A Perfect Gift

There are so many delights that the countryside offers and none so beautiful as a field of red poppies. We glimpsed a flash of red as we travelled along a narrow Sussex lane, with double yellow lines either side of the road and no lay-bys so we couldn't stop. We flashed passed another wider entrance with rutted tracks dried by the June sunshine. And then the vision disappeared behind hawthorn hedges.

We travelled more slowly on our return journey and with great care and trepidation pulled into the entrance of the field bumping over the tractor rutts...what a picture, thousands of poppies growing in a farmers crop...

Two weeks later when we drove by again they field had been harvested and every trace of red had gone. The brief glimpse was for me a perfect gift.

Clematis 'Perle d'Azur'

Clematis 'Perle d'Azur'

Without any prepared borders in which to plant anything, I am drawn, in a 'nursery-fix' moment, to purchase three clematis that looked as if they had seen better days. It is not for the first time that I have entered a small nursery and shuddered at the neglect of the plants in the sale area. Having run my own nursery for eleven years, I am more than aware that there are areas which are waiting with plants needing attention of one kind or another, but in the sales area - never. The plants were toppling over, entangled around each other with old dead-looking tendrils, clinging wherever. Undaunted, I looked at labels and made my selection. Philip was standing back, knowing that to comment would not be wise. Weeding the worst offenders out, I made my purchases, pointing out that in two of the three plants, death seemed more likely than life. The guy must have been standing in for the owner, because he hadn't noticed (nor had my OH) the early signs of new life pushing up from the central crown.

Clematis 'Perle d'Azur' was one of the plants I rescued, paying a minuscule part of the asking price...

Pots are the only answer at the moment in this tiny back 'yard' that we will call garden soon. A tall grey pot seemed perfect, but this clematis is vigorous in its growth, so an obelisk is for the time being its only support. I have wound the stems backwards and forwards, and have been well rewarded with quite a few blooms.  One of the great delights of growing plants in pots, is the ability to scrutinise them at close quarters.

The blue of the flowers is lifted by the hint of pink on the central bars. The tiny hairs on the buds can been seen, and the joy of watching one tight bud gradually unfurl, until for several days the flower bobs proudly in the breeze is special indeed. Then of course is the added joy of watching the developing seedpod.

Sollya heterophylla AGM

Sollya heterophylla is a treasure...for me. It is one of my memories, now quite distant, of a friendship with one of the great garden designers Rosemary Verey. After the death of my mother, I was privileged enough to accompany my father to her home 'Barnsley House' in Gloucestershire. The unease that I had felt at meeting someone so important was dispelled by her easy manner and welcoming, homely disposition. After that first meeting I was always invited and during my father's last months she would ring me regularly to enquire how things were. Sometimes we wept in unison over the telephone at the obvious conclusion of the situation. She gave me strength and succour and the enthusiasm and confidence to work in my father's garden and bring it back to life.

Sollya heterophylla was one of the first of many gifts that Rosemary gave me. It hasn't grown to its full potential, but I love it none the less for that. It has like so many of my plants, minimal care, yet it is once again covered with tiny little blue flowers, with darker blue buds. Last year it was overwintered in the shelter of the house wall, which, when the sun shines gets full sun for many hours. It comes form West Australia, and is also known as the Bluebell Creeper, or the Australian bluebell creeper. A twining perennial climber with lance-shaped evergreen leaves, and small bell-shaped flowers in nodding clusters. The cylindrical berries can be purple or blue. With my plant they are deep blue. It will grow in full shun or part shade on an East, West  or South-facing wall and isn't fussy about the soil conditions.

It is a gem of a plant. One that I still treasure 35 years on.

Cliff top flowers

We had already driven past vast swathes of thrift, nodding their pink heads in the sea breeze. There were double solid yellow lines on both sides of the road making stopping impossible to snatch a quick photograph. However later in the evening a walk along the cliff top revealed a myriad of different grass and flower species performing well. 

Briza media

Evening primrose

Lupinus arboreus

Sorrel

Bramber Castle

There is not a lot to see at Bramber Castle, but close your eyes and feel the history.

The ruin of the wall of the keep/gatehouse looks even more imposing looming above as you walk up the slope to the flat grassy area. There are lower walls showing the craftsmanship of the builders of these walls. Ahead is knoll. There are areas of stonework still standing but for the most part there is nothing to see except marvellous views, which, with the absence of all the trees would have given a panoramic view for miles.

Bramber is a Motte and Bailey Castle. Initially this type of castle would have been wooden, replaced by stone in the 1100s. Motte and bailey are Norman French words meaning mound and enclosed land.

William de Braose, founded the castle as a defensive and administrative centre for Bramber, following the Norman Conquest. Sussex was divided into six administrative regions known as 'rapes', each 'rape' controlling a vulnerable point of the strategically important Sussex coast. Each region was controlled by a castle.

The de Braose family and his descendants held the castle from its foundation in 1073 to 1450 except for a brief period, when it was confiscated by King John. Bramber defended the then important Adur harbour and the Adur gap through the South Downs, where the river Adur flowed to the sea.

Following substantial subsidence during the 16^th Century, the castle lay in ruins.

Wild flowers abound on the edges of the 'bailey'

The Parish Church of St Nicholas does still stand although not entirely in its original form: it did once form part of the castle wall.

The ditch that was originally dug to raise the motte and bailey even higher has now become an enchanting woodland walk.

Callistemon

The strange 'bottlebrush' shape of the flowering raceme gives rise to the common name of the callistemon, reminiscent of a traditional bottle brush.

Callistemon flower and developing seed pods

   Long stamens carry pollen at the tip of the filament, all but obscuring the inconspicuous petals. Most flower heads are red, some are yellow, orange or white. Some of the stamens hang on to the bitter end whilst triple-celled seed capsules develop. In most species these will remain enclosed, though a  few species release the seeds annually. What I haven't seen before are the callistemon flower buds.

Callistemon buds resting on pelargonium leaves

   So many plants hold distant memories of places or people. In the instance of the callistemon, although I am certain I saw it at Tresco Gardens when I was a child, it was a visit to an old family friend of my father's who encouraged me horticulturally whilst still a young woman. Tom Edridge was a giant of a man with a shaggy mariner's beard. He lived with his wife overlooking the water at Newton Abbot. Sadly they never had children because he would have made a tremendous father. We walked around his garden one day and already an avid gardener/propagator I picked the hard, rigid seed pod from his bush. He smiled indulgently...'if you have any success with those let me know,' he remarked with a twinkle in his eye. He did eventually divulge that the seed pod required a fire of some intensity to release the seeds. 

   So, I took the seed pod as a reminder of a day with Tom. A habit I still have, be it a leaf, a seedpod, shell or a stone.

Aeonium arboretum - syn. Sempervivum arboretum

Aeonium species

Aeonium arboretum – syn. Sempervivum arboretum, is an erect succulent subshrub. The cultivar A. arboreum ‘Zwartkop’ has rich, almost black-purple leaves. I am not sure that this is the cultivar that I saw in the late 1980s in a park in southern Spain, but the image of its deep maroon almost black foliage really excited me then and remains a tangible memory.

   I first saw a deep maroon almost black plant of Aeonium in a park in southern Spain.  Always a lover of sempervivum, the colour really excited me, as did the height of the plant, so I am guessing that it was a form of Aeonium arboretum. My picture shows a dark form of Aeonium growing in the long greenhouse at Walmer Castle, unfortunately few if any of the plants are labelled.

   However my first sighting of Aeonium and many other sub-tropical species was several decades ago in the gardens of Tresco Abbey in the Isles of Scilly. My memory and fascination of this garden is still very clear and it’s my intention to repeat the experience with my husband in the not too distant future.

   Always a lover of sempervivum from an early age, and kalanchoe also the large grey leaved echeveria that my mother grew - planted outdoors during the summer and reinstated in the greenhouse for the winter months. Sempervivum were, for me, an early introduction to propagation as the mother plant sends off numerous offsets around her. These offsets can be repotted if required or left to make a large mat. One species S. arachnoideum appears to be coated in a web of fine hairs like a spiders web. Once the mother plant has flowered it will die, leaving all the little offsets to grow on.