gardening – The Frustrated Gardener

….. and others do not. I am one of the others.” The Frustrated Gardener, July 2015

Visiting Hampton Court Palace Flower Show in 35 degrees of heat is not an experience I can recommend or would care to repeat. The trains out of London Waterloo were hotter than a bean tin on a camp fire, the marquees were as humid and airless as the Amazon and after the first day many of the gardens were already looking decidedly frazzled. Throughout the day the double avenues of lime trees parallel to the Long Water provided shelter for weary, sweaty, dust covered show-goers, overheating despite loose layers of linen and wide-brimmed summer hats. A walk across one of the pontoons offered just the remotest chance that one might be sprayed by water from the magnificent fountains. It was hot, damn hot.

Even making allowances for my own considerable discomfort, this year’s show gardens were the most disappointing I can recall. Quite how some of them even got off the drawing board I do not know. Funnily enough the gardens that shone were those that paid homage to hotter climes. The Turkish Ministry of Culture & Tourism’s ‘Garden of Paradise’ thoroughly deserved gold and Best World Garden. Designed by Nilufer Danis this garden’s delicious confection of scented roses and lilies was sweeter than anything Fry’s used to make. I loved it.

It was great to see the transformation of John Warland’s World Vision Garden from flooded rice paddy to ripening grain field. The design’s second incarnation was larger and lusher than the first, criss-crossed by narrow grass paths.

Equally suited to the searing heat and high humidity was the African Vision: Malawi Garden which was awarded a gold medal. The garden told the story of a nation striving to promote the practice of sustainable planting in order to build resilient communities and combat famine. A field of maize could be viewed inside a mirrored box, giving the impression that the field slid towards infinity.

I was utterly transported by True Fair’s Sri Lanka Tranquility Garden designed by the level 2 students at Bicton College. This garden didn’t gain any medals, but was perfectly suited to the tropical heat and shone brilliantly in the hard summer light (unlike my photography).

The re-configured show ground was muddled and confusing, underlining the show’s lamentable (hopefully not inevitable) transition from world class flower show to provincial country fair. There is a fine balance to be struck between commerciality and horticulture at Hampton Court and in my view the balance has tipped too far towards the former. The result of promoting trade stands to key locations was that many show gardens lacked an appropriate background. Those that floated in island sites really struggled to convince, with the notable exception of Hadlow College’s ‘Green Seam’, which was awarded best show garden.

As you might have deduced by now, I was not enamoured. Salvation came in the shape of Helen of Oz, more accustomed to the furnace-like conditions than I and fabulous company. Laurent Perrier and Belvoir cordials, each refreshing in their own way, were lifesavers. I’d take all of them to my desert island. The only aspect of the show that met my expectations was the floral marquee which was as glorious as ever, packed with remarkable plants and their talented growers. They each demonstrated their tenacity simply by enduring the stifling humidity all day long. Quite how many of the parched, wilting plants purchased yesterday will have made it safely to their new home I don’t know. I’m pleased to report that mine did, but they were overdue a good soak by the time they reached Highgate.

Having questioned whether Hampton Court Flower Show would be design heaven or style circus, I have to answer that it was neither. An average abberation perhaps. I sincerely hope that 2015, the show’s 25th year, was a case of trying just a little too hard and that we’ll see an improvement in the show gardens and layout next year. A bit of proper English weather wouldn’t go amiss either.

Hampton Court Palace Flower Show runs until Sunday July 5th.

After a night of tumultuous storms, Saturday, the day of our friend Karen’s annual beach hut party, dawned bright and fresh. We made our way to Whitstable on the train and, by way of Regent Street, to the town centre. En route we passed a low brick wall adorned with hessian sacks crammed full of geraniums. The gardener had chosen varieties with gaily patterned leaves, such as ‘Mrs Pollock’, a zonal pelargonium.

I rather liked this rustic, inexpensive approach to garden decoration.

In Harbour Street, the fluttering heart of this chichi seaside town, I always stop to admire the narrow plots in front of a row of weatherboarded holiday cottages. They’ve be laid out in the prairie style with grasses, heleniums, Verbena bonariensis and Cephalaria gigantea (in the foreground).

Visiting this stretch of the Kent coast for the first time, Helen of Oz struggled with the concept of a pebbly beach. In Australia a beach is only a beach if it’s sandy. To add insult to injury there were ‘weeds’ on the foreshore: plants we consider to be wild flowers. Even my pointing out of a yellow horned poppy, Glaucium flavum, failed to impress.

Whitstable’s beach is not backed by a fringe of palms or thick eucalyptus forest, but by beach huts and industrial buildings. I rather like this reminder that there’s something gritty behind Whitstable’s facade of fancy shops and restaurants. As the day drew longer I could sense a certain warmth developing between Whitstable and our friend from Oz.

We strode out into the Thames estuary following a long gravel spit uncovered by the receding tide and admired the kind of sunset that Turner would have been glad to paint. The sky had the quality of marbled glass lit from behind. On one thing we were both agreed – it was a fitting end to a delightful afternoon.

Long standing followers of The Frustrated Gardener will know that I have something of a crush on hollyhocks (Alcea). So it was no surprise when my heart went all aflutter at the sight of The Botanic Nursery exhibit at Hampton Court last week. In previous years there have been a handful of hollyhocks incorporated into the Wiltshire nursery’s display. This time the objects of my affection took centre stage amongst other lime tolerant plants and the nursery’s speciality, foxgloves.

My fondness for hollyhocks stems from my childhood. At my parents’ home near Bath they excelled, planted along a south facing verandah between lanky roses such as ‘Queen Elizabeth’, ‘Golden Showers’ and indestructible ‘Frensham’. Unlike the roses our hollyhocks were not named cultivars, just unplanned crosses and cheap seed strains. This didn’t diminish the allure of their crinkled petals in shades of lemon, hot pink and wine red. The colours drew me towards them like a bee to their plentiful pollen. I would always wait for the seed to ripen and collect it for sowing the following spring. Then the dreaded rust struck and our hollyhocks never quite regained their looks or vigour.

Over the 500 or so years since hollyhocks were first introduced to England from South Western China, breeders have trawled the trial beds for varieties with sumptuous plain, bi-coloured and fully double flowers. Modern hybrids are more resistant to rust than the old, cottage garden strains that rapidly lost their lower leaves to fungal infection. There are even dwarf strains of hollyhock although these seem rather a contradiction to me.

Thankfully most modern hybrids have retained the hollyhock’s naturally lofty stature making the plant a perfect choice for growing against a wall or at the back of the border. Treated as biennial or briefly perennial plants (they tend to be short-lived), hollyhocks have such an innate sense of place that it’s rare to see one growing where it ought not to. Such is their screening appeal that the seed strain known as ‘Indian Spring’ was once dubbed the ‘outhouse hollyhock’ because the flower stems were tall enough to hide anything that the householder didn’t wish to be seen. Happy growing in a pocket of soil at the foot of a wall or between paving stones there is surely room for a hollyhock in every garden.

My Top Picks from the Botanic Nursery’s Hollyhock Collection:

1) Alcea rosea ‘Nigra’ – the classic black heritage hollyhock. Dark and velvety like Tulipa ‘Queen of the Night’.

2) Alcea rosea ‘Spotlight Sunshine’ – a clear yellow cultivar which mingles well with whites, pinks and purples. The spotlight series of hollyhocks is the result of 18 years of German plant engineering and claims to be fully perennial.

3) Alcea rosea ‘Halo Apricot’ – this hollyhock made it into my Top 10 plants at Hampton Court back in 2012. The Halo series was introduced by seed merchants Thompson and Morgan. Each hybrid has attractively bi-coloured flowers. This is one, with it’s fig-like leaves, is of my favourites.

4) Alcea rosea ‘Appleblossom’ – developed by William Chater (1802-1885), Chater’s Doubles were the first reliably double hollyhocks available on the market and they are still going strong today. Appleblossom, as you might expect, is an attractive soft pink.

5) Alcea rosea ‘Créme de Cassis’ – another double, this time with ruffled flowers the colour of stewed blackcurrants rippled through cream. Delicious.

Open Weekend Practicalities

The garden will be open on Saturday August 1st and Sunday August 2nd from 12-4. Entrance £3. Well behaved adults, children and dogs are very welcome. Please be mindful of the garden’s size and that at times it may become quite cramped.

There will be refreshments in the garden, but in a town like Broadstairs there are lots of options from fine dining to fish and chips so perhaps combine your visit with a stroll along the seafront and a nice lunch.

There is no car parking immediately outside the house. The carpark off the High Street is your best bet: turn in between Cooke and Co. Estate Agents and The Fireplace Company. On Sunday there is unrestricted parking on some of the surrounding streets. From the station, The Watch House is about a 7 minute walk straight down the hill towards the sea.

The address of the Watch House is 7, Thanet Road, Broadstairs, CT10 1LF. It is immediately next door to Elite Fitness Studio which is well signposted around the town.

This year I’ve chosen trailing white begonias and Fuchsia ‘Tom West’ to adorn the outdoor kitchen shelves

There is probably something amiss in your life if Mondays are a day when you look forward to taking a rest. Mulling over why my weekends have become such a maelstrom of activity, I realise that, as usual, I have bitten off more than I can chew. I get to Sunday night tired, achy and slightly dissatisfied with my efforts outdoors. Surely this isn’t how a gentle pursuit like gardening should leave one feeling? Despite many years of experience, I can only conclude that I am suffering from the malady that prevents many people from embracing their gardens – that overwhelming feeling of not being able to get on top of things.

Hydrangea quercifolia is flowering for the first time

Planting up a host of pots in our new seaside garden seemed like a quick enough task, but did I consider the longer term maintenance? Of course not. The resultant watering and the worry of what might be drying out during the week has started to cause me serious concern. I am neglecting our main garden, open in less than three weeks, and am rushing at jobs in a fashion that might politely be described as multi-tasking, but would honestly be deemed haphazard. Meanwhile, back in London, I am discovering that a semi-ornamental vegetable garden needs more thought and planning than I have time for, plus there is more watering and a greenhouse full of stateless seedlings to tend to. My ambition when it comes to the garden knows no bounds, but by Sunday evening my body knows about it. Gardening under pressure is no fun.

Hostas, zantedeschias and lilies enjoying the gentle rain this week

Consequently a few days of wet weather have come as an enormous relief. There have even been mornings when I haven’t needed to go outside and water at the crack of dawn. Whilst not a ‘Get out of Jail Free’ card for pots and tubs, longer periods of rain do at least take care of the borders. And, who knows, if the rain continues it may create a long enough interlude for me to open the slithery mound of gardening magazines on the coffee table, or even to flick through the myriad bulb catalogues that have dropped onto the doormat.

Lilium ‘Red Velvet’

Alas, I know this will never happen, just as I know I am unlikely to temper my enthusiasm when it comes to new growing opportunities. I will always be a martyr to my garden and will probably never take the time I should to just sit and enjoy the fruits of my labour. The rain is due to stop tomorrow and the hot weather will return, just in time for another weekend.

Watering, rained off for now!

The stage is finally set for our open weekend on August 1st and 2nd. Any changes I make from now on will appear too obvious, so it’s simply a case of deadheading, sweeping and watering to maintain the status quo. The pressure is now on the cast – the dahlias, gingers, agapanthus and fuchsias – to remember their lines and put on a memorable show.

The company that makes up our seaside garden may be small, but there is always room for new cast members. I should operate a one-in, one-out policy, but this normally works out as two-in, one-out. Winter does a good casting job for me, weeding out plants that are too demanding and promoting others to lead roles, but I have become increasingly intolerant of anything that just plods along without ever shining. In a confined space, every plant needs to work doubly hard. So out has gone Dianella tasmanica, which was wonderful for a couple of years before looking dreary and unhappy for the last five. Requiring something with lance-like foliage in its place, I acquired three plants of Crocosmia ‘Hellfire’ from Madrona Nursery last weekend. Planted in our raised borders the vermillion flowers are already looking ten times better than the Tasmanian flax lily ever did, although I shall miss its evergreen foliage. Nearby, Euphorbia mellifera was simply too large for the garden, even with regular pruning (which it disliked), and its departure has made way for lots of new treasures.

Plenty of green in the garden this weekend

This week I recruited three cracking new starlets from Jungle Seeds: Hedychium yunnanense, Hedychium densiflorum ‘Sorung’ and Colocasia esculenta ‘Illustris’. They arrived in splendid condition and I was delighted to find Hedychium yunnanense blooming straight out of the box. The perfume of the flowers after nightfall is sensational: the moths are in for a treat.

Hedychium yunnanense has powerfully scented flowers

No flowers yet on Hedychium densiflorum ‘Sorung’, but if this cultivar is as strong a performer as ‘Stephen’ (which is currently 6ft tall and counting) then it should do well for me. I can’t wait to experience those prawn-pink flowers

Hedychium densiflorum ‘Sorung’ (Photo: The Exotic Plant Co.)

The last newbie is Colocasia esculenta ‘Illustris’, a plant with designs on stardom. Also know as taro, Colocasias are foliage plants which can end the summer with leaves 3ft long. It’s unlikely mine will reach those proportions this year, but even at 1ft long the leaves are quite stunning. They will bring new shape and texture to the row of pots near the front door. Colocasias like to be moist but not wet and have display better leaf colour in semi-shade, so regular watering will be needed.

The leaves of Colocasia esculenta ‘Illustris’ can reach 3ft in length

It would be nice to think I could now take my front row seat and get ready for the show, but no such luck. There are posters to put up, guest rooms to prepare and catering supplies to buy in, not to mention serving ice cream in the interval. Now that the stage is set I feel a great deal more content, let’s just hope storm and pestilence don’t bring down the curtain before it’s even been raised!

Digitalis sceptrum and Crocosmia ‘Hellfire’

It’s a case of eat, sleep, work and repeat this week. The weekend cannot arrive soon enough. Considering what to write about tonight I realised that I had never shared the photos I’d taken at Chelsea of the ‘fleur du moment’ – bearded irises. It was not just Cayeux from France, but also Claire Austin, Kelways and Howard Nurseries celebrating these fabulous early summer blooms at the world’s premier flower show.

Unlike modern hybrids, Cedric Morris' seedlings display attractively 'off' colours such as butterscotch, puce, cream and burgundy

Cedric Morris’ seedlings display attractively ‘off’ colours such as butterscotch, puce, cream and mauve

Neither of our gardens are open or sunny enough for bearded irises, but this doesn’t prevent me from appreciating their marvellously flamboyant form and colour. Howard Nurseries presented a collection of Cedric Morris hybrids rescued from obscurity by former Sissinghurst Head Gardener Sarah Cook. These old varieties exhibit remarkable bruised, slightly ‘off’ colours that one can imagine the artist and plantsman relished. Before the Second World War, Cedric Morris was a renowned painter and breeder of irises, which he admired for their ‘elegance, pride and delicacy’. In 1940 he moved to Benton End in Suffolk, where he cultivated a garden inspired by Claude Monet’s at Giverny. He grew about 1,000 new iris seedlings every year, the best of which he named, many with names beginning ‘Benton’. Those that didn’t make the cut were sold at garden openings in aid of the Red Cross.

‘Iris Seedlings’ painted in 1943 by Sir Cedric Morris (copyright: Estate of Sir Cedric Morris)

Cedric Morris and his irises, back at Chelsea after a 50 year break

Cedric Morris and his irises, back at Chelsea after a 60 year break

As is the way of things, recent hybridisation has given rise to more compact plants with clearer coloured flowers, some with pronounced ruffles and picotee edges. I fell in love with Iris ‘Ceil Gris sur Poilly’ and I. ‘Lune et Soleil’ from Cayeux; I. ‘Parisian Dawn’ and I. ‘Ink Pattern’ shown by Claire Austin. They demonstrate that progress has not entirely been at the expense of finesse.

Iris ‘Ciel Gris sur Poilly’

Iris ‘Parisian Dawn’

Iris ‘Lune et Soleil’

There is a place in any warm sunny garden for bearded irises and an incredible range of colours and forms to choose from. Just follow these three golden rules and you’ll reap the rewards:

Irises like a well-drained soil. If you garden on clay, mound up the beds so the rhizomes don’t get too wet.
Feed plants once or twice a year with Growmore and sulphate of potash. Feed after flowering and also in March if you garden on impoverished soil.
Divide plants straight after flowering. Give them a position at the front of a border or better still in a brightly lit bed of their own – they don’t like competition from other plants.

Howard Nurseries’ display of Cedric Morris hybrids in an artist’s studio setting

I should have known better than to mention either of the words in the title of tonight’s post as, lo and behold, we were delivered a month’s rain on Friday and there’s been more of the same today. Both times the wet stuff was accompanied by gale-forced winds, first from the north (noisy, but not too troublesome) and then from the south (my worst nightmare). I was up at 2am, 4am and 6am on Saturday morning checking that nothing had been toppled by the monsoon. I then overslept and awoke to a garden strewn with leaves and looking rather tousled, but with no major damage done. Most plants appeared to have enjoyed the soaking, with the exception of the lilies which were hanging their pollen-smudged heads in shame.

Lilium 'African Queen' holds court in her jungle kingdom

Lilium ‘African Queen’ holds court in her rainy jungle kingdom

Cautleya, hedychium and roscoea don’t mind the rain and have so far avoided the attentions of snails. The foliage looks splendid for the lack of chomping, although I don’t take this for granted. Meanwhile vine weevils and caterpillars are doing a good job of wreaking pestilence, nibbling fuchsia leaves and disfiguring dahlia flowers nightly. The best form of control is a midnight patrol, complete with torch and paper in which to squash the ugly bugs. I have tried sprays and soil drenches, but nothing frees me from these two persistent pests like nocturnal hunting.

Cautleya spicata, one of the toughest tropicals I know

Driven inside by the rain I watched the garden get a good buffeting and wondered why I even bothered trying to sweep the terrace. I neatly organised all the NGS paraphernalia on the dining table in readiness for next weekend before returning to the fray to stake lilies, cannas and salvias. The weather was taking no prisoners and I ended the afternoon soaked through. With luck the weather will mellow though the week and reward us and our visitors with sunshine during our open weekend.

Did you manage to get anything done in the garden this weekend, or did you choose to snuggle up with a cup of tea and a good book instead?

A view of The Watch House garden from the passageway

… Whatever will be will be, as the song goes. I have reached a point now where all I can do is clean and tidy in preparation for our house guests. The garden is in good shape, although we could have done with warmer weather to coax some of the flowers into bloom. The forecast for the weekend is fine and dry, so we should be set fair. Meanwhile there will be plenty to share with our visitors – some splendid lilies, dahlias and agapanthus, added to which the garden smells incredible thanks to Trachelospermum jasminoides – a flawless sheet of sweetly fragrant white blossom.

Thank you in advance to Simon, Rachel, Jack, Scarlett, Beth, Dan, Nigel and James for volunteering to help, and of course to Alex (aka Him Indoors) for the bake-a-thon which is about to begin. We have a birthday, a wedding and more impending nuptials to celebrate, so it should be a fun few days.

We do hope you can come along and share our garden with us. For those who can’t there will be a full update on The Frustrated Gardener next week.

Planning a Visit

The Watch House garden will be open on Saturday August 1st and Sunday August 2nd from 12-4. Entrance £3. Well behaved adults, children and dogs are very welcome. The garden is small, so at times it may become quite busy. Refreshments, will be served in our new garden at No.3 Polegate Cottage. Please make time for some tea and cake!

There is no car parking immediately outside either house. The carpark off Broadstairs High Street is your best bet: turn in between Cooke and Co. Estate Agents and The Fireplace Company. On Sunday there is unrestricted parking on some of the surrounding streets. From the station, The Watch House is about a 7 minute walk straight down the hill towards the sea. The address of the Watch House is 7, Thanet Road, Broadstairs, CT10 1LF. It is immediately next door to Elite Fitness Studio which is well signposted around the town.

I must have done something very good in a previous life (heaven knows I am struggling to be good in this one) to deserve the weather we enjoyed this weekend. I would describe it as nigh-on perfect: temperatures in the early twenties, a pleasant breeze and just a few wisps of cloud high in the sky. Saturday started as it meant to go on, with visitors queuing up before opening time. At times the garden was so packed that head doorman Simon had to ask people to walk around the block before coming in. The constant stream continued all day, until we’d reached a record admittance of 120. It was lovely to welcome so many return visitors as well as lots of new ones from Kent and beyond. Garden lovers are a special breed of people; so inquisitive and appreciative of other’s efforts.

Pots on the front door steps

Sunday was an altogether more relaxed affair. Visitors trickled in steadily, allowing them plenty of time to get a real sense of the space. Entering the garden along a scented tunnel of Trachelospermum jasminoides I heard audible gasps as people emerged into a sunlit oasis of flower and foliage. Propped in a shady corner by the outdoor kitchen (that’s me in the red shorts below) I had time to explain how the garden was constructed and how it has changed since it was first conceived. Our main challenge has been adapting to the increasing shade. This isn’t in itself a problem, but does mean that some plants don’t perform quite as well as they once did. We try new things and move on, making the best of the sheltered conditions we’ve created for ourselves.

I enjoyed a long chat with two ladies from Deal who are organising a group of six gardens which will open for the NGS in 2016. I wished them lots of luck and thanked them for helping to put East Kent on the gardening map. We need more gardens to open in this part of the county, especially in Thanet.

First meeting of the Lyonothamnus Appreciation Society (membership: 7)

First meeting of the Lyonothamnus Appreciation Society (LAS) Membership: 7

This year it was our trees that garnered most attention, perhaps because of the cool shade they offered on a hot day, or maybe because of the relative variety we’ve crammed into a small space. The ferny foliage of Lyonothamnus was much admired, as was the tree’s reddish bark. A few visitors even noticed Pseudopanax chathamica, a tree which grows at a snail’s pace and is yet to convince me of its natural beauty. This tree does however tolerate everything that the east coast throws at it, whilst remaining unflinchingly evergreen.

There was much discussion about growing dahlias in pots (my only option) and getting agapanthus to flower well. With dahlias, it’s a case of choosing the right varieties and I have yet to find any variety better than D. ‘Amercian Dawn’ in this respect. It just adores pot culture and I adore it back. With agapanthus it’s a simple recipe: sun, restricted root-run and the right feeding. I use tomato food from April until October or professional agapanthus food when I can get my hands on it.

Sunday’s top team: Simon, Alex, Nigel, Rachel and Scarlett

The tea garden at No. 3 turned out to be a masterstroke, allowing us to entertain 8 at a time. My much ridiculed purchase of a tea urn turned out to be fully justified and we went through tea and cakes like the Ritz on a Sunday afternoon. Lemon loaf with buttercream was top of the pops as was the seed cake. Naturally I had to try them all and my vote went to the lemon cups; but then I do like a good fairy cake! Full waitress service was provided on both days by the lovely Scarlett Wardell, ably supported by Beth, Dan and Rachel.

Scarlett Wardell, waitress extraordinaire!

For the second year running we raised just short of £800 (I might just make up the difference myself), which for a garden measuring just 20ft x 30ft I consider to be quite an achievement. So many visitors told me that they regularly read and enjoy this blog which was wonderful to hear. One lady commented that she felt a little shy about leaving comments, but I do hope she will now that she’s met me. We will be opening The Watch House again next year, hopefully with the beginnings of our new garden on show, so do keep an eye out for the dates.

Dahlias and Brodiaea in the tea garden

Little survives of Sir Moses Montefiore’s East Cliff Lodge, a once magnificent mansion and garden straddling the boundary between Broadstairs and Ramsgate in Kent. The grounds of the former Gothic house, demolished in 1954, are now a public park providing valuable green space between the two seaside resorts. The only buildings that remain are a fairly unremarkable stable block and a particularly fine Italianate glasshouse. The grade II* listed structure, which along with other buildings is leased by an architectural practice from the local council, is a delight and quite unexpected in this otherwise leafy park. The delicate, curved outline of the glasshouse is beautifully fashioned from iron and bronze and glazed with ‘fish scale’ glass panes diminishing in size towards the top of the structure. There is nothing remotely Italian about the building, it just so happened that the garden created in front of it was centred on a fountain that Sir Moses Montefiore had imported from Italy. Therefore by association the structure was described as ‘Italianate’.

Today, the elegant Italianate Glasshouse is home to vines and succulents

A prettier glasshouse on this scale it’s hard to imagine, but this year something extraordinary has happened to temporarily alter its elegant silhouette. A specimen of Agave americana, moved from a nearby properly about 40 years ago, has formed an enormous 30ft tall flower spike which is now blossoming. This has necessitated the removal of a handful of glass panes to allow the enormous stalk through, so as not to damage the rest of the historic structure. The result is quite breathtaking and has been drawing crowds from near and far.

The flower stalk of Agave americana has been deftly guided through a gap in the glass panes

The common name ‘century plant’ leads many people to suppose that Agave americana flowers only after 100 years, but this is something of a horticultural myth. In most instances plants have flowered by the time they reach 30 years old, making the Italianate Glasshouse’s plant pretty ancient, but not a centenarian. However, in this neck of the woods such details are overlooked in favour of a good press line. And, what’s more, the agave that’s flowering now has an identical twin, which must surely be due to flower soon. Speculation is rife.

Looking up at the flower spike through the fine glass roof

The agave will die after blooming, but not before producing offsets which will one day provide entertainment to the future residents of East Kent. Waiting in the wings is a seven year old pretender which was cut away from the ageing agave before flowering.

The leaves of the ancient agave have grown long and lush in the protection of the glasshouse

For now though, plant spectators can enjoy this rare horticultural happening from the comfort of a specially created tea garden situated where Sir Moses’ Italian fountain once stood. There’s nothing American or Italian on the menu, just good English breakfast tea served from mismatched china, home made cakes and freshly baked scones accompanied by a rather unexpected view.

The Italianate Glasshouse is open to the public from 9am to 5pm until September 30th 2015.

The agave’s canary yellow flowers are beginning to bloom this month

Regular readers of this blog will know that I am a big fan of echiums. I love their jewel-coloured flowers, the way they attract bees to the garden and their incredible range of stature; from sprawling Echium tuberculatum to sky rocketing Echium pininana. Slowly but surely I am increasing my collection in our coastal garden, adding E. gentianoides, E. wildpretii and E. candicans this year. One species, our native viper’s bugloss (Echium vulgare) is missing from the line-up. The reason? There’s more than enough of it already on the shores of East Kent and I doubt very much that I could grow it better than it grows itself.

Viper’s bugloss shares many attributes with its Mediterranean cousins and may indeed have originated in North Africa. The plants form a rosette of coarse, bluish-green leaves which give rise to hairy spikes of gentian-blue, funnel-shaped flowers from May to September. Viper’s bugloss favours disturbed chalk grassland and shingle beaches, rubbing shoulders with fennel, red valerian and mallow. The shoreline between Sandwich and Kingsdown in Kent is festooned with this handsome plant right now, its intense flowers alive with insects including buff-tailed and red-tailed bumblebees, large skipper and painted lady butterflies, burnet moths, honey bees and red mason bees. Honey made by bees that have feasted on echium pollen, which is violet-blue, is said to taste delicious.

Historically, viper’s bugloss was believed to cure snake bites and to protect people from being bitten by reptiles. This could well be because the open, parched, wild habitats the plant enjoys are the same as those frequented by snakes.

A biennial, viper’s bugloss is perfectly easy to cultivate from seed (some might say a little too easy) provided you can offer it chalky soil and sharp drainage. Personally I think the lapis-lazuli flowers look best emerging from a sun-drenched shingle strand, set against an azure summer sky. A litte touch of The Med on our cold, windswept shores.

The number of occasions during the day when I feel I am starting to lose my marbles is increasing steadily, to a point where I genuinely wonder if senility might be imminent. I have always been a list-writer but have reached a stage where noting down ‘to dos’ has become a necessity rather than a safety net. Evernote, one of the only really useful apps I’ve ever dowloaded, has become my surrogate memory, holding everything from directions to Christmas card lists, online shopping receipts to restaurant bookings. Plant lists languish up there in Evernote’s ether, recording treasures I’ve bought or coveted in other people’s gardens. And it’s just as well.

I returned to London on Sunday night to discover two rectangular planters I thought I’d filled with pink lilies resplendent with gilt-edged, red blooms. I had convinced myself for 4 months that the bulbs I’d planted were Lilium speciosum var. rubrum and thoughtfully underplanted them with pink Gaura lindheimerii. I will never know if the two shades of pink would have been a marriage made in heaven, but I do now appreciate that gold, ruby-red and blush are not perfect bedfellows.

Evernote reveals the bulbs I’d bought were in fact Lilium ‘Scheherezade’. I suspect I’d selected them for our coastal garden where fiery colours reign supreme, but then wrongly located them in the flurry of spring bulb planting. Despite being incongruous where I’ve planted them, these lilies have been splendid from the moment they pushed through the ground: tall, strong and unsullied by snails and weevils. This is because Lilium ‘Scheherezade’ is a tetraploid ‘Orienpet’ hybrid, which basically means it’s a lily on steroids (‘Orienpet’ is a horrid blending of the two categories ‘Oriental’ and ‘Trumpet’). L. ‘Scheherezade’ was bred by LeVern Friemann in Washington, USA by crossing two equally beefed-up hybrids called L. ‘Thunderbolt’ and L. ‘Black Beauty’. Scheherezade’s Stallone-esque genes mean that she is capable of reaching 6ft with each stem carrying tens of flowers rather than the normal 6-8.

In their first year my lilies are already statuesque, if not quite the perfect shade. In comparison to the strength of the plants the fragrance emitted by the waxy flowers is surprisingly light and fresh – great for those who are not fans of more potent-smelling lilies. I can only compare the scent to a particularly delicate rose.

Come the end of the year I will need to decide whether to relocate the bulbs or work around their bold colouring. Whatever I decide, I had better note it down somewhere.

I’d love to hear if I’m the only one that forgets what I’ve planted where and what schoolboy / schoolgirl errors you’ve made in your garden this year.

Royal blue and orange, canary yellow and purple, candy pink and red, fresh lime and magenta – our coastal garden is packed with clashing colours during August. I love, cherish and celebrate them all. Whether the combinations are technically right or a little bit wrong, who cares? They are fleeting moments that perhaps only I will experience. I share them with you in the spirit of openness, not to attract ridicule but to demonstrate what fun playing with colour can be. My only tip is that green is a great neutraliser. Use plenty of it and your colours will sing, like notes on a sheet of music paper.

(I hope you enjoy my homespun video. I am hoping practice will eventually make perfect. For now Monty Don’s job is safe.)

In the garden this week, August 16th 2015

I am on a course this week in the salubrious environs of Hunton Park in Hertfordshire. Sadly the once magnificent grounds leave much to be desired, but I am not here to learn about gardens. The course is teaching me to be a hot-shot negotiator and, despite grave misgivings, I am really rather enjoying myself. The formalities last for 12 hours a day and we’re forbidden to take calls or open e-mails during that time. It’s all rather strict, yet liberating at the same time. I haven’t spent this long without using WiFi since I went to Bhutan.

Quite how my new found negotiation skills will ‘land’ with Him Indoors and our prospective builder I do not know. I feel sure Him Indoors has no desire for his partner to return any more assertive than when he departed. The builder won’t know what’s hit him.

But our tutor has no clue when it comes to negotiating with plants. I doubt he’s ever had to coax a ginger plant into bloom, or coerce a climber to grow in the right direction, let alone persuade cuttings to root and seeds to germinate. I do know for certain that I couldn’t teach him how to in three days, three weeks or even three months. Thank heavens you cannot reason with plants, it would take all the fun out of gardening.

Today’s images have nothing whatsoever to do with the course, they are simply to remind me that there’s more to life than negotiation.

A sun-soaked stroll along the beach between Broadstairs and Ramsgate, picking up chalk pebbles and gnarled flints, ultimately leads us back to The Italianate Glasshouse in King George VI park. Through the delicate structure the solitary panicle of canary yellow blossom belonging to Agave americana still lurches defiantly into the sky. A thick blanket of white cloud now obscures the heavens. The first flowers, having opened just three weeks ago, are already turning brown and collapsing. The curious spectacle puts me in mind of Donald Trump’s wig stand.

Inside it’s a different story. The agave’s thick, plumptious leaves have started to sag downwards, flailing helplessly, pock-marked, yellowing and puckered near the central rosette. It’s as if something were sucking the very life out of the mighty plant. The death knell has sounded and the agave has begun its slow, ugly death.

Rain begins, coursing precisely down the armadillo form of the glasshouse, cascading from the apex of one pane to the top of the next in neat rivulets. It is as if the building were weeping for the plant which it has protected for the last 40 years.

Nearby a small offset no more than 2ft across languishes in a brightly glazed pot, witnessing its parent’s fate. A reminder of how the mighty fall and how life goes on.

The Italianate Glasshouse is open to the public from 9am to 5pm until September 30th 2015.

Like fry through the holes in a fisherman’s net, certain gardens I visit manage to escape being written about on my blog. It’s not that these gardens are too small, simply that the day’s catch is so large that I can’t get to them in a timely manner. The gardens at Walmer Castle are a case in point, an oversight I am determined to correct today.

Walmer Castle is one of the squat, utilitarian castles built by Henry VIII to protect England from invasion by the French and the Holy Roman Empire in the 16th Century. Their blocky forms line the south coast from Pendennis in Cornwall to Walmer, Deal and Sandown in Kent. These fortresses were never really called upon for a major defence of the realm, although they were built to last. Their low profile made them hard to attack from the sea but didn’t afford them good looks. From the air Walmer is considerably more attractive to look at, with a circular keep surrounded by a narrow courtyard. The fort is protected by a concentric outer wall from which four curved bastions project to form the shape of a clover leaf. Today the moat is dry, filled by an emerald hoop of lawn edged with exuberant shrubs.

Walmer Castle is distinguished from other Tudor forts by its role as the official residence of the Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, a largely ceremonial role which has been bestowed upon the great and the good, including the Duke of Wellington, Lord Curzon, Winston Churchill and the late Queen Mother. Few Lord Wardens demonstrated any great enthusiasm for residing permanently at Walmer (the Queen Mother managed just 3 days each year in July); not surprising given the castle was built for defence not gracious living.

After the castle’s effectiveness as a military outpost had waned, successive Lord Wardens made attempts at gentrification, layers of which can still be admired thanks to the excellent efforts of English Heritage. The juxtaposition between monumentally thick walls, tiny windows and fine furnishings is quite startling. The men’s lavatory is still in a wooden structure directly overhanging the moat.

Unsurprisingly a garden was not part of the Tudor master plan but developed with subsequent efforts to make Walmer a comfortable home. It was William Pitt and his neice Lady Hester Stanhope that began to create the layout visitors enjoy today in the late 1700’s and early 1800’s. By 1859 Walmer boasted an established shelter belt of mature trees, lawns, kitchen and walled gardens and a paddock, now a wildflower garden. In the second half of the 19th century Earl Granville commissioned a gravel walk west of the castle now known as the Broadwalk, flanked by herbaceous borders and great yew hedges.

Walmer’s most recent addition in 1997 was the Queen Mother’s Garden (below), designed by Penelope Hobhouse to commemorate the presiding Lord Warden’s 95th birthday.

There are two highlights for me in Walmer’s gardens. The first is not the enormous double herbaceous border flanking the Broadwalk, recently replanted in the style of Gertrude Jekyll, but the hedge that protects them from the elements. The hedge has been allowed to assume the lumpy-bumpy form of a dropped blancmange, which must be a nightmare to clip but is very charming to look at. The misshapen yews lend the garden a sense of antiquity befitting such a venerable castle. The second highlight is the kitchen garden, in particular the glasshouse range which is beautifully maintained and always packed with exciting plants.

Star of the show in early August is Fuchsia boliviana (above) dripping with huge trusses of carmine flowers. I am green with envy each and every time I visit. The Queen Mother’s Garden, although well planned and symmetrical, just doesn’t do it for me.

The kitchen and cutting gardens are always impeccably presented and bright with flowers. Set against a bright summer sky and the castle’s solid grey outline they positively effervesce. English Heritage sometimes feels like a poor relation to the National Trust, entrusted with so many magnificent properties, but at Walmer they have created a real jewel in their crown.

Find out more about Walmer Castle on the English Heritage website.

I began The Frustrated Gardener as an experiment. I wanted to challenge myself to keep up with technology, rekindle my deep-seated love of plants and create something beautiful and interesting for others to enjoy. Unintentionally it’s become a record of what I did when, and a means of connecting with hundreds of talented gardeners and plant lovers. Since 2012 I’ve chosen a new theme every year to keep the site fresh and maintain my own enthusiasm for blogging. Developing a good blog involves a lot of work, so it has to be fun and rewarding. After much deliberation, I have decided the time has come to change again.

Browsing through the long list of WordPress themes one stood out, a newspaper style called ‘Patch’. It uses algorithms to decide the best layout for my content. So far I am impressed by the lively design and how older post have translated seamlessly into the new format. The only tiny niggle is that the theme splits headers in awkward places, leaving fragments of a word on a separate line. I am sure this can be sorted when I get the hang of it.

A new theme always feels like a fresh start, providing me with the impetus to raise my standards and explore new subjects. Even with so many bloggers using Reader to keep up to date, I like to give those that visit my web page the best possible experience. I hope that Patch will do that. I’d love to hear what you think of the new look and if it’s been a positive change in your opinion. You can be sure it’s only the appearance that’s altered. For better or for worse The Frustrated Gardener remains the same as ever.

Photos: Ensete ventricosum ‘Maurellii’ (Abyssinian Banana) Walmer Castle Gardens

Clematis vitalba: Old man’s beard, traveller’s joy, virgin’s bower, ladies’ bower, love vine, traveller’s ivy.

When the feathery seed heads of Clematis vitalba start to appear in the hedgerows, one knows autumn can’t be far away. Walking along the clifftops yesterday I observed this rampant climber piling over railings and smothering less vigorous neighbours. In folklore, old man’s beard (as I prefer to know it) was associated with the Devil because it did his bidding by trailing into other plants and choking them. In New Zealand, where old man’s beard has made itself a little too much at home, this is a trait that has rendered it ‘clematis non grata’. On the other hand Clematis vitalba is also connected with the Virgin Mary and God because of the white, feathery appearance of its seed heads.

The relationship with garden clematis is clear to see in the clinging stems, trifoliate leaves and simple flowers. The petals (actually sepals) are shrunken and recurved making the central boss of creamy stamens appear exaggerated. The tiny, almond-scented blooms are the colour of Jersey cream and borne in profusion from July until September. They are followed by unripened seed heads; gently hairy, pods flailing like a demented octopus. These quickly fluff-up to create the feathery white tangle which accounts for the name old man’s beard.

Despite its enormous vigour, Clematis vitalba does have a place in larger, wilder gardens in the UK. The plants prefer an alkaline soil (hence the proliferation along our chalk cliffs and railway embankments) and a moist climate. If you can offer both then be sure you have room for a climber that can extend over 50ft and seed itself with abandon. It can be grown from wild-collected seed and I have never seen a plant carry any kind of disease.

Like many wildflowers, Clematis vitalba has had several uses through the ages. The stems were used to make rope during the Stone Age and were valued for weaving baskets and binding sheaves of grain because mice would not gnaw through them. Clematis vitalba is also considered to be an effective cure for stress and nerves. Be warned – it’s not a plant to be consumed unless you know what you’re doing with it and can be poisonous. The French name for old man’s beard is ‘herbe aux gueux’ – the beggar’s or rascal’s herb. Beggars deliberately used the plant’s acrid sap to irritate their skin. The resultant sore and ulcerated look was said to induce sympathy in, and a donation from, passers by. Don’t try this one at home!

Seeds of old man’s beard, should you not find a wild supply, are available from Chiltern Seeds priced at £1.75

Streptocarpus saxorum: False African violet, Cape primrose.

Streptocarpus and I have an on/off love affair. I buy them from the garden centre looking fresh and full of promise; sometimes they stay that way until the fatal day when I give them a drop more water than they would like. Then, taking no account of the months, occasionally years of TLC I have bestowed upon them, they go terminally limp and refuse to recover.

I now operate a strict once a week watering regime, allowing the plants to become completely dry between soakings. This works until a house guest or the cleaner takes pity and administers a deadly dose of H2O. Being creatures of the woodland floor streptocarpus dislike drafts and direct sunlight as much as overwatering. So, unless you are very green fingered, or live in the Drakensberg Mountains from whence they hail, you are going to need to make an effort to keep them alive.

My experience is that streptocarpus will let you know when they are happy. My finest specimen, a hybrid called ‘Albatross’, lives on the sill of a north-facing window in a spare bedroom. I visit it to water and deadhead once a week and in return I get a long succession of white flowers with acid-yellow throats. The leaves occasionally grow so long that they hang half way down to the floor. I dare not move it as even the slightest change of environment has put paid to other cherished plants.

I thought all Streptocarpus required mollycoddling until I stumbled upon Streptocarpus saxorum. In truth I didn’t know what I had stumbled upon for about three years as I couldn’t identify it at first. Every summer I would stay in a German castle on a business trip, and there the window boxes in the courtyard would be filled with a plant possessed of soft, felted, green leaves, bearing lilac flowers on long wiry stems. They had the appearance of little butterflies fluttering in a breeze.

Fast forward to spring 2015 and I spotted pots of the very same plant at our local garden centre, tucked away on the bottom shelf of a Dutch trolley. I snapped them up, took them home and then worried about what their identity might be. I eventually established they were Streptocarpus saxorum, which by forming leafy stems rather than sprouting from a basal rosette makes them streptocarpellas rather than a streptocarpus. To me, both sound more like bacteria than flowering plants.

Recalling the ideal conditions at the German castle, I planted my streptocarpellas in window boxes and placed them on the outside sill of our neighbour’s garage window. There, sheltered and shaded from the sun for all but an hour every day they have prospered, quietly forming bushy plants attended to by a troupe of dancing butterfly blooms. Like my indoor streptocarpus they are watered just once a week by me, and by rain in between times. Apart from that they seem easy going and disease free. Even snails don’t seem especially interested.

I will take cuttings before the winter sets in, as the plants are not frost hardy. In the meantime all I have to do is deadhead regularly and feed with a high potash fertiliser every fortnight.

Streptocarpus saxorum is a wonderful choice for windowboxes or containers in cool, shady areas and deserves to be more widely grown. Unlike its indoor cousins it is no trouble at all.

Streptocarpus saxorum is available from Dibleys Nurseries, holders of the National Collection of Streptocarpus.

“Some Like it Hot …

Afternoon Delight

Jolly Hollyhocks

My Top Picks from the Botanic Nursery’s Hollyhock Collection:

All Systems Go!

Open Weekend Practicalities

Rained Off

The Stage is Set

An Eye for Irises

Storm and Pestilence

Que Sera Sera ….

Planning a Visit

The Watch House NGS Open Weekend 2015

Agave Aggravation at the Italianate Glasshouse

Daily Flower Candy: Viper’s Bugloss

Daily Flower Candy: Lilium ‘Scheherezade’

In The Garden This Week: Clashing Colours

On Course

Agave Agony

Walmer Castle Gardens

New Look, Same Frustrated Gardener

Daily Flower Candy: Clematis vitalba

Clematis vitalba: Old man’s beard, traveller’s joy, virgin’s bower, ladies’ bower, love vine, traveller’s ivy.

Daily Flower Candy: Streptocarpus saxorum

Streptocarpus saxorum: False African violet, Cape primrose.