Caerhays Castle, supported the creation Col. Bolitho’s pleasure grounds, offering seasoned advice and gifts of plants collected around the globe.

Unlike the garden around it, Trengwainton House can hardly be described as a masterpiece

In 1926 Col. Bolitho joined a triumvirate of investors, including Lawrence Johnston of Hidcote and George Johnstone of Trewithen, to back Kingdon Ward’s 1927-8 planting hunting expedition to North East Assam and Upper Burma. Rhododendron seeds found on that trip gave rise to the garden’s enviable collection. Mr Creek’s expertise, combined with the mild Cornish weather, meant that several species flowered for the first time in the British Isles at Trengwainton. From then on there was a great flurry of development, including the creation of a stream garden, planting of further shelter belts and extension of the walled gardens to create space in which the Colonel could cosset his most tender plants. To this day Trengwainton remains the only UK mainland garden with conditions warm enough to cultivate many sub tropical plants, making it very special indeed.

Fascicularia bicolor, a Chilean bromeliad, growing in the boughs of a magnolia

The flowers are even more fascinating close-up

Although the gardens had welcomed the public since 1931, they did not pass to the current owners, The National Trust, until 1961. Thanks to West Cornwall’s relative remoteness and the large scale of the gardens, commercialization remains relatively low-key. On a quiet day the winding paths can be enjoyed very much as Colonel Bolitho would once have appreciated them. Surely he would be overjoyed to see the towering scale of his tree ferns (Dicksonia antartica), which now stand 4m high with trunks the size of Grecian columns.

Begonia grandis subsp. evansiana is unusual in that it’s hardy in most UK gardens

My favourite part of the garden is the series of walled gardens, which were constructed before Colonel Bolitho’s tenure, in the 1820s, to the floor plan of Noah’s Ark. It’s in these cossetted confines that may of Trengwainton’s tenderest treasures flourish, including a fine collection of fuchsias from around the globe and Chilean rarity Jovellana violacea. For the keen plantsperson this series of enclosed ‘rooms’ with their balmy microclimate is heaven on earth – I could spend hours wandering from one to another with notebook and camera in hand. Some of the plots have enormous magnolias planted at their centre, sending their low, sweeping branches out to fill every corner.

A mix of exotics, cottage garden plants and vegetables surround the gardener’s cottage

Each subdivision of the walled garden features steeply sloping, west-facing beds. These were designed to catch the rays of the sun and bring forward crops of fruit and vegetables, which might already be among the first in the country ready for picking.

Trengwainton’s west-facing raised beds are a unique feature of the walled gardens

Modern-day Trengwainton enjoys the additional adornment of scarecrows in the guise of famous historical characters …..

A scarecrow, impersonating Florence Nightingale, keeps watch over the chard with Einstein in the background!

….. and at the time of our visit in late September a magnificent harvest of pumpkins and squashes was laid out on a bed of straw, allowing the fruits’ skins to toughen up before storing, eating or carving into Jack-o’-lanterns.

Like an old friend I have a feeling Trengwainton and I will be reunited again very soon, although I am quite certain of which of us is going to age better!

A sea of freshly harvested pumpkins greeted us on a recent visit

Trengwainton’s balmy environs are worth a visit at any time of year, although winter opening dates are restricted. Check on the National Trust website for further details.

You may recall that a year ago I wrote about The Garden Bridge, a proposed crossing on the Thames in London. With planning permission due to be granted by Lambeth Council on Monday, this visionary idea, which will see a garden sit astride Britain’s greatest waterway, is set to become reality.

The new bridge, which will be for pedestrians only, has not come this far without controversy. Detractors have suggested that another crossing in this location is unnecessary and see no sense in preventing the passage of cycles. Others point to the cost, which has risen to £175M, and to the loss of mature trees at either end of the span. Temple Underground station, one of the quieter on the network, will need to be closed for 6 months during construction, no doubt causing inconvenience to thousands of commuters.

Ironically, none of these considerations would have been permitted to get in the way had this been yet another ugly ‘iconic’ building in the city. We all know the reason for these monoliths – capitalism – and that’s fine, London was built by it, but people who only understand this economic system naturally struggle with the concept of something that exists just because it might make somewhere a better place to be. If the moat of red poppies surrounding The Tower of London has taught us anything it’s that bold, beautiful gestures are popular with the people. How much less impactful and thought provoking would this installation have been on a smaller scale? I argue that London needs ambitious and, yes, slightly unnecessary projects like The Garden Bridge to stay at the top of its game. To a degree, where the crossing is sited is neither here nor there (this didn’t get in the way of the Emirates Air Line cable car that stretches between the Royal Docks and the Greenwich Peninsula) – it’s about the experience.

Not least down to Joanna Lumley’s persuasively dulcet tones, The Garden Bridge has this weekend made it to the brink of realisation. If the outstanding £85M can be raised swiftly, construction could begin as early as December 2015, with a completion date of 2018. Unlike so many significant London projects of recent times the Garden Bridge will be elegant, environmentally enhacing, British designed and fully accessible to the public 18 hours a day. How many skyscrapers in the city can boast more than one of those qualities? I say ‘Hurrah!’ to Joanna Lumley (rapidly becoming something of a national treasure) and to Thomas Heatherwick, Arup and Dan Pearson for championing such a brave, vibrant and gratuitously quixotic idea.