Apart from Cinderella, few people are likely to consider an after-dark encounter with a giant pumpkin an exciting prospect, but the Royal Horticultural Society are out to change all that. In a revision to the normal schedule, the RHS London Harvest Festival Show opened late on Tuesday, treating members and their guests to an evening of carrot carving, apple bobbing, foraging masterclasses and, of course, prize-winning fruit and veg.

Office workers, locals and keen gardeners mingle in the RHS Lindley Hall

Long standing followers of The Frustrated Gardener will know that the RHS London shows are favourites of mine. They are gloriously old fashioned, so much so that one can imagine Downton Abbey’s Lord Grantham sending his best grapes down on the train from York, or Sherlock Holmes inspecting the entries with his inscrutable eye. The show must appear now very much as it did in the 1920’s and 30’s.

1st prize went to Peter Geyelin’s gargantuan fruit

The competition for heaviest pumpkin may be a little light-hearted, but other classes certainly are not. Gardeners and growers who exhibit here know their onions, their leeks and their parsnips. The highest standards are called for and judges take no prisoners. However, in the new spirit of transparency adopted by the RHS at other shows, a table is laid out explaining what the defects are that exhibitors will lose points for. Heaven forbid one’s cauliflower should have a lumpy curd or one’s leeks be slightly kinked. It’s a level of perfection, indeed artifice, that very few strive for nowadays, but wonderful to witness.

What not to do. The National Vegetable Society point out the faults the judges will be looking for

The first thing I do every year is check out which Duke has won first prize for his grapes. This year the Duke of Devonshire came out tops in both classes for white grapes, going head-to-head with the Duke of Marlborough. I imagine their noble rivalry must be something of a friendly tradition and, like the Oxford and Cambridge boat race, I’d like to imagine it will continue in perpetuity.

No kinks here! Perfect leeks, as white as alabaster, pick up the prizes

In an area ambitiously dubbed the ‘Wild Wood’, master forager Claudio Bincoletto was on hand to give advice about hunting for your own food. Asked what he thought about British truffles, he kindly described them as ‘tasting like wet hazlenuts’ and offered a jar of the real thing to sniff. Woodsy and wonderful. He didn’t look like man you’d argue with.

Not long ’til Halloween and the pumpkins and squashes are in their prime

The catering at these events is a big attraction; nothing too corporate, just a handful of well chosen suppliers offering quality food and drink. Hiver beer from the Real Ale Company always goes down a treat, as do the little gyoza prepared by The Garlic Farm. If I were a coffee drinker, I’d have dived straight for the espresso martinis served from the back of a Piaggio Ape by Word on the Street.

Through the evening we were serenaded by Robin Grey and friends, playing on a banjos, ukeleles, guitars and percussion. They were lucky to be heard over the din created by ‘Can You Dig It?’ and their carrot recorder making workshop. I regret not having a go, as participants seemed to be having a lot of fun, even if the resulting cacophony almost made one’s ears bleed.

Showgoers of all ages take the weight off their feet and enjoy a snack in the Wild Wood

Ending on a more serious note, opening late does seem to be helping the RHS attract a more mixed audience, without who’s interest I suspect they might struggle to continue these venerable London shows. This part of Westminster is hardly buzzing at night, so it’s a fun diversion for locals and office workers alike. As for me, I’ll keep going for as long as they continue, making the most of a living, breathing piece of England’s horticultural heritage.

All the colours of autumn can be seen in rainbow chard, chillies and tomatoes

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

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

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

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

Fading fast, the leaves of Hosta ‘Patriot’

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

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

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

Salvia patens brightens up a dank, dark autumn morning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The flowers are even more fascinating close-up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight I am greatly in need of a happy pill. The best I can muster from the depths of the medicine cabinet is a dusty asprin and some anti-acid tablets, so as an alternative I am resorting to the best therapy of all, looking at flowers. Even as a toddler I contented myself for hours looking at brightly-coloured seed catalogues and this primitive remedy still works wonders for me to this day.

Just looking at Helleborus x hybridus ‘Bosvigo Doubles’ (Strawberry Parfait) lifts my spirits

Wine glass in hand (a nicely chilled Viognier being the second best therapy I know of) I am thumbing through the spring editions of the Chiltern Seeds and Seeds of Distinction catalogues, lapping up the silky deliciousness of their varnished pages. How far these publications have come in recent years: no longer the garish tack-fests that one still receives from Messrs Parker, but filled with carefully colour-coordinated images that wouldn’t look out of place on the walls of a gallery. Look at this mouthwatering shot of Centaurea americana ‘Aloha Blanca’ and tell me you are not sorely tempted.

A sneeky preview of what’s to come from Chiltern Seeds

After bulbs and fancy shirts, seeds are probably my greatest vice. That’s the rock-and-roll life I lead. Fuelled by wine and bankrolled by my credit card I am known to be pretty dangerous, hence tonight, at my most vulnerable, I am keeping both hands occupied by typing this post. But I will succumb before spring to those luscious little postage stamps of colour that are viagra for my soul. Tequila, it makes some people happy, but for me I need nothing more than good old-fashioned flowers.

Gaudy? Yes, but lupins are guaranteed to lift my mood from sombre to sunny

Dear Santa,

You may think I’m getting a bit old for this malarkey, but in my head I am still in my teens so I hope you’ll forgive me for writing this letter. It’s been a while, so I hope life is good and that you’ve had a restful summer. Like you, I am horribly busy at this time of year so I thought I’d get in early and give the elves plenty of time to track down everything on my wish list. If you do happen to be in a certain department store over the next few weeks I hope you like what I’ve done with the seasonal fayre – you’ve been a big inspiration yet again. Despite the popularity of Click & Collect I think you’re job’s pretty safe, that is unless you’re privatised. Fortunately you move rather faster than Royal Mail and even Amazon can’t catch you. Thank goodness for those turbo-charged reindeer, they deserve a medal.

I have tried to be good through 2014, but admit I have fallen some way short of perfect. I have not, hand on heart, pilfered cuttings or seeds from anyone’s garden and have carefully nurtured any plants I’ve been gifted. Some of them even have names. My eyes are still bigger than my stomach when it come to nurseries, and so plants are one thing I really don’t need this year, or any other year for that matter. I fed the birds until they made such a mess of the terrace that I had to stop. In return we’ve been rewarded with a burgeoning population of collared doves and sparrows. I have been easy on the insecticide but a little gung-ho with the slug pellets. What can I say? I am sure if you have a garden you will understand. On occasion I have been a bit grumpy, overtired and not as kind as I could have been, but promise to make up for it next year.

At this point in my life I want for very little. (You will have guessed by now how far from teenage I really am.) Consequently my list is full of luxuries I would never buy for myself, but would genuinely cherish. First of all tools – anything made by Sneeboer would be much appreciated, but I am flush for Felco secateurs right now, thanks all the same. One can never have enough trowels, especially when Him Indoors treats them like plant markers and leaves them dotted around outside in all weathers.

I would love a flashy camera, as I am under the delusion that better equipment will mean I take better pictures. I should really take a photography course instead, but just don’t have the time. I’m a Canon man, just in case you were wondering. Might I ask that a memory card is included, as I have a habit of leaving them plugged into the side of my laptop?

A greenhouse is top of my list. I am sure everyone’s fed up with me banging on about it, but having had one at the age of 14 I feel I have taken a backward step at the point when those numbers have been reversed in order. That first greenhouse, a temple of propagation, was metal-framed and covered with polythene. I’d want this one to last, so would prefer teak or cedar if you can run to it. On second thoughts, put this request on hold for a year or two when hopefully we’ll have moved somewhere with more space. I guarantee I will have sorted out my grumpiness by then.

I hope you don’t feel I am being greedy, but I am known for being a man with expensive tastes. One must maintain standards at all times, although I have been known to let things slip on Boxing Day. Those photographs are safely out of harm’s way lest my impeccable reputation be tarnished.

Do please let me know if you have any special requests for Christmas Eve. Him Indoors is a dab hand with shortcrust, mincemeat and icing sugar, and I like to keep a very comprehensive drinks cabinet. We had eleven different gins at the last count, which even concerns me slightly. We don’t have a chimney, but will leave the back door on the latch. I hope you like what we’ve done with the garden since you dropped by last year – it’s been long overdue – although alas no carrots for Rudolph to munch whilst he’s waiting (we don’t allow bare hooves indoors).

Wishing you all the very best for the festive season

The Frustrated Gardener.

P.S. Him Indoors would like a new garden bench, but we can’t agree on one we like or where to put it. I usually get my own way, but as I’ll never get time to sit on it I’ll let him explain what he’d like.

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

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

January can be a bleak month for us gardeners, our outdoor spaces painfully devoid of colour and working conditions far from ideal. The less hardened among us find solace pottering in the greenhouse, browsing through seed catalogues or hunting out the pointed tips of emerging spring bulbs. However with a little planning it’s possible to enjoy colour, texture and a long period of interest using planted containers.

My advice is to focus your attention on areas close to the house, in view of visitors or in places that can be appreciated from the comfort of indoors. Outside the kitchen window is a classic spot for a cheerful arrangement to spur you through the washing up! There are many plants and shrubs suitable for pot culture that are hardy and will look good for weeks on end. The benefit of cooler weather is that blooms last longer (if spared the ravages of wind and rain) and so a little goes a long way. On a bright day, leaves fringed with hoar frost, even simple evergreens such as bay, laurel, viburnum and holly are transformed into objects of great beauty.

Pure and simple, Helleborus niger

Structure and garden ornament play a key part in the garden during winter when there’s less foliage about to obscure the view. You’ll be seeing a lot of your chosen containers to it’s worth working with the most striking examples you have, provided they are frost resistant. Just this week I was struck by the loveliness of a stone trough, encrusted with lichen and moss, for a seasonal planting of Skimmia japonica, Gaultheria procumbens (with the red berries), Nandina domestica and Helleborus niger, edged with variegated ivy. Positioned next to a solid front door, what better welcome could one give one’s guests?

Even on a gloomy January day, a combination of skimmia, gaultheria, Helleborus niger, variegated ivy and Nandina domestica will brighten the darkest of corners

Plants grow very little in winter, so start with ones that are about the size you’d ultimately like them to be and pack them in more tightly than you would in spring and summer. With cyclamen, violas and other winter bedding, avoid burying the plants too deeply otherwise they may succumb to rot. It will help if you keep pots off the ground, which aids drainage and improves air circulation. Water only if the compost becomes dry, which can happen during milder spells or if the pot is positioned close to a wall or fence. Feeding is not required as plants will find all the nutrition they need in the planting medium.

Light is a precious commodity in winter so position pots where they will receive maximum sunlight. Even shade lovers such as ferns and ivies will appreciate the extra energy. If, like me, you attempt to overwinter tender plants outdoors then it helps to either bunch several containers together or to protect individual pots with bubble wrap.

A display of pots and baskets planted simply for winter colour

My Top 10 Plants for Winter Containers

1. Violas. Although their show may be temporarily halted by a cold snap, winter flowering violas are one of the most cheerful choices for a winter garden. Their cheeky blooms come in a wide variety of colours from white through to yellow, orange, mauve, purple and blue. Once winter is over violas will leap into glorious action, clambering up between tulips and daffodils and scenting the air with their unmistakable fragrance. I would not be without them.

2. Skimmia japonica ‘Rubella’. It’s a rather stiff and surburban shrub, but my grandma loved it so I am giving it a place in my top 10. When small and grown as a container plant Skimmia japonica has a great deal to offer: panicles of scented white flowers emerge from dark red buds in spring, eventually maturing into clusters of red berries set against glossy green foliage. An all-rounder and readily available from garden centres, skimmias do better in a slightly acidic soil.

3. Gaultheria procumbens (box berry or checker berry). Incorporate plenty of peat into your mix if you want to grow Gaultheria procumbens. This diminutive shrub will pay you back with small white flowers in summer and a carpet of shiny berries above burnished foliage in winter.

4. Hedera helix. There a so many variations on English ivy that it’s hard to pick just one. For leaves splashed with cream, try H. helix ‘Glacier’, or if you’re looking for a touch of gold H. helix ‘Buttercup’ will do a star turn provided it gets as much exposure to the winter sun as possible. Ivy is very attractive to wildlife, which can be a double-edged sword. Just as wrens, spiders and other useful beasties will relish the warmth and shelter it provides, so will my arch enemy, Mr Snail.

5. Erica carnea and Erica x darleyensis. Most winter flowering heathers are cultivars of Erica carnea and Erica x darleyensis. For white flowers, try E. carnea ‘Springwood White’ or E. x darleyensis ‘White Perfection’. If you’re looking for something rosier, turn to E. carnea ‘Springwood Pink’ or E. x darleyensis ‘Darleydale’. One of the best reds is E. carnea ‘December Red’, which is actually closer to magenta than scarlet.

6. Helleborus niger. Ah, the Christmas rose! Although this stubby hellebore was introduced from warmer climes, at times it has almost ‘gone native’ in the UK. Also known as the Lenten rose it’s as well recognised in gardens as daffodils and crocuses. Grown well, with blooms protected from muddy splashes, there’s little to rival the Christmas rose for purity of colour in deepest winter.

7. Narcissus ‘Rijnvelds Early Sensation’. Impatient gardeners will love this daffodil which can be in bloom as early as late December if the weather is mild. Not too tall and with classic golden trumpets.

8. Ophiopogon planiscapus ‘Nigrescens’. As close to black as you’ll get in a leaf, O. planiscapus ‘Nigrescens’ is a compact, grass-like groundcover plant which creates the perfect foil for yellow and silver foliage. Underplant with short daffodils, such as Narcissus ‘Tete-a-Tete’.

9. Cineraria maritima. This hackneyed bedding plant of the 80’s is surely due a come-back. Tough as old boots and especially happy on chalky soils, Cineraria maritima will reward with with tactile, frilly-edged silver foliage all through the year.

10. Cornus sanguinea ‘Midwinter Fire’. If you are lucky enough to have a very large container, you could do little better than use the dogwoods as centrepieces for a winter scheme. C. sanguinea ‘Midwinter Fire’ reveals brilliant, flame-coloured stems when the leaves fall in autumn.

Miniature cyclamen will keep flowering until the weather gets really cold

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.

Only fifteen days into the New Year and the RHS have offered the public a glimpse of how the show gardens will look at this year’s Chelsea Flower Show. As you’d expect there’s little that might risk furrowing the brows of the judging panel, but there are some distinct trends emerging from the panoply of designs that have been revealed so far.

The World On Our Doorstep

Last year Cleeve West alluded to Islamic styling with his Persian inspired Paradise Garden for sponsors M&G Investments. This year we get the full monty in the shape of Kamelia Bin Zaal’s ‘The Beauty of Islam’, which explores the relationship between mankind and the earth.

The Beauty of Islam will mark designer Kamelia Bin Zaal’s Chelsea debut

Poetry, sculpture and calligraphy will be employed to demonstrate the beauty of Arabic and Islamic cultures, whilst Kamelia’s planting will illustrate the extent to which the Arabic empire grew, extending to regions where rosemary, papyrus and jasmine could be found. There’s surely no better time to reinforce the beautiful, cultured and peaceful nature of Islamic culture and I am sure this garden will garner a lot of positive attention. Too much hard landscaping can turn the Chelsea judges off, so it will be interesting to see if Kamelia’s completed project strikes the right balance between authenticity and high horticulture.

Kamelia Bin Zaal studied Landscape Design at Inchbald School of Design in London

Several of this year’s first time designers are not Brits, or even Europeans, which I hope will start to turn the tide against the tedium of endless perennial prairie and annual meadow plantings. I doubt either of the latter will be found within ‘The Hidden Beauty of Kranji’, a garden designed by John Tan & Raymond Toh. Their show garden is inspired by a lush suburb of their native Singapore and will brim with orchids, tropical ferns, coconut palms and jungly creepers. This is a garden that is certain to turn heads, provided it can survive the vagaries of a British early summer.

The Hidden Beauty of Kranji is inspired by the gardens of a Singaporean suburb

A garden guaranteed to hog the limelight is the Sentebale garden designed by Matthew Keightley. With HRH Prince Harry as it’s Patron, and last year’s People’s Choice designer at the helm, it would be hard not have the highest hopes for a gold medal. Sentebale provides healthcare and education to Lesotho’s vulnerable children and Matthew’s garden aims to offer visitors a taste of this mountainous country, along with a sense of the vibrant atmosphere in the charity’s Mamohato camp. A central building constructed using traditional materials will anchor the scheme, which also includes rocks and water features.

The Sentebale garden has already had Royal approval

Effortless Elegance

Chelsea would not be Chelsea without the stylish presence of both Laurent-Perrier and The Telegraph. The prestigious Champagne House has surely secured greatness by partnering with leading British designer Dan Pearson and one of our country’s greatest estates, Chatsworth. Having been absent from Chelsea for more than a decade, Dan’s garden is inspired by the wilder reaches of Chatworth’s historic garden, featuring an ambitious rockery and stream. It will be a welcome change of pace for Laurent Perrier, who’s garden I admired, but did not love in 2014.

The Laurent-Perrier garden will occupy the prominent ‘triangle’ site at Chelsea

The Telegraph have left much to the imagination, releasing only a black and white pencil drawing of their garden designed by Marcus Barnett. To better understand Marcus’ design, think of Mondrian, a principal member of the De Stijl Movement (which translates from Dutch as ‘The Style’) founded in Amsterdam in 1917. The garden will rely heavily on rectilinear geometry, with bright blocks of flower and foliage contributing colour and texture. In place of the monochrome rendering, expect vibrant, primary colour-blocking against a foil of cool greens.

The Telegraph Garden will employ the vibrant colours and closely related tones favoured by the De Stijl Movement

Knowing What Works

My parting shot is to herald the return of TV gardener Chris Beardshaw to Chelsea, with a garden that brings together tried and tested features such as rusty metal pillars, pollarded trees and effervescent perennials. It’s been a winning formula before, and I am sure it will be again, but at face value this garden (top and below) feels a little too safe for my liking. I would be more than happy to be proved wrong.

What’s for sure is that Chelsea Flower Show will once again hold the nation in its thrall. Running from May 19-23 2015, tickets are still available, but don’t dilly-dally, they’ll be gone before you can say ‘Alan Titchmarsh’. Do let me know which gardens tickle your fancy, or dowse your bonfire.

Chris Beardshaw’s garden will be relocated to East London following 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 be opened by Jake and Freddie Perry 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

Those folk who’d sell their souls for a rare snowdrop have two things in common – a willingness to open their wallet for a small, vulnerable bulb that flowers only briefly once a year, and an eye for detail. I mock not, for man has succumbed to uglier addictions, but one can understand why the uninitiated struggle to fathom galanthophiles’ fascination with these simple flowers.

When a collection of snowdrops is viewed together the differences between them become more apparent. One of the most distinctive cultivars, instantly recognisable once you have seen it once, is Galanthus ‘Diggory’. In bud it looks pretty ordinary, but once open the flowers puff out like a partially inflated balloons, the outer petals ridged and puckered like seersucker pillows. They attract me in the same way as the fuchsia buds I loved to pop as a child.

Galanthus ‘Diggory’ was discovered in a garden near Wells-next-the-Sea in Norfolk by Rosie Steele and Richard Hobbs and was named after Rosie’s late son. One of the parents is thought to be G. plicatus, which makes it a vigorous plant, although slow to increase. If you are digging Diggory, bulbs ‘in the green’, priced at £25, are available now from Avon Bulbs. Resistance is futile.

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’

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

I have been particularly dutiful this week, even if I do say myself. I began the week in Cornwall, entertaining my beautiful, happy, intelligent niece. As duties go, this was an absolute joy. Martha has taken to walking like a duck takes to water, and is now in proud possession of her first pair of shoes – red – her uncle’s favourite colour. Just one of Martha’s gummy smiles is all that’s needed to secure my devotion in perpetuity, but my loyalty was tested when our winter walk at Trelissick was abruptly ended. Despite a generous number of layers, Miss M took umbrage at the biting wind and had a mini-meltdown in the middle of the garden. We were just approaching a clearing flooded with trembling snowdrops, so I quickly sank to my knees, took a few snaps and accompanied my charge back to the National Trust tea-room. All that was required to restore her normal good humour (and everyone else’s for that matter), was a sizeable chunk of cake – a girl after my own heart.

Work has demanded a different kind of dedication. Sign off on our Christmas ranges looms and my team of wonderfully conscientious colleagues have been working like stink to get everything done. I am extremely lucky to have such great people around me: the camaraderie takes the sting out of the most dreary tasks. After a series of 14 hour days I yearned for a nice quiet weekend to recover, but duty called again. We’ve spent today piecing our seaside home together after an excessively protracted kitchen project. Between ourselves and the fitters we managed to create mess and mayhem in every room of the house. Where fine, pale-pink dust has not reached is not worth knowing about. I am sure it will all be worthwhile when Him Indoors is finally able to cook up a storm using all the latest gadgets and appliances. He would be doing so now, were he not asleep on the sofa. Being dutiful, whilst rewarding, can be rather exhausting.

I do so love it when a plant utterly defies the wrong situation and flourishes, when really it should turn and fail. In our London garden we count on such miracles, as the conditions we can offer are far from ideal. Last spring I purchased three pots of Primula vulgaris ‘Taigetos’ from Christine Skelmersdale of Broadleigh Gardens, and was advised by the great lady herself to plant them somewhere that would be dry in summer. This reflects the prevailing conditions in the mountain ranges of the Greek Peloponnese from whence these delicate little flowers originally came.

In our dank, sun-deprived London garden dry-anything is a big ask, so I planted my charges beneath a magnolia tree with minimal hopes for their future. Not once did the ground dry out last summer and I fully expected my primroses to slowly rot away, as so many other plants do in our poorly drained soil. But no, Primula vulgaris ‘Taigetos’ is a survivor, tougher than its Mediterranean origins might suggest. Delicate, milky-white flowers started to appear at the end of January and are now covering each plant, lighting up a very gloomy corner of the garden. Soon the blooms will completely swamp the plants, mingling with yellow epimediums and narcissi to create a pretty spring tapestry. They make look frail and vulnerable, but the flowers of Primula vulgaris ‘Taigetos’ are a lot tougher than they look.

Plants are available from Broadleigh Gardens priced at £4.50 each or £12 for 3. They are completely sterile so there’s no risk of polluting any native primrose populations you may have nearby.