Gardens
In spite of all temptations
Ursula Buchan
Last spring, whilst walking on one of the fells by the side of Ullswater, I found a primrose with yellow and green variegated leaves. Although these looked as if they had been inexpertly sprayed with weed- killer, I nevertheless badly wanted that plant. I was experiencing that sensation well known to all plant hunters: the desire to possess something strange or rare. Hav- ing been brought up not to pick most wild flowers, let alone dig them up, this caused a mighty but ultimately unsuccessful tussle with my conscience. I searched round for some means of uprooting it. I had reck- oned, however, without the stern, unbend- ing probity of my husband. With many a backward glance, I left the primrose behind, to blush unseen by all but the occa- sional rambler and incurious sheep.
I wondered how the great plant collec- tors of the past would have behaved, before everyone worried so much about conserva- tion. Would Reginald Farrer, for example, have hesitated over an unusual primrose, except to admire it in extravagant terms, before getting out his trowel?
Born in 1880 into a Yorkshire landown- ing family related to the Sitwells, Farrer developed two rock gardens and an alpine plant nursery in the garden of his home at Ingleborough Hall and spent much of the rest of his short life on long collecting trips: in the European Alps, in Tibet and Kansu, China, and in Burma. Funded mainly by his family and by moneyed gardeners, who expected seed in return for their invest- ment, he also supplied botanic gardens (such as the one at Edinburgh) with seed, 'There's no such thing as safe sex.' plants and some dried specimens. He died a lonely, courageous death while on an ill- fated collecting trip to the frontier ranges of Upper Burma in 1920.
What set him apart from other gentle- man 'amateurs' with a scientific bent and independent means was his assured literary talent. He wrote five absorbing, witty and sometimes thrilling books about his travels and collections, as well as several on rock gardening. The most impressive of these was his monumental two-volume The English Rock Garden, published in 1919. It is still prized by alpine enthusiasts — as much, it must be said, for the humour and extravagance of the prose as for the infor- mation contained therein. If he overwrote at times, it was out of exuberance and a desire to entertain. His approach was, for an untrained botanist, quite rigorous, yet he retained the layman's urge to be under- stood; his descriptions of plants are accu- rate, yet often truly poetic. Best of all, he could communicate his extraordinary affin- ity with mountains and their flowers, and so transport his readers to the 'high and lonely places'. He also introduced some lovely garden plants; amongst them Vibur- num farreri, Buddleia altemifolia, BuddIda crispa var. farreri and Meconopsis quintu- plinerva — as well as a great many which have proved impossible to keep in cultiva- tion for long, such as Saxifraga florulenta and Farreria pretiosa.
These days we may feel happier with the idea of plant-hunting expeditions, which are led by professional botanists working out of an international network of scientific institutions, rather than those of nursery- men or private individuals collecting on their own account or only loosely for the benefit of botanic gardens. Nevertheless, botanists and gardeners alike owe Farrer an enormous debt: not only for his intro- ductions and for his books, hut also because his posthumous influence and rep- utation prompted the foundation of the Alpine Garden Society in 1929. Now, at last, there is a book (well, a collection of essays) about this fascinating, complex man. Reginald Farrer„ Dalesman, Plant- hunter and Gardener, edited by John filing- worth and Jane Routh, is published by the Centre for North-west Regional Studies, Lancaster University (obtainable from the Centre at £4.95, including postage).
Ingleborough Hall, where Farrer lived, is not open to the public, but there is some consolation to be had in walking the four- mile 'Reginald Farrer Trail' which begins at the beautiful Dales village of Clapham and passes alongside Ingleborough Lake and the gorge, where some of Farrer's plantings can still be seen.
By the time this is published, I shall be in the Alps, not far from Farrer's stamping grounds, and, I hope, doing some gentle botanising. It may come as a relief to you to know, however, that all I shall be taking with me is a field guide, a hand lens, a cam- era — and my husband.
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