After almost four weeks away from our coastal garden I am back in the driving seat. For a fleeting moment this morning it felt like spring was really here – warm sun on my back and birds singing in the trees. The warmth brings out the foxy odour of Fritillaria imperialis, which I find strangely appealing. Fittingly for April, the showers quickly set in, flattening many of the daffodils. This is why I am a fan of Narcissus ‘Jetfire’, which is reliably upright and healthy looking, whatever the weather. If you find these colours a bit too assertive, then ‘Jack Snipe’, below, is another sturdy little daff for containers or borders. It’s especially heartening to see the first flowers of Tulipa ‘Purissima’ opening, top, shortly to be joined by ‘Orange Emperor’, which is a similar height.

Now I am back, it’s all systems go. I have three large boxes of summer flowering bulbs which need planting. Some of these were already tucked away in a large tub of moist compost before we went on holiday. They are already sprouting, anxious to get into their permanent homes, but most will have to be patient for another week.

I can tell it’s been bitter whilst I have been away as lots of evergreen foliage has been scorched by salt-laden gales. The new growth of Rosa banksiae ‘Lutea’ is badly frazzled. Hopefully the egg-yolk coloured pompom flowers won’t be damaged when they emerge in a week or two.

At the end of next week my 40th birthday present finally arrives – a set of four bespoke planters for my trusty Agapanthus africanus. These are a gift from all my lovely friends. The old ones, built from tanalised pine and painted inside with bitumen (or something else black and waterproof), have soldiered on for 6 years but are now falling apart. The new ones have been made from responsibly sourced hardwood and have integrated fibreglass liners, so should long outlive the originals. They are also slightly larger in all dimensions, which will be a relief to the aggies which are already packed in like sardines. Although agapanthus like their roots restricted, after a while flowering starts to decline if they are not divided.

The biggest project of the year also commences next week, the refurbishment of the outdoor kitchen. This area has been our pride and joy since we built the garden, but has suffered badly as the result of flaws in the original construction. Given none of us involved had a clue how to make a kitchen last in the open air, I think it’s done pretty well. However the doors are falling off so action needs to be taken. This time we’re investing in a one piece granite worktop with a generous overhang to limit any leakage or damage to the paintwork. With the metalwork spruced up and a lick of paint I am hoping we can get it looking good as it looked when it was new, back in 2008.

Pristine – the outdoor kitchen, completed in July 2008

Lysichiton camtschatcensis, The Western Skunk Cabbage.

Last weekend the sun came out. For those of you who are not British, sunny weather, even when it’s still cold, means the UK population suddenly feels compelled to wear as little clothing as possible and bare acres of pasty white flesh. It’s not a pretty sight. Happily another side effect of these sunny spells in spring is that everything decides to flower at once. And that makes for a very pretty sight indeed.

Quite how it’s taken so long for me to get around to visiting The Savill Garden, on the edge of Windsor Great Park, I don’t know. I lived less than 25 miles away for 15 years whilst studying and living in Reading, but never made it here. Fortunately, the great thing about great gardens is that they stay put and get better with age.

The stream, edged with Lysichiton, from Middle Bridge.

Until the middle of the 20th century, Windsor Great Park was essentially without any great public gardens. Then came Sir Eric Savill in 1931, who gained endorsement from George V to create a woodland garden in an area of oak forest on the fringes of the royal park. The ground was sandy and gave rise rise to numerous natural springs. Today these fill two ponds connected by a meandering stream. The ground was cleared of brambles, birches and aggressive Rhododendron ponticum, so that by 1939 the garden had more or less taken shape. Nowadays, fancier Rhododendron hybrids make their home here, including Rhododendron ‘Wayford’ and ‘Jocelyn’, below.

Rhododendron ‘Wayford’.

Rhododendron ‘Jocelyn’.

Originally referred to as the Bog Garden, in 1951 George VI decreed that it should become known as The Savill Garden. Knighted in 1955, Sir Eric directed the gardens until 1970, passing away in 1980. Sir Eric’s guiding principles of intelligent design, quality plants and excellent maintenance are still very much in evidence today and it was impossible to pick fault with the quality of the gardening.

Though it offers something to see throughout the year, The Savill Garden is best known for its spring display. The cast of flowers starring here last weekend was endless. The leading ladies were the magnolias, resplendent in subtle and not so subtle shades of pink. On leaving the Savill building (top of post), visitors are welcomed to the show by a mature Magnolia loebneri ‘Merrill’, smothered with ice-white flowers and attracting considerable attention.

Magnolia loebneri ‘Merrill’ in front of The Savill Building.

Away from the limelight, in a far corner of the garden near the summer house, is the visionary Knight’s namesake, Magnolia sprengeri var. sprengeri ‘Eric Savill’, with large, boldly pink flowers emerging from buds the size of shrews. I wonder if Sir Eric lived to see this tree flower and if so what he thought of it.

Magnolia sprengeri var. sprengeri ‘Eric Savill’.

The show’s unconventional leading men have to be Lysichiton americanus and Lysichiton camtschatcensis (above), both skunk cabbages, but the former hailing from North Amercia and the latter from Asia. Unusually for anything Amercian, the yellow L. americanus is slightly smaller, but both species appear to spread prolifically when happy. A new hybrid has arisen in the garden which has creamy coloured spathes. After flowering, enormous, paddle like leaves are produced, but by then the performance is over. Here at the Savill gardens Lysichiton light up the boggy meadows and streamsides like the footlights on a grand stage.

In the alpine meadow on the south-west side of the garden, the moist, open grassland is peppered with species daffodils and snake’s head fritillaries. The most prominent daffs are the native lent lily (Narcissus pseudonarcissus), the hoop petticoat daffodil (Narcissus bulbocodium) and the narrow, swept-back cyclamen flowered daffodil, Narcissus cyclamineus. The effect is completely natural but actually began from just a handful of seeds strewn across the meadow.

Narcissus bulbocodium in the alpine meadow.

At this time of the year it pays to keep your eyes to the ground, and close to The Savill Building large clumps of pink Corydalis solida lit up the sward.

Corydalis solida growing in meadow grass.

Arguably my favourite part of the garden was the secluded Hidden Gardens, where the rich peat beds were already bursting forth with choice bulbs and perennials. Lighting up the shade were thousands of star-like Erythronium revolutum, the beautiful mahogany fawn lily. The speckled foliage is a bonus, but no match for one of my favourite foliage plants, Veratrum album, the false helleborine, which has amazing, corrugated bright green leaves followed by white flowers in summer. But beware, the root is very poisonous, with a paralyzing effect on the nervous system. Even sniffing the flowers can cause nasty health problems. A plant best admired from afar!

Erythronium revolutum in the Hidden Gardens.

The corrugated leaves of Veratrum album.

Finally, no spring garden is complete without primulas. The Savill Garden provides the ideal environment for many moisture loving species, including Primula prolifera, P. beesiana, and P. japonica. However I was particularly taken with the yellow, cowslip-like flowers of P. elatior ‘Leucophylla’, a subspecies of the native oxlip.

Primula elatior ‘Leucophylla’.

At any time off year, The Savill Garden is well worth a visit, but especially during spring when the magnolias, rhododendrons and camellias are in their prime. Despite all the modern facilities, shops and eateries, when you get out into the garden itself it’s easy to get lost in the plants and birdsong, forgetting you’re just a few miles away from Heathrow.

The Savill Garden

The far south east corner of Kent is frequently overlooked, regarded by many as nothing more than the down-at-heel gateway to the delights of France and continental Europe. Yet behind the white cliffs of Dover lies rolling countryside dotted with sturdy Saxon churches, pretty weather-boarded villages and the romantically crumbling former defences of the realm. A superlative example of the latter is Saltwood Castle, dating back to the year 488 when Kent still had its own king, one Aesc, son of Hengist. A more picturesque and perfectly English castle it’s hard to imagine, and Saltwood has seen a lot of action over its 1500 year history. The artist Claude Lorrain would have revelled in the fortress’ setting, on a wooded promontory between two streams. These originally fed into briny coastal inlets, hence the name Saltwood.

The former home of irreverent tory MP Alan Clark, Saltwood Castle also attracted the attention of a less savoury historical figure, Nazi Hermann Göring, who earmarked it as his post invasion residence. Had Göring ever made it across the channel, I sincerely hope he’d have ended up quartered in one of the less salubrious parts of the building, such as the west dungeon. It needed a bit of ‘doing up’, but was no better than he deserved.

Thankfully, in the more benign hands of the Clark family, the castle continues to be maintained as a very atmospheric private home, the gardens littered with ruined walls and truncated staircases. The photograph at the top of the post shows the main accommodation and the inner bailey. The grounds are opened to the public just once a year, for a plant fair in aid of the NSPCC. This was the second year we’d visited, and both times the weather started warm and sunny and ended in a freezing deluge – that’s May Bank Holiday weekend for you! There were lots of goodies on display, and not all of them plants. We bought some delicious blue “Saint Michael” cheese from the nice people representing Silcock’s Farm in Tenterden and enjoyed a cracking beef burger with lashings of onions. Of course, I succumbed to temptation, purchasing a tender Fuchsia arborescens, some Brunnera macrophylla ‘Jack Frost’ for the London garden and numerous herbs to plant around the outdoor kitchen once the works are completed. As many of you are aware, I have absolutely no will-power when it comes to buying plants.

The woods, orchards and churchyards in this part of the country are full of flowers in spring, so this was the perfect weekend to get out and about. Looking around, the season is evidently a month behind, the blackthorn only just in bloom and most cherries still in bud. It’s too early for the bluebells too, but swathes of lady’s smock (Cardamine pratensis), glistening wood anemones (Anemone nemorosa) and primroses (Primula vulgaris) appear wherever good light falls between the bare branches. In a few weeks the canopy will have closed and these spring beauties will return quietly to sleep.

Primula vulgaris

Planted on a grassy bank below the castle’s imposing bailey was a drift of blue Anemone blanda, not a native, but seemingly very happy to be romping through the lush sward.

Daffodils, delayed by the cold, are still going strong, and were plentiful around the castle moat. Exuberant doubles mingled with golden trumpets and late flowering Narcissus poeticus var. recurvus, in a scene more reminiscent of early April than early May. This crescendo of flowers is the silver lining to our chilly spring, with everything seemingly in a mad dash to catch up with the advancing year.

Narcissus poeticus var. recurvus , the pheasant’s eye daffodil, is one of the best spring bulbs for naturalising in grass. The sweetly scented blooms with their striking red-edged ‘eyes’ associate well with other native wild flowers, such as snake’s head fritillaries (Fritillaria meleagris) and cowslips (Primula veris), which flower roughly at the same time. When I was a child, the UK population of cowslips had been decimated by modern agricultural practices, but thanks to conservation efforts are now plentiful once again.

Narcissus poeticus var. recurvus, the pheasant’s eye daffodil.

Primula veris, the common cowslip, once again abundant in the wild, as well as in gardens.

Keeping a watchful eye over the proceedings, and looking less than impressed by the coachloads of plant enthusiasts invading his peaceful territory, was a rather splendid peacock. The peacock’s distinctive call is, for me, synonymous with castles and stately homes, where they frequently strut their stuff in surroundings commensurate with their own look of importance. This splendid chap was guarding the compost bin in the corner of the kitchen garden, nicely sheltered from the biting wind.

Once again, I’ve mistimed my paperwhite narcissi. Just three weeks after planting they are in full bloom, filling every corner of the house with their intoxicating fragrance. Wise to the bulbs’ tendency to flower prematurely I planted another bowl-full last week, which I hope will show their ice-white faces on Christmas Day. To be absolutely sure I have yet more bulbs in reserve, which planted this coming weekend should be good for New Year. This time I will not be beaten!

Whilst the wretched winter weather continues to dowse and drown us, there are signs of spring in the garden if one looks hard enough for them. Truly a plant for all seasons, the acid-yellow flowers of Euphorbia characias subsp. wulfenii (Mediterranean spurge) are already beginning to unfurl from their protective layer of glaucous blue leaves.  It will be March or April before they are in full bloom, providing a foil for tulips, daffodils and silky pasque flowers.

I am used to grim weather on my birthday, but today’s meteorological maelstrom has been especially miserable. Yet out in the Atlantic on the Isles of Scilly delicate, highly-scented narcissi have been blooming since November. They begin with the multi-headed Tazettas, including these cheerful Narcissus ‘Soleil d’Or’ which I sent to my sister on the birth of baby Martha. Around 90,000 cardboard boxes of flowers leave the islands every year by Royal Mail boat, then by air to Land’s End and onwards to fill the homes of lucky recipients with the heady scent of spring.

I have been uncharacteristically quiet for the last three days, and for good reason; I have been hard at work signing off our range for next Christmas. If I had a pound for every exclamation of surprise I heard on passing our review room, brimming over with trees, lights and sparkly trims, I would be able to retire to the Bahamas on a handsome pension. Best of all was the unsuspecting window cleaner, who winched himself down the side of the building only to be confronted by Santa’s grotto.

Meanwhile spring is definitely just around the corner and the early mornings are giving me great pleasure. I’m able to get out in the garden for an inspection before leaving for work. I can at last appreciate the first primroses, pulmonarias and, surprisingly, Schizostylis putting on a great show of blush-pink flowers. The weeds are also getting into their stride and will quickly take advantage if not tackled quickly. In Broadstairs pots of Narcissus ‘Tête-à-tête’ and N. ‘Jetfire’ have already cast their sunny spell over the weather-beaten garden. The star of the show right now is Crocus chrysanthus ‘Lady Killer’, a variety I have been meaning to grow for many years. It is an absolute charmer, with outer petals feathered royal purple, wrapped around saffron-yellow stamens. I placed a pot of Iris reticulata ‘J.S. Dijt’ nearby; the rich colour and flowering time has proved to be a perfect match for the little crocus, so next year I will combine them together in one container.

The weekend promises sunshine and temperatures in the high teens. I can now dust off the glitter, leave Christmas behind and look forward to the joys of spring. It should be a wonderful weekend for gardening; for planting seeds and starting off the dahlias and begonias. They only seem to have been packed away for a couple of months, but already I can see the begonia tubers sprouting without encouragement.  It’s the same story with the fuchsias, which I cut back in November and squirrelled away in the cupboards of our outdoor kitchen.  A frost now would be catastrophic, so I will take care not to get carried away and expose them to too much cold.

With such marvellous weather forecast, what garden tasks are you hoping to complete this weekend?

Every day something new is happening in the garden. I’ve promised myself a five minute scout around each morning before work, bringing me closer to the action. I can see nature starting to accelerate, fueled by every ray of sunshine and extra degree of warmth. Even the plants that are not quite off the starting blocks are showing new vitality; buds fattening or leaves a more vibrant green. Violets, brunneras and candelabra primulas are sending their first puckered leaves up through the compacted earth. Hostas lag behind, perhaps hoping to fool the slugs into believing they won’t be on the menu this year.

The local fox is also on the move, disrespectful of my newly planted Narcissus ‘W.P. Milner’ and Primula vulgaris ‘Taigetos’ which he enjoys trampling, leaving behind bear-sized footprints. The goldfish are full of the joys of spring, gliding peacefully through the water one minute and splashing about skittishly the next. They are hungry too, hovering by the pond’s edge when they see me approaching and noisily vacuuming up their food.

Sweeping aside a protective heap of fallen leaves this morning I exposed the tightly furled croziers of Dicksonia antarctica (soft tree fern, above and top). Ours is a short specimen which for the last five years has received no tender loving care; it continues to reward every season with giant, fresh, green fronds. We plan to end its loneliness this spring and find it a tall, handsome companion. The Astelia chathamica ‘Silver Shadow’, planted just behind, were purchased for a song at an end of season last autumn and are proving appreciative of our heavy soil.

Although I could have planted many more narcissi last autumn, I am happy that I did at least plant in drifts of no fewer than 50 bulbs. Even in a small garden bigger drifts help avoid the bittiness to which I am prone. They balance nicely with the big splashes of colour delivered by Magnolia x soulangeana and Kerria japonica ‘Pleniflora’. I deliberately avoided taller varieties, selecting smaller ones such as N. ‘Jack Snipe’ ans ‘Sailboat’ that would not look out of proportion in an enclosed space. Camassias, fritillarias and tulips will continue the display later into the spring and are just beginning to emerge. Every day now there is a new bud, a first flower or a tender seedling to look out for….. and the weeds won’t be far behind them.

Like a juggernaut, spring is now on a roll. A few nights of cold weather may put the breaks on, but nothing can stop it now. In the space of a week our coastal garden has become flushed with flowers. The echium is a foot taller and will soon be in full bloom, but not before the main season tulips which are already colouring up. I am particularly looking forward to T. ‘Flaming Spring Green’ as it’s the first time I have grown this dashing variety.

These early spring weeks are dominated by colours which might otherwise be considered brash and tasteless; royal purple, candy pink and, gaudiest of all, golden yellow. We are so pleased greet our first flowers that we forgive them their coarseness, knowing that by the time our carefully devised ‘schemes’ come into being they will be long gone. I don’t normally opt for the bigger narcissi, but was tempted in autumn by a cheery portrait of N. ‘St Keverne’ above a mound of plump bulbs. These have emerged from their pots in rude health, sporting tens of classic yellow trumpets. Cheerful? Yes. Vulgar? Very probably, but they don’t half pack a punch on a dreary day.

Equally lurid are the waxy, improbably yellow flowers of Sophora microphylla ‘Sun King’. Possessing many attributes which make it superior to both forsythia and kerria, it’s surprising this shrub isn’t more widely grown. Seek it out and give it a try, especially if you have a dry, sunny spot at the foot of a wall. It can be trained or allowed to grow into an open shrub and is pleasingly evergreen and attractive to bees. Come rain or shine the flowers will come in March or April, hanging angular and golden like rays of sun.

Sparkling like diamonds in the sward of St James’ Park, as the morning sun rises over London, this is Narcissus actaea. It’s an old fashioned variety, introduced in 1919, that’s sometimes referred to as a Pheasant’s Eye or Poet’s Daffodil. However these names truly belong to a much older member of the poeticus group, Narcissus poeticus var. recurvus, which is smaller and typically flowers a month later.

Both narcissi have long been in cultivation and earn the Award of Garden Merit (AGM) from the RHS for their staying power. The flowers vary from traditional daffodils, having a ruff of gleaming white outer petals and a small yellow trumpet fringed with bright orange. The blooms have an exquisite scent, which is used in many a fine fragrance. Both varieties make a great choice for lawns and meadows as they are robust enough to compete with grasses and are said to be ignored by deer and other grazing animals. Left undisturbed they will quickly naturalise.

To witness broad swathes of Narcissus actaea, just yards away from Buckingham Palace and the bustle of Victoria, is a genuine sight for sore eyes.

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

Since the first balmy weekend in March I have watched both our gardens move forward as if in slow motion. Temperatures have remained resolutely low, bringing to a halt the tulips, narcissi and hyacinths that seemed so eager to get going in late February. In the span of two weeks their fat buds and leafy shuttlecocks have edged forward only the tiniest amount. Our London garden, not blessed with much sunshine in winter, has been the slowest to get going, whilst The Watch House, with its special coastal microclimate, has progressed faster. Yet when I look back at what I was blogging about this time last year, it feels like we are a good three weeks behind.

Spring bulbs in particular are acutely sensitive to warmth, or lack of it. A mild spell around now can accelerate everything into bloom at once, whilst a chilly snap quickly puts the show back on ice. This is because early spring plants (described as ‘prevernal’ for those who like their fancy words) are fine-tuned to bloom when pollinating insects are abroad, but before trees, shrubs and perennials shade them out. Spring bulbs are like sprinters: finely tuned, packed with energy-rich carbohydrates and ready to power ahead as soon as nature fires the starting pistol. One can almost feel the muscular bulbs poised on their starting blocks, straining against the roots that hold them back. We’ve had one false start, now they’re ready for the off.

Race leader Narcissus ‘Rip Van Winkle’ was one of the fastest out of the blocks this year

They may not be distance runners, but spring bulbs put on the show everyone wants to see. The March weather won’t be breaking any records, but it’s been suggested that Easter could be unusually warm. That suits me as I am on holiday for two weeks so will get to be a spectator when the race does eventually get underway. You may even spot me cheering and waving as the daffodils, hyacinths and crown imperials coming roaring past, going for gold, silver and bronze.

How is spring progressing in your garden? Are you out in front or lagging behind like me (ever the long distance runner!)?

Still in the changing room, my bulbs prepare for the off

Happy Easter one and all! For the whole of Easter week I will be writing about the most lauded of spring flowers, the daffodil. Spring is dragging its feet, which means many daffodils are still in fine form the festivities. Mine (pictured above) have survived a week of rain and high winds, looking much fresher and brighter than I do. Let me introduce you, from left to right, to Narcissus ‘Rip Van Winkle’, N. ‘Toto’ AGM, N. ‘Minnow’, N. ‘Jetfire’, N. ‘Cragford’ and N. ‘Oxford Gold’, representing a broad spectrum of the smaller cultivars available to gardeners.

In our coastal garden, we grow daffodils in pots, mainly from fresh bulbs each season. I have found that N. ‘Jetfire’ and N. ‘Tete-a-Tete’ come back reliably year after year if replanted in fresh compost in August. Others tend to fade away and would be better planted in the ground to bulk up again. I always choose smaller varieties that will not be toppled by the gales but bounce playfully in a stiff breeze. By the front door, strongly perfumed varieties such as N. ‘Chagford’ are a must. In our London garden we should grow more daffodils, but they don’t appreciate the heavy shade in some corners of the plot. I have had greatest success with N. ‘Jack Snipe’, which is a trouper, and N. ‘W.P. Milner’, but I need to plant lots more bulbs next year to achieve the tapestry of colour I am hankering after.

Over the coming week I’d love to hear about your favourite daffodils, tips for putting on a great spring display, and any folklore surrounding these symbolic Easter flowers. Wishing you all a peaceful and relaxing weekend, accompanied by good gardening weather.

Daffodils are a wonderfully diverse group of bulbs thanks to years of careful hybridisation and selection. A scion of the narcissus family that is less often seen in British gardens is the tazettas, also known as Chinese sacred lillies, joss flowers or polyanthus narcissus. The reason for their relative scarcity is their alleged tenderness, a trait of their Mediterranean heritage which renders the plants slightly less tolerant of our cold, damp winters. Tazettas are extremely tall, up to 80cm, carrying blooms in bunches of up to eight atop their long stems. Whilst they are hopeless in a windy garden, they are ideal as cut flowers, blooming from the dawn of the year in clement spots such as the Isles of Scilly.

For fragrance, the tazetta narcissi are legendary. If you search a little you’ll discover there are several varieties commercially available. The Kim Kardashian of the family, known to all, is Narcissus tazetta ‘Paperwhite’, cultivated across the Northern Hemisphere to bloom at Christmas. Hybrids such as N. ‘Grand Soleil d’Or’ (yellow), N. ‘Ziva’ (pure white) and N. ‘Geranium’ (white with orange trumpets) are often used for forcing indoors. A new find for me this year was N. tazetta ‘Cragford’, which shares similar colouring to N. ‘Geranium’. Rather than grow them indoors I planted my bulbs tightly in pots outside and left them in the shelter at the base of a wall. Here they have come on slowly, flowering not at Christmas but in succession from mid March. The huge bulbs are now pumping out stem after stem of flowers, filling the air outside our front door with their potent fragrance (tazettas are grown commercially in Southern France to produce essential oils for the perfume industry).

The benefit of growing tazettas outside is that they do not become drawn and floppy like they do indoors, plus the flowers last much longer. Bought bulbs are typically large and will produce a generous number of stems provided they are planted in a gritty, well-drained compost. Give them a little protection from cold and excessive wet and they will perform as well as hardier types. Around town there are many gardeners who have successfully cultivated these beautiful bulbs in the ground, so they are well worth experimenting with if you have a warm, south-facing border. Just three or four stems are enough to bring the scent of spring into the house, so plant generously this autumn and you can expect to enjoy fragrant flowers for many weeks.

At this time of year London’s Royal Parks are carpeted with vast swathes of daffodils. If the weather is fine I leave the tube one stop early and walk through Green Park, past Buckingham Palace to work in Victoria. The park’s daffodils create serpentine rivers of gold, primrose and white between the naked plane trees. I like to imagine Her Majesty sitting in bed with a lightly boiled egg, hot buttered soldiers and a cup of tea, gazing out of her bedroom window at her subjects, busying themselves like ants below. I am sure she does nothing of the sort, but it pleases me to think she’s enjoying the colourful scene.

Royalty have a great fondness for daffodils, particularly the Prince of Wales. Last week His Royal Highness asked the new leaseholder of an historic quarry on his Duchy of Cornwall land to pay one daffodil each year as rent. The 999-year lease on the site in Tintagel, Cornwall, cost its new owner £81,000, despite having no commercial potential. In a wry twist on the nominal ‘peppercorn’ rent, The Prince of Wales decided to accept just a single daffodil, the national flower of Wales, as payment.

A longer tradition was established thirty years ago when The Queen began sending daffodils from her Sandringham estate to patients and staff at hospitals across London – a typically charming gesture from a monarch who frequently receives posies and bouquets of narcissi from well-wishers. Here she is, outside Fortum and Mason in 2012, with The Duchess of Cornwall and The Duchess of Cambridge, giving the flowers her royal seal of approval. Let’s hope that there is still a smattering of daffodils in bloom on April 21st when she celebrates her 89th birthday. If this cool weather continues we can be sure of it!

Image: XPOSUREPHOTOS.COM

When I set out to post daily on the subject of daffodils, little did I know how distracting this week’s almost perfect gardening weather would be. The opportunity to spend two unbroken days outside rarely comes along and I have gardened from dawn to dusk. In the course of the last 48 hours, planting bulbs and rejuvenating borders, I have been enveloped by the scent of hyacinths, serenaded by bees and danced for by a solitary butterfly. This I have enjoyed in the company of our resident doves, Daphne and Dudley. They are becoming tamer and tamer by the day, almost eating out of my hand. If only they would build a decent nest there could be a whole family of them at The Watch House.

Narcissus ‘Toto’ began flowering when it was just 4 inches tall, but has experienced a dramatic growth spurt this week. The bulbs have come into their own in the warm sunshine, throwing up stems bearing two, three or four flowers. The blooms deserve a companion planting of blue scilla, chinodoxa or muscari to bring out their curds and whey colouring, not the sugary pink cyclamen I foolishly paired them with. I will know better next time. Their fragrance is not as intoxicating as Narcissus ‘Cragford’ or Narcissus ‘Minnow’, but is pleasing enough if you get your nose in there. Honoured with an Award of Garden Merit by the RHS, Narcissus ‘Toto’ ticks all my boxes and will definitely be on my bulb order again this summer.

Nothing is more cheering on a sunny spring day than a broad swathe of daffodils emerging from lengthening grass, or a delicate cloud of cherry blossom hovering in the air. Driving out of Canterbury towards Harbledown yesterday I was greeted by verges and roundabouts thronged with narcissi. It was as if a magician had pulled a million bunches of flowers from his hat and public spiritedly plonked them in every inch of sward he could find. The effect was uplifting; a little bit of the unnecessary in a world where the beautification of things ‘just because’ seems very far down the list of priorities.

Public displays of daffodils are relatively commonplace in England, but I wish they were more so. Some of my favourites are in London’s Royal Parks. In St James’ Park, choice varieties such as Narcissus actaea are planted beneath cherry trees to create little cameos of paradise in the heart of the city. In these days of council cutbacks there’s little hope of more displays like those at Pegwell Bay in Kent being created at the tax payer’s expense. Yet this particular spectacle, around the Danish longboat replica ‘Horsa‘, attracts hundreds of visitors to East Kent every spring. In Thriplow, Cambridgeshire, the village’s 450 residents have worked together to plant thousands of daffodils in private gardens and public spaces. They stage a special Daffodil Weekend each year, raising huge sums for charity and bringing enormous pleasure to all those that take part in the event. Wouldn’t it be great if more villages followed Thriplow’s example, and not just with daffodils? A rose festival or a dahlia derby would surely be crowd pleasers.

Whilst researching public displays of daffodils I stumbled upon a moving story in last week’s Telegraph newspaper. Having been told he only had eight weeks to live, retired RAF pilot Keith Owen decided to leave his £2.3m fortune to the resort of Sidmouth in Devon. The interest was to be spent on schemes to brighten up the seaside town and its neighbouring villages. One of Keith’s wishes was that a “valley of a million bulbs” should be planted at Park Head, on the cliffs above Sidmouth (see below). Since 2013, 400,000 daffodils have been planted by volunteers and groups, ranging in age from 2 to 90. Their reward is nothing more than being able to enjoy the ‘flowers’ of their labour every March and April, along with the town’s many visitors.

Whilst Mr Owen could have left his legacy to any number of worthy causes, he chose to invest in a place that he loved, for the benefit of thousands of others. Just occasionally we should all afford ourselves the opportunity to do something because it’s a beautiful gesture, not because it’s a necessary one. I’m certainly going to put aside a little ‘daffodil money’ from now on.

Do you know of any good public displays of daffodils? And if you could leave a horticultural legacy, what would it be?

Wishing you all a lovely weekend.

Photo credit: Sidmouth In Bloom

The flowering of the magnolia marks a turning point in our London garden. It’s a fleeting moment, the petals falling just as they appear to be reaching their prime, but it’s a magical moment all the same. Through the winter months our secluded plot is plunged into perpetual shade. The soil remains cold and wet, and there is little cheer. But with the magnolia comes the sun (or should that be the other way round?) and a host of jewel-like spring flowers.

The coconut-ice chalices of Magnolia x soulangeana

The juxtaposition with Kerria japonica ‘Pleniflora’ is an awkward one. Blush pink magnolia blooms and brash yellow pompoms are hardly a match made in heaven, but I haven’t the heart to rip out either. Individually they are both splendid spring plants – straight forward and easy to grow. A match for the kerria in the yellow stakes is Caltha polypetala, the kingcup, or giant marsh marigold. This moisture-loving perennial rises early from the margins of our pond (or ‘the lake’ as Him Indoors describes it), appearing blissfully unaware that such a thing as winter ever occured. The kingcup’s golden flowers reflect wonderfully in the inky-black water.

Golden wonder: Caltha polypetala, the giant marsh marigold

Blue is such a welcome flower colour in spring and comes in many forms: scillas, hyacinths, brunneras, forget-me-nots and navelwort, (Omphalodes spp.). One of the best varieties of the latter is Omphalodes cappadocica ‘Cherry Ingram’, which has fresh green leaves and azure-blue flowers. Navelwort enjoys a rich, damp, woodsy soil, so is more or less happy in our garden, although yet to start seeding about.

‘Ol Blue Eyes – Omphalodes cappadocica ‘Cherry Ingram’

Not quite blue, but a lovely warm purple is Anemone blanda (winter windflower). I planted a couple of clumps when they were already in growth in the spring of 2014, not expecting them to reappear from our soggy soil. They have, and in rude health, so I have popped in another six groups where I had a gap, selecting the sunniest spot I had available. Amongst the blooms are a few rogue white ones, which stop them looking too much like uniform bedding. How could anyone not be cheered by these porcelain-perfect little flowers?

Surviving against the odds – Anemone blanda

All the blues and purples provide a perfect foil for daffodils, still going strong despite it being the middle of April. Those pictured below are a bargain-bucket purchase that I failed to label – a pity as they are very elegant and I would like more. I enjoy the way the petals twist slightly to suggest movement, but am less charmed by the trumpets, which juvenile snails seem to have found particularly delicious. Time to break out the slug pellets I think.

Daffodils – variety unknown

From now on our urban woodland garden will burgeon, foam and froth, the foliage of aquilegias, foxgloves, hostas and epimediums quickly disguising any fading bulb leaves. Yet it will never recover the fleeting vitality it possesses now. A moment to treasure.

Our London garden, seen from above

It really has been the most remarkable April. So far not a single drop of rain has fallen on either of our gardens and, although night temperatures have hovered just above freezing, the days have been sunny and warm. The result has been an avalanche of flowers. The daffodils that sat and shivered through March are now almost over, with the hyacinths fading fast. I have grown H. ‘Woodstock’ (plummy purple) and H. ‘Gypsy Queen’ (pale apricot) this year: both have put on a great show. Hyacinths are awkward flowers to place in borders so I prefer to plant them in pots where their formal appearance is less incongrous and their scent closer to my nose. They will be unceremoniously discarded as soon as the last flowers fade and replaced with fresh bulbs in the autumn, ready for next spring.

Fritillaria ‘Sunset’ and Tulipa ‘Ronaldo’

The spotlight is now firmly on the tulips. For the first time they were all purchased from Sarah Raven, who has a great talent when it comes to curating collections of flowers that coordinate brilliantly. I wanted to push the boat out so purchased no fewer than twelve varieties (more than 350 bulbs) in a colour spectrum from apricot, through clear orange to darkest aubergine. The inclusion of rose pink, in the form of Tulipa ‘Chatto’, was a mistake I will not repeat: the colour is not quite hot enough to compete with my ‘fire and brimstone’ theme. Thankfully when everything is grown in pots one can correct clashes very simply by moving the culprit elsewhere. With blooms like a voluptuous peony, T. ‘Chatto’ seems to combine much better with blues, whites, yellows and lighter pinks.

Sweet treat – Tulipa ‘Brown Sugar’

The first act of my great tulip extravaganza was opened by varieties that went over a fortnight ago. The show now well into the first half, a cast of T. ‘Bruine Wimpel’ (caramelised orange), T. ‘Brown Sugar’ (rosy tan), T. ‘Ronaldo’ (purple with a metallic sheen) and T. ‘Burgundy’ (more magenta than deep red) have got me jumping for joy. T. ‘Belle Epoque’, her flowers the colour of a bruise on a dusky maiden’s arm, are emerging from buds that look like uncooked sprouts – she’s a real Cinderella of a tulip. Soon she will be joined by her Prince Charming, Tulipa ‘Black Hero’, the tall, double-flowered cousin of ‘Queen of the Night’ (who will not make an appearance until the finale). The queen will eventually partner with ‘Rem’s Favourite’, another selection that I fear I may regret because of the white flashes on the petals. Time will tell.

Putting on a show

Tulips alone are not enough to pull off the theatrics so I have interspersed them with my all time favorite bulbs, Fritillaria imperialis. Even the strongly foxy scent, which has got me into trouble on a couple of occasions, is not enough to put me off these firebird flowers. This year I am growing F. ‘Sunset’ (pale orange) and F. ‘William Rex’ (burnt orange) to see how they compare. So far unscathed by evil lily beetles and sinister snails, the tall flower spikes leap like phoenixes from the flames.

In a sheltered corner, away from cold draughts, I am experimenting with a Chilean plant called Tropaeolum tricolor (three-coloured Indian cress). From little tubers emerged delicate, twining stems in late December. They were so fine I wondered how they would ever endure the cold. They survived and are now garlanded with flowers in a daring combination of red, indigo and fluorescent yellow. I have never grown anything quite like it, and am very glad I did. Once it’s flowered it will die down and will not appear again until next winter.

Like a shoal of tropical fish, Tropaeolum tricolor

I love the volcanic energy of these firey colour combinations – they feel appropriate for a garden which is predominantly sub-tropical. The whole assembly proves to me two things: first that it is almost always worth trying something new, and second that if a job is worth doing it’s worth doing properly. Had I been timid or penny-pinching about the display I am convinced it would not have turned out so well. My only sadness is that I only have the weekends to enjoy the spectacle.

The peach melba powder puffs of Tulipa ‘Belle Epoque’

My Tulip Selection for 2015

1. Tulip ‘Annie Schilder’ – a lovely burnt orange.
2. Tulip ‘Black Hero’ – late flowering, dark and dangerous looking.
3. Tulip ‘Bruine Wimpel’ – the colour of caramelised oranges.
4. Tulip ‘Burgundy’ – lily flowered and rather more reddish-purple than burgundy.
5. Tulip ‘Cairo’ – compact, clear orange.
6. Tulip ‘Belle Epoque’ – like a peach melba and almost good enough to eat.
7. Tulip ‘Chatto’ – the addition of pink to the mix of oranges and purples was a mistake, but this is a wonderful, rose pink double that looks astoundingly like a peony.
8. Tulip ‘Brown Sugar’ – I can only describe this tulip as ‘Amazonian’. Grace Jones in tulip form.
9. Tulip ‘Jan Reus’ – deep ruby red.
10. Tulip ‘Rem’s Favourite’ – marbled purple and white, like blackberries swirled through whipped cream.
11. Tulip ‘Queen of the Night’ – in a class of her own. Tall, dark and fashionably late.
12. Tulip ‘Ronaldo’ – a thoroughbred, like the footballer. Plum with a metallic bloom on the petal reverse

Sheer elegance: Tulipa ‘Bruine Wimpel’

Memories of summer may still linger, but it’s time for us gardeners to be looking forward to next year. There are bulbs to plant, perennials to divide and seed catalogues to browse. It’s like spring, only browner.

For me it’s always a race to get my spring-flowering bulbs into the ground before I head off on my annual buying trip to Asia. This effectively writes off October, which, if you followed a text book, would be fine. Narcissus and many other small bulbs should to be planted in August and September. They like to send roots out into the warm earth before winter sets in. Tulips can wait until November or early December when the ground is cold. This triggers the bulbs to start growing and prevents the bulbs from rotting before they get started.

Beside the path leading up to our new house, Polegate Cottage, there is a narrow strip of soil at the foot of a rather characterful wall (read into that description what you will). Long-term I’d like to re-pave the path and widen the border, but not until the builders have finished next year. In the meantime I wanted to make the entrance look more inviting and colourful without breaking the bank.

Now when I say narrow, I mean narrow. The term ‘border’ sounds rather grandiose, but I don’t know how better to describe it. At one end of the 30ft path it’s 4 inches wide, at the other 12 inches. The soil is good, having been cultivated for many years by the previous owner. In preparing the ground for my streak of planting I added horticultural grit and a slow release fertiliser. Being on chalk, we never have to worry about providing the good drainage that bulbs like, but a lighter soil will warm up more quickly in spring.

So that there will be some synergy with The Watch House, I have chosen a selection of bulbs and bedding plants in shades of gold, copper, bronze, plum and purple. ‘Hot’ colours are a great precursor to the exotic plants that will follow next summer. I am sorry to say they were purchased from the local garden centre and not home grown, but once the greenhouse is up and running I will right that wrong and start growing bedding from seed.

My first step was to unpack and space the bulbs evenly on the surface of the soil so that an attractive rhythm will be created when the bulbs flower. Planting as soon as possible after buying is advisable – any dampness during storage can encourage mould. I chose varieties which bloom at different times so that we will enjoy flowers from February until early May:

• Tulipa ‘Blumex’ – an orange parrot style tulip flamed with red, yellow, pink, green and blue. Late flowering.
• Tulipa ‘Early Harvest’ AGM – an indispensible tulip with gold and orange lightly fragrant flowers. I’ve known it to bloom as early as February.
• Narcissus ‘Professor Einstein’ – large-cupped daffodil. White with a tangerine cup.
• Narcissus ‘Apotheose’ – a daffodil with luxurious, deep-yellow flowers with orange segments.

Having arranged the bulbs I positioned four Euphorbia ‘Ascot Rainbow’ to act as feature plants. These are drought tolerant perennials from the Mediterranean which will enjoy the tight squeeze at the foot of a sunny wall. The euphorbia will outlive the rest of the bedding and reward us with gold-variegated foliage year-round. As an added bonus the leaves will flush red as it gets colder and when new growth begins in spring.

In between the euphorbia I spaced pot-grown wallflowers and trays of violas and pansies. Hybridisation has created the ‘Sugar Rush’ strain of wallflowers which flower quickly from summer-sown seed, rewarding gardeners with flowers in both autumn and spring. As I planted them out I was propelled forward six months by their unmistakable scent.

I am not a great lover of pansies, which usually strike me as over-hybridised, but I couldn’t resist the lushious colour of Pansy ‘Matrix Sangria’. The cheerful flowers are a wonderful damson shade with rich purple and gold markings. Violas are more my cup of tea. I always like the dark-petalled ones, so plumped for ‘Sorbet F1 Blackberry’ which has deep purple flowers that glow in the autumn sun. Like the wallflowers they are perfumed, so by springtime we should be bathed in the scents of the season.

Taking into account multi-buy offers and other discounts, planting the 30ft run cost me under £60. This would have been very much less had I grown the bedding myself from seed. However, there’s no substitute for buying new bulbs every year if you want maximum flower power. Planting now, a little earlier tulips might prefer, will do the bulbs no harm. Residual warmth in the soil will allow the pansies, violas and wallflowers to establish a strong root system. A light sprinkling of slug pellets (apologies to organic gardeners, but not to snails), a thorough watering and the border was complete. I look forward to sharing with you how it grows, enduring rain, wind, frost and maybe even snow before arriving fragrant and overflowing with flowers in spring.