October and November are second only to May and June in terms of the amount there is to do in our garden. All four months are key for preparation and planting. In the spring it’s all about tender perennials, flashy annuals and plump dahlia tubers, but in autumn the focus is on those dry, paper-coated time bombs we call bulbs. They arrive as crisp and tanned as David Dickinson in September, giving few clues as to the incredible flower power packed inside. I’ve been secreting them lovingly in containers since then, revelling in the prospect of bold new varieties and startling colour combinations. Every clement moment during my weekends is spent emptying and cleaning terracotta pots, mixing compost and getting those bulbs snuggly beneath a protective blanket of grit and loam. I always overbuy horribly (my eyes are bigger than my garden….and my wallet for that matter), so the task can sometimes feel repetitive and unrelenting. However, I know that in spring I will be richly rewarded.

Tulip bulbs, given a light dusting of yellow sulphur to protect from mould

Narcissi, irises and crocuses, which like to get their roots established early, take priority in September, with tulips perfectly happy planted well into November once the weather gets colder. Prepared narcissi, such as N. ‘Paperwhite Ziva’, N. ‘Cragford’ and N. ‘Avalanche’ are saved until last, otherwise they’re in bloom too soon before Christmas. In storage moisture is bulbs’ greatest enemy, so I keep them waiting in a cool, dry place and check regularly for signs of bluish mould or unhealthy mottling. I avoid leaving them stacked in plastic bags or packed in transit boxes where they might sweat. If found, a dusting of sulphur puts a stop to any minor outbreaks of rot. The best prevention is to get them in the ground or into pots quickly. Even if the task does drive me potty, I know I’ll be glad I persevered in five months’ time.

Iris reticulata ‘George’ is great packed into smaller pots

As far as flowers are concerned the pickings are fairly slim in our London garden at this time of year. Because of this I am loath to turf out pots of white Begonia semperflorens which are still plodding along outside the French windows. Likewise I am clinging on to Salvia patens, steadfastly sending up new spikes of extraordinary blue flowers despite the cold and wet. And still covered in tiny pink bells is Fuchsia microphylla, its elegant stems arching gracefully over a rough terrain of fallen magnolia leaves. What troupers they all are.

Salvia patens just keeps on going

One plant that looks better than it ever did during summer is Clematis ‘Madame Julia Correvon’ AGM (top of post). Mme Correvon, a 114 year old Grande Dame of exceptional breeding, is a viticella type clematis, which I always find tragically prone to mildew. Maybe it’s just me, or maybe it’s because every garden I have ever owned has been enclosed, but even with regular fungicide treatment the old lady is covered in a debilitating white bloom by mid-July and rarely recovers her looks until Autumn. From October to December, when damp air is guaranteed, we look forward to a repeat display of her luscious, magenta, windmill-sail flowers. Très Bon.

A flush of dusky plum warms the blooms of Anemone ‘Wild Swan’

Fairly new to cultivation is Anemone ‘Wild Swan’, a perennial which has quickly achieved star status. It was first spotted by nurserywoman Elizabeth MacGregor growing in a batch of anemone seedlings. That was twelve years ago and by 2011 her discovery had been named Chelsea Plant of the Year. Anemone ‘White Swan’ can still be a little hard to get hold of, but once you’ve tracked it down you’ll be rewarded with elegant white flowers from May until the first frosts. The backs of the anemone’s petals are a moody lilac shade, as if dusted with sultry eyeshadow. I suspect the star qualities of Anemone ‘Wild Swan’ will guarantee its place in plant catalogues for at least as long as Mme Correvon.

Nerines are named after the sea nymphs of Greek mythology

We never have a great deal of success with Nerine bowdenii, mainly because we can’t give the bulbs the baking they need during the summer months. This year has been an exception. New bulbs planted in deep gravel at the foot of a wall have produced tall flower stems topped with explosions of pink. They look completely out of place against the drab detritus of the late-autumn garden, but I find myself thrilled to see them. I hope they’ll be back again next year, bigger, brighter and more plentiful.

I’d love to hear what’s still giving you pleasure in your garden and your tricks for brightening up these gloomy days.

That’s it, I am done with travelling for 2014. I am stuck indefinitely at Amsterdam Schiphol airport with my colleagues, half of us with raging temperatures and chesty coughs, facing the prospect of a weekend in bed. It has not been a great December so far (even Him Indoors is properly poorly at home in London), but on the bright side I hope this means my immune system will be back at full strength for the festive season. My waistline has certainly benefitted. The cause of today’s delay is the collapse of the London air traffic control system, which I’d like to say comes as surprise, but it’s what the British expect of our creaky airport infrastructure.

My normal cure for all blues and maladies is writing about plants – something one can do even when one doesn’t have the energy to raise an eyebrow. It’s a little bit of a struggle, I must say, when one is coughing like a cat trying to dislodge a fur ball. It’s a charming image which I suggest you don’t dwell on.

I share with you tonight some of the tempting plants that I photographed this week in the garden centres of Holland and Belgium. Glossy mahogany anthuriums vied with silver sprayed echeverias (I would not normally approve, but it is Christmas after all), wavy-petalled cyclamen and curiously corrugated Peperomia carperata ‘Rosso’.

We should be move adventurous with houseplants in the UK, treating them as the Dutch do, like cut flowers. This is a luxury more easily afforded in The Low Countries, where they are priced so reasonably, but nevertheless houseplants are too often unimaginatively presented in our multiple garden centres.

At this point I’d like to sign off by saying we were boarding, or feeling a lot better, but regrettably we’re not. There’s a 15 Euro food voucher in the offing if only we were hungry. I wish you a very Vrolijk Kerstfeest from gate D26 at Amsterdam Schiphol and hope not to still be here when the big day arrives.

The winter solstice is the longest night and shortest day of the year, this year falling on Sunday December 21st. The Earth’s axis tilts the furthest away from the sun at 23-and-a-half degrees, giving all locations north of the equator less than 12 hours of daylight. This pivotal moment in the calendar has been marked by mankind for centuries and is often celebrated as ‘Yule’.

Unlike some other gardens, which revert to shades of brown, sand and olive through winter, our coastal garden becomes increasingly bright and green as the shortest day approaches. Friends often comment that it’s impossible to tell it’s winter at The Watch House, the only clue being the naked framework of our fig tree. They are being kind of course, and the slightest frost will soon reduce many plants to slimy ectoplasm. Just occasionally we get away with it and sail through the winter solstice unscathed. I am not counting my chickens, but so far even tender Begonia luxurians and Colocasia ‘Black Magic’ have escaped any harm.

The brooding leaves of Colocasia esculenta ‘Black Magic’ will crumple and die as soon as cold weather arrives

Practically, a mild December helps immensely with the winter ‘shut down’, giving me time to get each plant under cover, although the longer I drag this task out, the longer my pots of bulbs have to wait in the wings. Spring flowering Tropaeolum tricolor is already 3ft tall and there are hundreds of crocuses emerging from beneath their blanket of grit.

The finely-divided leaves of Geranium maderense arch away from the centre of the plant creating a huge umbrella of foliage

Several plants put on a massive growth spurt at the end of the year. Most notable is Melianthus major which, supported by a framework of fig branches, is approaching 10ft tall. By December the silver-grey, aggressively-toothed leaves are huge and luscious, and will soon part to reveal tall burgundy-red flower spikes. My Australian friend Helen bought me some marvellous plant tie made from stretchy jersey, which is absolutely brilliant for securing the melianthus’ unwieldy, hollow stems. Staking against unforgiving gales is so important at this time of year.

The saw-tooth leaflets of Melianthus major look sharp enough to cut steak

Beneath the melianthus, languishing in rather too much shade, is Beschorneria yuccoides, again in fine health but alas not flowering in the last five years. No matter, the striated, glaucous leaves are a pleasure to look at year round, provided they can be kept out of the rasping mouths of snails. However harsh the winter, beschornerias are rarely killed off by cold provided they are given really sharp drainage.

More at home in Brazil than Broadstairs, Begonia luxurians has soldiered on until December

Access to our front door is currently restricted by two enormous, self-seeded Geranium maderense. I will gladly suffer this hardship for the chance to witness their atomic clouds of magenta blossoms in April – an event that hasn’t occurred in our garden for about five years. Both plants are self seeded – one in a planter and the other in a crack in the paving – and each measures in excess of 5ft across. As neither can be moved they are completely at the mercy of the elements, which I hope will be kind and permit us an outstanding spring display. I am also keeping an eye on a smaller seedling of G. maderense ‘Guernsey White’, which I have never succeeded in coaxing into flower in Broadstairs. Perhaps 2015 will be my year?

After a long growing season, Solanum laciniatum has achieved tree-like proportions

All that’s required to keep Agapanthus africanus in fine fettle is a weekly ‘tug’ of any yellowing leaves. They come away satisfyingly from the base of the plant when given a firm pull. Routine maintenance deters snails and other diseases that can afflict agapanthus. In eight years Agapanthus africanus has never lost its foliage in winter, although show and ice has caused damaged on occasion.

A plant which always looks splendid in winter and which is so much hardier than one might think is Digitalis sceptrum. This umbrella-shaped shrub saves its energy until October when it begins to produce rosettes of new leaves the colour and texture of a Romaine lettuce. I can only guess that back home in the Canary Islands the weather is cooler and wetter in winter, so this is its natural time for growth. You won’t find Digitalis sceptrum at your local garden centre (in fact only 2 nurseries in the UK list it) but it’s worth tracking down as it’s endangered in the wild and needs protection in cultivation.

The fresh new leaves of Digitalis sceptrum look good enough to eat

Just 30 minutes in our coastal garden yesterday was enough to finish me off (I am not quite back to full strength yet) but a good tidy is needed in London too. I’ll be out there on Boxing Day, clearing hellebore foliage and fallen leaves. It will be sooner if the mother-in-law gets too much. In the meantime, I wish you a very Happy Yule and, remember, the days start getting longer again from Monday!

Will you be in the garden over Christmas? What jobs do you have planned? Do you have anything looking especially good in the garden this Yule?

A flash-back to Christmas Day 2008, during the garden’s first winter

Even by London standards it’s been an exceptionally mild start to winter. Our traditional Boxing Day walk from Highgate to Hampstead revealed dahlias in full spate, rioting red geraniums and walls festooned with Jasminum polyanthum, all blooming cheek-by-jowl with seasonal clumps of Lenten rose (Helleborus niger) and the bejewelled stems of Viburnum x bodnantense.

Viburnum x bodnantense manages to look fresh and vital even in the depths of winter

The biggest surprise of the day was a carpet of daffodils (I believe Narcissus ‘Rijnveld’s Early Sensation’, thank you Chloris!) outside a house in Merton Lane near Hampstead Heath. They were accompanied by snowdrops and the pale purple buds of Crocus tommasinianus. It’s a scene I’d have expected to see in March rather than December, and a sign of just how much the seasons have shifted in recent years.

Narcissus ‘Rijnveld’s Early Sensation’ greets us on our Boxing Day walk

On the heath itself the landscape was much more as one might expect: damp, bare and dun-coloured. Every muddy pathway was thronged with the well-to-do, resplendent in Barbour jackets, Hunter wellies and ill-advised bobble hats. During winter nature’s beauty is often found in the detail – in the tenacious strands of ivy clinging to every branch; in the dry, copper-coloured leaves of oak and beech still clinging on for dear life; and in the thickets of flaming bramble leaves guarding the damp ground beneath.

Common ivy clinging tightly to the trunk of a sapling on Hampstead Heath

The undergrowth ablaze with technicolor bramble leaves

Reaching Hampstead we sought out Mansfield Place, a hidden pathway between two rows of picture-perfect cottages. In one garden a dark-leaved camellia was studded with white flowers of astonishing purity, as white and waxy as any tropical gardenia.

What’s for certain is that winter’s wrath is just around the corner. We’ll soon either be deluged with rain or frozen to the bone, so we must count our blessings and enjoy nature’s unexpected gifts whilst we may.

Purity itself, an early blooming white camellia in Mansfield Place, Hampstead

I embark on my review of 2014 with a degree of trepidation, as this year did not turn out to be quite as joyful as I hoped it might be. The two preceding years were gloriously packed with exotic travel and big events, so in hindsight 2014 was probably never going to live up to expectations. There have been many sadnesses, including the passing away of my granny and great aunt, marking the end of an era in the Cooper family. Work has been all consuming for us both and we have not enjoyed our usual ‘big’ holiday. In retrospect this may have been a sacrifice too far as we love our sun and adventure.

Yet one great happiness, the arrival of my niece Martha, rescued 2014 from the doldrums. I’d re-live all of the last twelve months just for that life-changing event. Happily the two generations, Great Granny Cooper and little Martha, were able to meet before their ways parted again. Martha will be one year old on January 3rd and is an ever-moving bundle of joy, laughter and smiles.

A-one, a-two, a-three, BLOW!

Meanwhile The Frustrated Gardener has gone from strength to strength, thanks to all the people who looked in regularly, or even dropped by just the once. It matters not, as the views, comments and likes are what have kept me going through a year of ups and downs, and will propel me into 2015 with as much gusto as I started 2014. Thank you for looking in and I hope you enjoy my review of this year’s best bits.

Yours truly, pictured in our new vegetable garden

There is no denying that 2014 was a vintage year for gardening, garden visiting or simply being outdoors. The UK escaped with a mild but very wet winter, followed by a lovely spring, summer and autumn. The growing season in both of our gardens was long and productive, creating an equal abundance of flowers and foliage ….. and for the first time in London there were fruits and vegetables too.

Our first crop of tomatoes was pampered in the sunniest corner of our London garden

In January, following the birth of baby Martha, we made the first of three visits to Cornwall. There, in the depths of winter, we discovered camellias, daffodils and leptospermums in full bloom. More incredible still was the profusion of aeoniums sprouting from walls and pots in St Ives’ narrow streets and alleyways.

Leptospermum scoparium ‘Coral Candy’

A second New Year highlight was the brilliant Hellebore Day at Bosvigo in Truro, the event which kicked off my gardening year. I took the sleeper train from Paddington, arriving in Camborne at the crack of dawn, and just had time to freshen up at Trevoole before joining the long queue for Wendy Perry’s hellebore bonanza. I purchased four beautiful seedlings from Wendy’s ‘Bosvigo Doubles’ strain and gave them all pet names in order that I could identify them in future. I am excited to see their richly ruffled blooms again in 2015, especially ‘Blackberry Fool’ and ‘Eton Mess’.

I named this beautiful Bosvigo double hellebore ‘Blackberry Fool’

March saw us travel up to Sheffield for a family birthday celebration, offering us the chance to visit the city’s wonderful Botanical Gardens. We were blessed with exceptional weather and greeted by swathes of hepaticas, crocuses, polyanthus and oxlips. It is heartwarming to witness the renaissance of public parks such as Sheffield Botanical Gardens, when as recently as the 80’s and 90’s so many seemed doomed to become drug-blighted, no-go areas. As the UK economy improves, it’s to be hoped that councils apportion an appropriate amount of their funds to the continuous improvement of our precious green spaces.

Restored Glass Pavilions, Sheffield Botanical Gardens

To my mind one can never pay enough visits to Sissinghurst, which truly deserves its matchless reputation as a garden of great beauty, style and plantsmanship. I visited three times during 2014, which further proved to me what a remarkable job the Sissinghurst team make of keeping this famous garden looking tip-top year-round. I am ashamed to admit that I never got around to writing up my April sortie, when the orchard and Delos were blanketed by a delightful patchwork of narcissi, anemones, fritillarias, scillas and hellebores.

A swathe of anemones carpets the ground in an area of Sissinghurst known as Delos

Sissinghurst’s orchard studded with cheerful narcissi, an early treat for the bees

It was a lovely day, with fewer visitors than one encounters later in the year. As always at Sissinghurst I was dazzled by the accomplishment of the plant associations, one of Vita Sackville-West’s many legacies which endure through today’s gardening team. A very special combination was Chaenomeles x superba ‘Knap Hill Scarlet’ set against the weathered brick and silvered oak of the Tudor castle. The Japanese quince’s colour is more tangerine than scarlet, but is exquisite next to its emerging lime-green leaves and the terracotta-tinted walls. Equally stunning and thoroughly modern was the dazzling pairing of fiery greigii tulips with the verdigris-coated urn at the centre of the Cottage Garden.

At Sissinghurst, climbers are selected to complement the warm tones of the castle walls

This eye-popping combination is just what’s needed to welcome in the spring

May is the month when The Frustrated Gardener gets more visits than any other. For the first time I took a week’s holiday for Chelsea and immersed myself in this greatest of all flower shows. There was much remembrance of the start of the Great War, both in show gardens and the Great Pavilion. This sobering theme was continued through many other RHS shows in 2014, a poignant reminder of the devastation, suffering and loss experienced in a conflict that began 100 years ago. Featuring blackened water and Iris sibirica (both widely employed at this year’s Chelsea), Charlotte Rowe’s brooding pool represented a crater left by an exploded bomb.

‘No Man’s Land’, designed by Charlotte Rowe

My ‘most read’ post of the year was my write up of The Telegraph Garden designed by Tommaso del Buono and Paul Gazerwitz. When I look back on my photographs I love this garden just as much, if not more, than I did back in May. Those saturated greens and cool blues are right up my street, and I admire the careful balance achieved between structure and informality. It’s not a garden I’d care to maintain – too much precision trimming required – but I could enjoy it endlessly, especially with a glass of Veuve Cliquot in hand.

Style and substance – The Telegraph Garden designed by del Buono Gazerwitz

Later that week, with my Aussie friend Helen, I visited Sissinghurst once again, but it was lesser known Goodnestone Park (pronounced ‘Gunston’) that captured my companion’s imagination. It may have been the roses, it may have been the bucolic vegetable garden, or it may have been the chatty head gardener, but we came away thoroughly inspired by this magical Kent garden and appreciated the relative absence of other visitors.

All set for the season ahead, the kitchen garden at Goodnestone Park, Kent

June saw us visit Amsterdam, me for the first time, to enjoy the city’s open garden weekend. We were blessed with great weather and found the whole event a fantastic introduction to Dutch garden style. Approximately 30 gardens opened their gates to the public, varying from grand museums to small domestic plots. For anyone challenged by narrow, shaded or dry spots it’s great to see what others have achieved in the same conditions, and the refreshments on offer aren’t bad either. Amsterdam’s gardens open once again in 2015, June 19 to June 21 inclusive.

The narrow garden at Singel 124, Amsterdam

Late June brought upheaval to our London garden when we embarked on the particularly ill-timed construction of raised vegetable beds, utilising a spot which had been neglected for a couple of years. Furthest away from the building, the designated spot receives plenty of sun, so we chose to incorporate seating for those balmy summer evenings. Despite having to lug over 300 bags of topsoil and compost through the flat, we had it planted up and ready to go by the second week in July. Although the sweetcorn and courgettes didn’t quite hit the mark, we enjoyed as many herbs, tomatoes, salad leaves and beans as we could eat.

Various forms of lighting mean that we can enjoy the garden in the evenings

Hampton Court Palace Flower Show was excellent this year and I declared Paul Martin’s exceptional garden, entitled ‘Vista’, my best in show. It had all the elements I love in a garden – generous entertaining space, ebullient planting, modern materials and close attention to detail. The cantilevered table was to die for, although if I were the host I’d have been topping up those glasses of rosé pronto. It was good to see Australia represented again at an RHS show, after we waved goodbye to Flemings at Chelsea in 2013. Jim Fogarty showcased the diversity of Australian flora in a garden full of colour and movement.

For a garden with such a rosé outlook, the glasses were not quite half full

‘Essence of Australia’ celebrated the diversity of Victoria and Northern Territory Flora

One thing had been on my mind all year, and that was the opening of our garden for the National Garden Scheme. It seemed such a good idea when our friend Beth suggested it back in September 2013, but as the big day approached the pressure mounted. Sometimes the moon and stars align and this was one such occasion. The sun shone, the flowers bloomed (many for the first time this year) and the people came – 220 of them in the space of 2 days. What struck us was how friendly, kind and considerate all our visitors were and how far people were prepared to travel to see a garden measuring just 20ft x 30ft. When the sums were done we had raised almost £700 for the NGS charities, which is an amazing figure. None of this would have happened were it not for a small band of people who publicised the opening and helped out on the gate and selling refreshments. We’ll be opening The Watch House again in 2015 on August 1 and 2 and hope for another fine turnout.

The Watch House Garden in August 2014, ready for opening

The garden was thronged with visitors on both days

The men with the money, Nigel, James and Simon manned the front gate

September was a sad month, marked by the passing of my last remaining grandparent. Granny Cooper was not a great gardener but loved to be outdoors, either walking or, in later years, sitting in my parents’ garden. In perfect partnership with my grandpa for over 70 years before his death, I like to believe they are now together again, enjoying each others’ company over a steaming cup of tea and slice of lemon drizzle cake. Granny Cooper loved the colour yellow so these roses are for her:

Vera Cooper: 7 June 1920 – 1 September 2014

Late summer was not without its happier moments. We enjoyed three nights of luxury at Hotel Endsleigh, Devon in a room that looked out over the magnificent long border, reputedly the longest unbroken expanse of herbaceous planting in England. Whilst other guests arrived by helicopter, we had to make do with conventional wheels. Soft top down, we crossed the county to visit Cliffe and Gill Heavens, fellow blogger and author of Off The Edge Gardening. Now there is a garden with a view and a gardener with a wealth of knowledge.

Hotel Endsleigh’s long border is planted to give guests enjoyment throughout the growing season

The garden at Cliffe (now closed to the public) overlooks sublime Lee Bay

As usual, most of October was spent working in China, so it was great to return to two gardens still going strong. Having been blighted with mildew through the summer, Clematis ‘Madame Julia Correvon’ came into her own in October and was still blooming on Christmas Day. She was joined by Anemone ‘Wild Swan’ and Eomecon chionantha, otherwise known as the snow poppy, despite normally blooming in May and June.

A lady with staying power – Clematis ‘Madame Julia Correvon’

Most of December was spent in bed, not relaxing, but recovering from a succession of unwelcome bugs. For the most part it was a month I’d rather forget, but by Christmas Day I was well enough to pose with Him Indoors for our traditional festive self portrait. You will spot on the right of the photograph a miniature greenhouse I bought for myself on a recent trip to Holland. Well, Father Christmas took the hint and delivered (albeit in 100 pieces) a tiny, lean-to greenhouse; the sort that stands against a wall but that one can’t actually go inside. It’s perfect for what I need and will allow me to start sweet peas early, bring on seedlings and give tender plants a little additional protection. All I need is time to put it together, and before I know it there won’t be an inch of staging left unoccupied.

Thank you for reading this post and for joining me on my trip down memory lane. The going was a little rough at times and my suspension almost failed, but as 2015 approaches I can see open road ahead. I hope the same goes for you. Happy New Year!

A Happy New Year from The Frustrated Gardener and Him Indoors

Our garden table in Broadstairs has always been graced by central pot or trough of flowers. We opt for hardy cyclamen or violas in winter, followed by narcissi and tulips in spring. These make way for begonias, coleus, felicia or petunias in summer and then the cycle begins again. There’s usually a fresh pot planted up and waiting in the wings so we don’t have an interval between shows. In a planting scheme that’s relatively fixed and predominantly green this has always been a nice way of introducing seasonal colour to the garden. It’s a feature I enjoy experimenting with and no two years are the same.

Last summer nemesias, Felicia amelloides and Begonia ‘Glowing Embers’ brightened up our garden table

Being a firm believer in ‘more is more’, I had never considered moss a suitable subject for this focal point, that is until I visited Restoration Hardware’s flagship store on Broadway in New York. Here, soft hummocks of moss were landscaped in iron or stone troughs and displayed on teak garden tables very similar to our own. In contrast to my pots of plenty, these simple containers made a restrained, elegant statement.

A trough, fashioned from Tufa stone, creates the perfect frame for picturesque moss

With our garden becoming ever shadier, and a healthy covering of moss occupying the corrugated iron roof of the neighbouring garage, I think I should perhaps give moss cultivation a second thought. I am not sure I could sacrifice my beloved summer colour for a mattress of green, but through late autumn and winter moss might make a pleasant change. In spring I imagine the verdant landscape punctuated by snowdrops, Iris reticulata or miniature narcissi. I have had my eye on the wares of a British company called Bronzino for a little while, and can imagine these copper basins gently mounded with soft green moss. I had better start next year’s Christmas list now!

These copper basins have been allowed to develop their characteristic verdigris patina

Whilst there are many types of moss, I believe the sort used by Japanese landscaping maestros such as Kasuyuki Ishihara is known as pincushion moss (Leucobryum glaucum), which prefers a sandy, acidic substrate and shade or dappled sunlight. Pincushion moss is extremely absorbent and varies in colour depending on how moist it is, but under drier conditions is an attractive pale green with a silvery-white cast to it.

Detail of pincushion moss in Kasuyuki Ishihara’s 2014 Chelsea Garden

I have two reservations about creating a moss feature for my garden table. The first is that our resident blackbirds have an enormous appetite for picking the garage roof over looking for food, blocking guttering and littering the path with skid-inducing moss as they go. (Moss on slate is only slightly less dangerous than grapes on marble or banana skins on the pavement.) Second, despite being on the coast Broadstairs is particularly dry, meaning my display might look a little desiccated at times. Nevertheless I think next autumn I will take the plunge and create something marvellously mossy. In the meantime I will indulge myself in tracking down suitable containers.

If you have experience of creating a moss feature in a pot or container I’d love to hear from you. Equally, if you know any good commercial sources of pincushion moss in the UK it would be great if you could leave details in a comment.

A moss-covered wall in Bibury was probably the greenest, brightest thing in town on a cold February day

When one’s birthday falls in early January, one learns not to expect too much in the way of tropical heat or blazing sunshine. However one can guarantee there will be weather, and plenty of it. Today’s conditions I would describe as typically ‘Cornish': overcast and blustery with invigorating horizontal rain. Dandy for seagulls and herring, but not a lot else. Despite this, Cornwall’s finer front gardens are already graced with the lavish ruffles and rubicund rosettes of the camellia. The blooms emerge from tidy, dark green bushes in shades of white, lemon yellow, pink and red, some single, some double and some splashed audaciously with a daring combination of ivory and vermillion. A winning combination, as every Geisha knows.

Camellias are such improbable flowers for midwinter. They are bold, bright and apparently delicate, but their waxy petals and lacquered green leaves are designed to brave the elements. Camellias hail from China, Japan and the Himalayas, where they have been cultivated outdoors for centuries, so it is strange to think that the first plants to arrive in the UK were treated as conservatory plants (for example at Chiswick House). Now, after extensive hybridisation, they are considered hardy in many parts of the country. A little shelter from wind, rain and full sun will guarantee unsullied blooms, otherwise the camellias’ only other requirement is an acid soil that’s moist but well drained. Camellias do well in pots as well as planted in the ground. There are several hybrids with a compact habit making them suitable for even the smallest courtyard or balcony.

As for me, after a year’s delay I have decided that we must have camellias, replacing two architectural but dull pseudopanax on either side of our French windows. They’ll be a birthday present to myself, but which variety to choose? If you have any tried and tested favourites, I’d love to know.

While the January storms rage outside it is a good time for me to catch up on a little reading. Next to my bedside table is a stack of magazines, books and newspaper articles that would be condemned if it were a building. Their colourful pages vie daily for my attention and rarely get it, but last night, at long last, I managed to tackle the tip of my media mountain.

Aloes and agaves are much tougher than they look. It’s cold and wet combined they detest

Last weekend’s Saturday Telegraph garden supplement carried two pieces that really piqued my interest. The cover story, penned by Helen Yemm, was an account of her visit to Tresco Abbey Gardens over New Year. Here, as far south and west as one can travel in Britain, the gardening team make an annual count of all the plants in bloom on New Year’s Day. This year’s list stretched to 285 different types (not far short of the record 300), included Senecio grandiflorus, grevillias, clianthus (lobster claw), tibouchina, aloes and many other sub-tropical delights. I find it heartening to think that somewhere in the country proteas and banksias are blooming, putting two fingers up at the January gloom. Helen Yemm’s common-sense, gentle and appreciative style always reads well and I finished the article feeling ready to go forth and garden again. Well, maybe not at 11pm, but you get my drift. The lure of Tresco’s unique gardens, surrounded by white sand and clear water, is too much to resist; we hope to get back there for another sojourn this year. Both Him Indoors and I have affirmed Helen’s opinion that, once visited, it’s hard not to fall in love with the Isles of Scilly.

Banksias, like this B. spinulosa, are counted amongst Tresco’s New Year partygoers

The second piece that drew my attention debated the pros and cons of the proposed Garden Bridge across the Thames in London. Regular readers of this blog will know I am a fan of the idea, but not everyone shares the same enthusiasm. As I read Mary Keen’s beautifully composed case in favour of the bridge, I wondered at my own lack of grace in writing. She describes the project as ‘poetic and imaginative’, which precisely defines her own Cotswold garden. It’s encouraging that someone so respected in the garden design world is prepared to come out in favour of this contentious project. With every sentence I could hear my own thoughts being articulated in a style that I would aspire to emulate one day. And Mary was convincing too, pointing out the long horticultural history of the Thames’ banks at either end of the span.

Critics claim that views towards St Paul’s cathedral will be hidden rather than framed

I’ve confessed my personal bias, but Tim Richardson’s argument against the bridge was no match in style or substance for Mary Keen. Tim seemed to suggest that gardeners at large were not supportive and picked fault with the detail in the plans. Yes, there are valid questions about how the bridge might be irrigated (surely not too demanding given it straddles a major watercourse in a very wet country?) and whether it might occasionally be taken out of public use for corporate events. It’s likely that many questions will remain unanswered until full funding is secured, but do they really render the project unviable or undesirable? I think not. Of all London’s past ‘vanity projects’ (the London Eye, Olympic Park and new London bus were all described as such) only the Emirates ‘Air Line’ has failed to find favour. Even the Millennium Dome, the greatest folly of them all, found a place in our hearts eventually and possesses none of the grace and beauty of Thomas Heatherwick’s design.

On one thing both experts agreed: there are probably more worthy uses for the money needed to complete the bridge. This is true, but if all central London’s projects were judged on that basis then I fear most would be found wanting. London is a city that attracts almost 35 million foreign visitors each year, spending £3.56 billion, so surely it deserves public attractions of this quality and ambition?

At this point, after about three broadsheet pages, my head hit the pillow. I am duly reminded that reading is stimulating and that I must do more of it. Finding the time is about as easy as crossing the Thames without a bridge.

The Garden Bridge will span the river between Temple in the north and the South Bank

Last week Jack Frost paid the South East a visit, spreading his icy fingers over fields, woods and gardens. The scenes at sunrise were breathtaking, a great satsuma of a sun illuminating layer after layer of petrified countryside. I was lucky enough to be out and about in Berkshire on one of those magical mornings, watching the day dawn over the River Thames. A gaggle of Canada geese joined me, hopeful of a free breakfast.

As the sun rose, a silken mist hovered above the rippling waters of the Thames at Cookham

It’s been a while since I last set foot on grass so frozen that it crunched under foot. Where worm casts had appeared they were transformed into toe-stubbing doorstops of earth. Crisp beech leaves, always so persistent, littered the frozen sward. Every dessicated leaf was fringed with fragile ice crystals.

Beech leaves nestle in the sward, each leaf and blade fringed with frost

Faded herbaceous perennials, left in situ for days like these, formed a Jurassic forest of twisted and broken stems, each densely felted with ice crystals. Birds darted low and fast between the crippled plants, fervently seeking food and shelter.

A hoar frost casts a spell over a jaded jungle of stems and leaves

The star of the shiver-inducing show was diminutive Ophiopogon planiscapus ‘Nigrescens’ (otherwise known as Lilyturf), prized for its strappy black leaves but surely never more striking than when encrusted with feathery ice crystals?

Thankfully Mr Frost has given both our gardens a wide berth this winter, but how long we’ll escape his icy grip, nobody knows.

Ophiopogon planiscapus ‘Nigrescens’ is even more beautiful laced with ice crystals

It’s easy to overlook the humble hebe; it’s tough, resilient and goes about its business without any fuss or bother. That’s why idle landscapers and cash-strapped parks departments love it, unwittingly rendering the whole genus ‘uncool’ in gardening circles. But when the chips are down, hebes can be relied upon to do their stuff, tolerating salt-laden winds, pollution and unpromising soils. They routinely produce flowers during the grimmest days of the year and on into spring and summer, when they enjoy a good drenching – a bonus in the UK. In short, hebes are troupers and deserve not only to be more popular, but more adored too.

Like the rest of us mortals, hebes have an Achilles’ heel, which is frost tolerance. Hailing from temperate New Zealand they generally dislike sustained periods at sub-zero temperatures and are best afforded shelter in colder counties. Frost damage will repair itself and normally be a distant memory come summer. Hebes respond well to pruning, especially if administered in stages so that the plant can recover gradually. I grew beautiful yet vigorous Hebe salicifolia outside my very first home, where it provided superb evergreen screening from the road. It occasionally took possession of the pavement, at which point an aggressive chop was all that was needed to return the plant to willow-leaved magnificence. The emergence of long panicles of white flowers in summer was a much anticipated event.

Evergreen but never dull, Hebe salicifolia has light green leaves and copious white flowers in summer

As for the hebe in today’s photo, I’d wager it’s Hebe x franciscana, a cross between Hebe elliptica and Hebe speciosa. It’s extensively planted in Broadstairs’ public gardens and currently plastered with violet blue flowers. A variegated form, Hebe × franciscana ‘Variegata’ (H. ‘Silver Queen’) is available to anyone seeking all the bells and whistles.

If you’re not already convinced, I could mention that hebes come in a huge range of foliage and flower colours, as well as being attractive to bees and butterflies. Next time you park at the garden centre or DIY shed, don’t just open your car door into a sad, downtrodden hebe, buy one and give it some love.

I wished for snow, and it came, although not the right kind of snow. It began promisingly, fine and dusty, but rapidly transformed itself into fat, soggy clumps and then plonky rain. Nothing settled. Hey ho. Now that the garden is no longer full of defunct kitchen appliances and builders’ debris I am able to scour my terracotta pots for signs of life.

The first bulb to emerge from its winter slumber is Crocus chrysanthus ‘Herald’, a dramatically bi-coloured crocus with buds striped aubergine and gold, like a wasp. They fade a little to primrose and purple as they open (which requires sunshine), but are still joyous to behold as they leap like little flames from the ground. The tiny blooms of C. ‘Herald’ truly are harbingers of spring and aptly named. Every year a handful of my spring bulbs remain unplanted, and I regret now that the half of these cheery crocuses remain sequestered in a paper bag somewhere. The next bulb to bloom will be Iris reticulata ‘Spot On’, which is a new hybrid developed by Canadian breeder Alan McMurtie. It promises extravagantly purple-splashed, white falls. I hope it might be in bloom by next weekend. Also up and about is Tropaeolum tricolor, which has already scrambled well above the top of the sticks I put in to support its twining shoots.

The snow has already passed and the sun is making vain attempts to come out. If it does, I might get a fleeting glimpse of C. ‘Herald”s petals opening broadly to embrace the welcome warmth.

Planted in October, Crocus ‘Herald’ enjoyed only the briefest period of winter dormancy

For the last three days I have been trawling Europe’s trade fairs searching for the next big thing in the world of Christmas. I hate to disappoint, but there is no such thing as ‘the next big thing’ when it comes to our favourite celebration of the year. It’s traditional, and that’s exactly how it should be. My job is purely to gild the lily. So I am not about to bore you with baubles or worry you with wrap, but I wouldn’t mind hassling you with a hellebore and mithering you with some muscari – if you can bear it.

There’s a lot of artificial stuff displayed at these shows, but at Christmas World in Frankfurt the high-end brands use real plants and flowers to enhance their extravagant displays. For a keen gardener this offers not only respite from the omnipresent elves, santas and snowmen, but also inspiration for spring floral displays. I particularly loved one arrangement of lime-green hellebores in a nest woven from delicately rolled paper. The glass baubles could easily be replaced by hens’ eggs for a pretty Easter display.

Muscari and hyacinths featured extensively, the scent of the latter employed to drag punters off the aisles and onto trade stands. Both flowers are incredibly versatile when grown indoors, single bulbs of muscari looking cute emerging from tiny bottles or test tubes, and graceful when planted en-masse in pots, bowls and even hessian sacks. True hyacinths are more brutish, but their perfume is unrivalled. I am already looking forward to enjoying my outdoor displays of purple H. ‘Woodstock’ and peachy H. ‘Gypsy Queen’, wishing I had planted more for inside.

As long as good drainage can be provided, almost any pot, receptacle or vessel will look attractive planted up with bulbs. They make great gifts or table decorations. Start the bulbs off in autumn, planting a succession of different varieties to see you through from December to April. Keep in a cool room and move into bright light once the flower stems start to emerge, watering sparingly. When the flowers begin to open they’re ready to take the limelight. Push moss or decorative gravel around the bulbs for neatness and to retain moisture. Supporting twigs are helpful with taller bulbs such as Paperwhite narcissi. All that’s left to do is sit back and enjoy the show.

It’s been weeks since I last saw our London garden in the daylight. At first glance there is not a lot to behold except jaded foliage and bare earth. Closer inspection reveals plenty of flowers, ranging from fragrant Sarcococca ruscifolia (sweet box) and fragile Primula vulgaris ‘Taigetos’ to arching Fuchsia microphylla and graceful Galanthus elwesii. Queen amongst today’s blooms is a deep purple seedling belonging to the Helleborus x hybridus ‘Bosvigo Doubles’ group, which I call ‘Blackberry Fool’ for my own amusement. Sumptuously ruffled flowers are held proudly above last year’s foliage, appearing far too rich and exotic for the Spartan month of February. With luck they’ll keep coming until the end of March, when they will begin fading to dull red and then green, perhaps producing a seed pod or two if I am lucky.

Wendy Perry carefully selects hellebores which hold their flowers proudly aloft

The appearance of these lustrous blooms reminds me that it’s only two weeks until Bosvigo Hellebore Day, from whence this regal beauty came. Bosvigo’s owner Wendy Perry is famed throughout the South West for her beautiful garden in Truro and for her expertise when it comes to breeding the most gorgeous hellebores. If you fancy getting your hands on one or more of her exquisite seedlings then rock up at Bosvigo on Saturday February 21st and be prepared to be decisive – the best ones don’t hang around for more than the first five minutes. Larger, choicer plants command high prices (from memory ‘Blackberry Fool’ set me back £14) but there are plenty of modestly priced singles and semi-doubles if you are looking to fill a big space. With such a small garden I tend to go for quality rather than quantity, so I intend to splash out on a couple of the very best this year.

Blackberry Fool’s flowers display a beautiful symmetry, as well as providing an early supply of pollen

This year’s event will again be opened by radio presenter Tracy Wilson and proceeds from the wonderful refreshments (irresistible even at 10.15 in the morning), raffle and donations will support local charity Shelter Box. As well as the sale, Bosvigo’s gardens will be open. Visitors can expect camellias, crocuses and snowdrops in abundance, as well as lots of fine hellebores in shades of white, lemon yellow, pink, red and purple. As you walk around, look out for hellebore blooms with lengths of coloured wool wrapped around their necks. These indicate Wendy’s hybridising work and will soon bear the seed that in three to five years will produce plants for this unique sale.

Join the queue at 9.30am for your chance to bag a beauty

Bosvigo Hellebore Day commences at 10am on Saturday February 21st with gates opening at 9.30am (and the queue starts then). The gardens close at 4pm. There is limited parking in the drive and outside on Bosvigo Lane. Click here for more information and keep an eye out for The Frustrated Gardener – I’ll be the one with my elbows out, a baby niece in tow and a couple of fine hellebores in each hand!

Crocuses catching the sunlight at Bosvigo Hellebore Day in 2014

5 Things You May Not Know About Snowdrops:

1. US military police stationed in the UK during WWII were known as snowdrops because they wore white caps with their green uniforms. They were also turned out with white webbing belts, white gloves and white gaiters, brightening their otherwise drab attire.
2. Snowdrop bulbs contain an alkaloid called Galantamine, prescribed for people who suffer dementia. Whilst not a cure, it can alleviate memory loss and confusion. Galantamine was discovered about 60 years ago, when a pharmacologist noticed Bulgarian peasant farmers rubbing snowdrop bulbs on their heads to get rid of pain and other ills. I kid you not!
3. Snowdrops are pollinated by bumble bees, which is why many have a sweet, honeyed scent. Bumble bees will not fly if the temperature is below 10 degrees centigrade, so the snowdrop has adapted accordingly: it’s outer petals only open wide when the mercury rises above 10 degrees, protecting its nectar reserves for its winged visitors.
4. The Species name ‘Galanthus’ comes from the Greek: ‘Gala’ meaning milk and ‘Anthos’ meaning flower. The common name ‘snowdrop’ is more likely to have derived from the pearl drop earrings worn by women in the 16th and 17th centuries than from snow, which cannot technically form a drop.
5. Snowdrops are the most heavily traded, wild-collected family of bulbs in the world. Although the whole genus Galanthus is listed on Appendix II of the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES), which restricts international trade, snowdrops are still extensively collected and traded locally. Several European countries have pronounced the snowdrop ‘Near Threatened’, ‘Vulnerable’, or even ‘Critically Endangered’ on their national Red Lists, including Germany, Switzerland and Bulgaria. Fortunately our native Galanthus nivalis, considered to have been introduced to the UK by the Romans, is thriving.

Do you know any other fascinating facts about snowdrops? If you do, please let me know!

Above, Galanthus ‘Melanie Broughton’. Below, Galanthus ‘Galatea’

As I predicted exactly two weeks ago, the latest bulb to start flowering in our coastal garden is Iris reticulata  ‘Spot On’, a new hybrid developed by Canadian breeder Alan McMurtie. It’s a tiny little thing by reticulata standards, a cross between Iris reticulata ‘Purple Gem’ and Iris reticulata var. bakeriana from Turkey. Each bulb carries pretty flowers of the most wonderfully rich purple. The falls are feathered brilliant white and splashed lemon yellow, creating a dazzling contrast. I particularly like Spot On’s tightly furled buds, faintly speckled and striped with purple, each with a dark tip as if they had just been dipped in ink.

It is testament to Alan’s patience that this new variety finally reached the market almost 20 years after first flowering. I picked my bulbs up from Living Colour without knowing anything of their history or provenance, but will treasure them all the more now I know how special they are. These are the first pictures I have taken using my new Canon 60mm macro lens. I haven’t a clue how to get the best out of it yet, and of course I haven’t read the instructions, so I’m afraid these test shots are far from brilliant. I hope practice gets me closer to spot on – it will certainly be fun trying.

There’s a day or two every February when the sun shines, the air feels warm, the wind drops, and one could be fooled into thinking spring has arrived. Today was one of those days. I will not be duped, as all too often these balmy interludes are followed by bitter, cruel cold. The buzzing bees and honeyed scent of aromatic plants may transport me to the shores of the Mediterranean, but this is Broadstairs not Brindisi, and it will be two months or more before we are beyond frosts’ deadly grasp. The only thing for it is to grab the secateurs and do some pruning, or crack open a seed packet or two (sowing under glass of course). The sun on on your back will make any task ten times more enjoyable and the sight of crocuses, early daffodils and irises, their flowers turned expectantly to the heavens, will lift the gloomiest of spirits.

The most unexpected plant I found basking in the winter sun was Fuchsia ‘Space Shuttle’, one of a handful of tender plants for which there was ‘no room at the inn’ before Christmas, hence it was left outside to fend for itself. Against all the odds, perhaps thanks to the shelter of a huge Geranium maderense (above), it has survived. I am not naive enough to assume the fuchsia has been spared but, just for today, I am happy to labour under the illusion that spring has sprung.

How often do we subscribe to organisations or take out memberships and yet fail to take full advantage of them? I have been signed up to the Royal Horticultural Society for almost 20 years, and the National Trust for longer (having joined at birth, obviously), but take advantage of little that they offer, very rarely.

For the last couple of years I have been determined to enjoy more of what the RHS provides its members, including access to the wonderful gardens at Harlow Carr, Rosemoor, Wisley and Hyde Hall. I attend the Chelsea Flower Show (I suspect for many the primary motivation for joining the RHS), Hampton Court Palace Flower Show and as many of the London events as I am able, but have never availed myself of the seed scheme. This exclusive benefit allows members to select up to twelve packets of seed harvested from the RHS’ own gardens. The choice, of 139 single varieties and 9 collections, ranges from bulbous plants to annuals and even trees. Many are not widely available and some require a little expertise to germinate. The RHS has all that covered with their handy germination guide, which any amateur gardener would find a useful companion.

A nominal fee of £8.50 is levied to cover the cost of collection, cleaning, packing and postage. At 70p a packet this makes the seeds an absolute steal, and definitely worth experimenting with even if you’re not 100% confident. The process of making a selection online is a little protracted, but how can choosing seed be anything other than fun? The RHS website instructions are clear, but it helps to have a printed copy of the seed list to hand. Orders can be placed until March 31st (so still plenty of time), but it may take until late April for seeds to arrive, which is a little late to be starting some varieties.

With such limited space, and a propensity to overdo it, I really struggled to choose as many as a dozen packets. However, I couldn’t let the opportunity pass and any seeds I don’t have room to sow this year will be given away as gifts.

The flower of Cleome hassleriana really live up to their common name, spider flower

My First Choice Seed List:

1. Cleome hassleriana (spider flower) – an annual that I have never quite mastered the art of cultivating, but love the look of. The RHS mix has pink, purple and white flowered variants, all with the cleome’s conspicuous stamens.
2. Eccremocarpus scaber (Chilean glory flower) – I have done well with this fast-growing, tender, evergreen perennial climber previously. The clusters of tubular, reddish-orange flowers that appear throughout summer are totally tropical.
3. Ipomoea lobata (Mina lobata) – a tender perennial climber that I grow from seed every year, despite it being perennial. Each reddish flower stalk carries scarlet flowers which mature to orange and then fade to cream. Sown late, it will flower well into October and November.
4. Gaura lindheimeri (white gaura) I am planning to plant this bushy perennial in dark grey troughs where the billowing clouds of blush blossom will conceal the fading stems of lilies.

   An effervescent cloud of Gaura lindheimeri at Hotel Endsleigh, Devon

5. Mirabilis jalapa (marvel of Peru) reminds me of warmer climes, such as India, where it really flourishes. Very easy to germinate and forms bushy, tuberous plants with fragrant flowers that open only in the afternoon. Flower colours range from white to lemon-yellow and magenta.
6. Cyclamen mirabile – this is not a cyclamen I am familiar with, but judging by the catalogue it’s delicate and feminine with pink petals, slightly toothed at the tips. The rounded leaves are marbled above with a purplish underside.
7. Gentiana asclepiadea (willow gentian) – this is such a graceful perennial, with its arching stems bearing stunning deep blue flowers just when everything else is starting to fade in early autumn. Every woodland garden should have some.

   The white form of Gentiana asclepiadea is named ‘Alba’

8. Hosta tokudama f. aureo-nebulosa – I have never considered growing hostas from seed before. It feels like establishing decent sized plants might take many years, but who cares? The RHS promise ‘green-yellow leaves, irregularly margined and splashed deep blue-green’. Sounds divine!
9. Leonurus cardiaca – I fully admit this was a mistake. I took my eye off the catalogue whilst watching a particularly gripping drama on TV and thought I had ordered Leonotis leonurus, which is something magnificent, orange and quite different. This plant is a perennial with spires of pink to lilac flowers borne in whorls during July and August.
10. Veratrum album subsp. lobelianum – the corrugated, apple-green leaves alone are enough to commend this gorgeous plant, but it flowers too! I can’t wait to have a go at growing Veratrum album, even if I don’t really have any space to plant it out.

    Pleated leaves of Veratrum album in the Nuttery at Sissinghurst

11. Rehmannia elata (Chinese foxglove) – I don’t fancy my chances with this one, but am happy to give it a go. I have killed at least two nursery-bought plants, so my ineptitude will cost me less dearly this time. Rehmannia elata is a soft, lanky perennial with deeply toothed leaves and floppy racemes of magenta pink flowers in summer. Too good to be confined to China.
12. Euphorbia x pasteurii – regarded by many as superior to Euphorbia mellifera AGM, which grows brilliantly for me, however inappropriate the conditions. Similar habit and honey-scented, insignificant flowers, but broader, glossier leaves than its cousin.

I’d love to know if you’ve bought seeds as part of the RHS seed scheme and how you got on.

There is one colour that’s inextricably linked with early spring, and that’s yellow. Whether it’s canary, lemon, sunflower, primrose or golden, yellow is the colour that heralds the start of the gardening year. Yellow flowers spread their sunshine at a time when very little is forthcoming from above. But when the sun’s rays do target their glossy petals, they beam the light back, bathing the garden in a golden glow. Soon they will be joined by the cool, complementary blues of the pulmonarias, brunneras, bluebells and forget-me-nots, but for now they alone brighten the dark corners where little else stirs.

My golden greats include diminutive Iris danfordiae, above, one of the easiest dwarf irises to grow and one of the cheapest to buy. Try peppering them in amongst blue cultivars of Iris reticulata, where they will pick up the yellow flashes that are characteristic of many irises. Give it sun and well drained soil and Iris danfordiae should come back to greet you year-after-year. Personally, I like to grow these little irises in pots, so they can be lifted up and admired at close quarters.

Winter aconites spring early from the earth and hug the ground tightly

A great companion for snowdrops, revelling in similar conditions, is the winter aconite, Eranthis hyemalis. Looking at the flowers it won’t surprise you to learn that aconites are closely related to our native buttercup, although they come originally from the deciduous woodlands of the Balkans, Italy and southern France. These tiny bulbs, rarely reaching more than 10cm in height, love to romp around in light grass and under trees, spreading gold dust as they go. They prefer a consistently moist soil and spread vigorously by seed when happy with their lot. Plant near snowdrops and blue pulmonarias for a succession of early colour.

Finally, spring is not spring without crocuses. I grew up with the bold, brazen Dutch-type crocuses, which have their place, but I prefer the natural look of smaller species and cultivars in my own garden. I wrote about Crocus chrysanthus ‘Herald’ a few weeks ago when it was still in bud. Now, at the faintest sniff of warmth, its flowers open wide to invite in pollinating bees. When the crocuses fade forsythias, narcissi and yellow tulips will continue the gold rush, and before we know it Easter will be upon us.

Have a great weekend and happy gardening!

Crocus chrysanthus ‘Herald’ is a solid gold choice for February colour

The weather forecast for Saturday was not promising – heavy rain and hail showers – but, as is often the case in Cornwall, the elements refused to conform. Instead we enjoyed sunshine, punctuated by the occasional, monumental downpour. We arrived at Bosvigo Hellebore Day slightly later than planned (there’s no hope of keeping to schedule with a baby in tow) and joined the queue for the plant sale. It was already forty strong, snaking back through Wendy Perry’s exquisite woodland garden in the centre of Truro. This is a special day when Wendy sells her surplus hellebore seedlings, the result of years of careful hybridisation and selection.

Yours truly enjoying the sunshine and the company of other keen Cornish gardeners

Wendy’s garden is peppered with the fruits of her labours, exceptional hellebores with fine double and single flowers that she has decided to hold onto. Some have blooms that are slightly more upturned than usual, a feature Wendy looks for in a good plant. During February the hellebores are accompanied by drifts of snowdrops, chinodoxa and crocuses, protected by a canopy of colourful witch hazel. The fringed flowers of witch hazel always remind me of grated lemon zest.

A beautiful golden-yellow witch hazel provides eye-level colour in the woodland garden

An exceptionally fine pure white double hellebore, ear-marked by Wendy for further hybridisation

Bosvigo Hellebore Day is now well known in Cornwall, with folk travelling from every corner of the county to bag a prize specimen. I have to admit I did not enjoy the sale aspect of this year’s event: it was a bit of a scrum, with some people diving recklessly for the plants that caught their eye. Mostly there were just too many people for the confined nursery patch to hold comfortably. Regardless of that, there were some delectable plants on offer, the best of which were snapped up in minutes. A healthy turnout will have made for a good day’s takings, which support both the development of the garden and local charity ShelterBox.

Hellebores enjoy the dappled shade of Bosvigo’s woodland garden

An unusual, yellow-flowered seedling with burgundy centre and nectaries

Maintaining as much decorum as I could, I settled on four beautiful plants; two dark-flowered doubles, one with an almost metallic sheen on the petals; a seedling with soft yellow flowers and golden nectaries, and a named variety, Helleborus ‘Penny’s Pink’. Having been lashed by gales today they will be making the journey back to London with me on the sleeper train tonight. I can’t offer them anywhere as salubrious to grow as Wendy’s picture-perfect garden, but knowing the quality of her plants they will light up our spring with heavenly blooms for many years to come.

Hellebores mix well with snowdrops and crocuses.

As dark as night, the flowers of this hellebore would look great amongst silver foliage or russet grasses

Other posts about Bosvigo and Hellebores:

Blooming Bosvigo – how the woodland garden is transformed by a carpet of spring flowers in April.

Plant Portraits: Helleborus x hybridus ‘Bosvigo Doubles’ - more about Wendy Perry’s double hellebore hybrids.

Bosvigo Hellebore Day 2014 - a post about last year’s Hellebore Day.

A Haven for Hellebores – an introduction to the gardens at Bosvigo.

The delicately veined reverse of these hellebore flowers more than compensates for their down-turned aspect