Gardens
All things to all men
Ursula Buchan
Ice-cold 7-Up, the singing of Janet Bak- er, the Radio 3 cricket commentary, Lincoln Cathedral, Roxy Music's Greatest Hits, the novels of J.L. Carr: each one of us, if we are not incurably discontented and especially if we have been encouraged since childhood to count our blessings, is instantly capable of compiling a list of `pleasures that can never cloy'. Firmly in the top five of my horticultural selection I would place the sweet pea.
The reason I include it is that, unlike the poor unfortunate hybrid tea rose and despite it having been cultivated in this country for nearly three centuries, no one has yet succeeded in breeding out the scent. When plants are hybridised in an attempt to attain progeny of a greater size or exhibiting a particularly desirable char- acteristic, scent is often the first positive quality to be lost. This has, in almost all cases, not happened with the sweet pea, although a nod is as good as a poke in the ribs to a stupid gardener who sees in a catalogue (as appears in Unwins' latest edition in connection with one of their best new introductions) the legend `not much scent'. I suspect one would need a hooter the size of Cyrano de Bergerac's to catch a whiff of the perfume. It is true that the old Grandiflora varieties, with paradoxically smaller flowers than the more recent culti- vars , had a stronger smell than we expect from modern varieties. Nevertheless, de- spite all the in- and out-breeding for wavy petals, long stems, and evenly spaced flowers, scent and sweet peas still go together like love and marriage — well, a horse and carriage anyway.
The sweet pea, correctly although never known as Lathyrus odoratus, comes close to perfection because it satisfies the lean- ings and aspirations of all sorts and condi- tions of men. The idle gardener will dis- cover sweet peas to be ridiculously easy to grow and almost trouble-free, provided only that there is a mesh fence or netting for them to climb up. At the same time the meticulous perfectionist can cultivate them, with a great deal of fuss, bother, argument, and commentary, on what is known as the cordon system; that is, with the stems tied onto bamboo canes, their laterals (side-shoots) and tendrils regularly pinched out, their roots firmly in a rich and generous mixture of well-dug soil, well- rotted manure, and bonemeal. In this method, when the shoots reach the top of the canes, they are untied, laid on the ground, and their stems retied to the next-but-one cane. This is the best way to get them to grow long, straight stems such as are needed for the show-bench and also, if the truth be told, for good flower arrangements (there are few flower vases which will happily accommodate bendy stems). They may be sown in autumn under glass, tended all winter for an early flowering outside, or they can be plonked in the open ground where they are to flower in late spring, with no more prepa- ration than that required to soften their hard seed-coats by placing them in a jar of water overnight.
The varieties best suited to the cordon system grow to between six and ten feet tall but, for the lazy or busy, there exist the `Knee-hi' cultivars (only three feet tall) which require just the placing of a few sticks around them as support. The irre- trievably indolent may like to grow the `Snoopea' sorts (the sweet pea has been the innocent victim of some rather whimsical naming) which can be sown where they are to flower in the front of borders and require no attention at all.
Sweet peas may be bought in seed mixtures which will yield up pinks, car- mines, reds, mauves, creams and whites; these are surprisingly pretty (which is more than can be said for the results of a mixed packet of begonia or busy lizzie seed). For those whose interest in names is as great as their passion for beauty, or who wish their flower bowls to match the colour of the drawing-room curtains, there are dozens of named cultivars currently available from seed firms. One of the best, although I know not to which nuptials its name refers, is the pure white and strong-growing `Royal Wedding'.
If sweet peas do have a fault, and I scarcely will admit it, it is that their petals are not entirely weather-resistant. Some weeks ago, while judging at a local flower show, well-known for the range and excel- lence of its sweet pea exhibits, I was struck by how few entries there were and those that there were showed spotting on the petals as a result of the rain in the previous few days. The hybrid teas, those stalwarts of the flower garden, had fared no better, mind you, and the sweet pea has more excuse being infinitely more delicate in appearance.
If the breeders could do just a little more about that, without, in the process, forfeit- ing the flower's charm, its quality of innocence and gaiety, then I (and the Oundle Horticultural Society) would have one more blessing to count.
Previous page
