Gardens
Ii faut cultiver
notre jardin
Ursula Buchan
Ihave wished, when burying my daffodil bulbs in the ground this month, that I might bury my head along with them. An understandable reaction in these troubled times — and one shared by several of my friends (especially the women). Mention the future of Britain and Europe and our ears go back like the petals of Narcissus cyclamineus. In this unreconstructed house- hold, worrying about the legal validity of subsidiarity is definitely man's work.
Unable to escape the avalanche of 'news', I too have had my anxieties, even if I choose to dissipate them in enthusiastic leaf-raking rather than by growling my way through the Sunday newspapers. Conscious that it is easy to get things thoroughly out of perspective, I have taken to reading, as a corrective, old issues of the Journal of the Royal Horticultural Society from the second world war. Having been born years after hostilities ended, I do not know what really bad times are, so this has proved salutary.
The Journal has always been both symbol and expression of the horticultural world at large, but hardly of the world beyond. What immediately struck me was how well people appeared to be able to forget inter- national troubles in writing about camellias flowering in Cornwall or the results of the delphinium trials at Wisley. But, if it was escapism, it was escapism of the most posi- tive kind.
Initially, the war seems to have come as an unexpected shock to the RHS. There is no mention of European difficulties in the September 1939 issue (Germany invaded Poland on the 1st and war was declared on the 3rd) — the Great Autumn Show, due to be held in the middle of that month, was
cancelled only at very short notice. Howev- er, the tone of the October Journal (the British Expeditionary Force was landing in France) was already upbeat. The Secretary could write: 'The Council is very anxious that the necessary increase of vegetable crops shall not entirely displace the orna- mental aspect of our gardens. The mental refreshment and recreation which flowers can give us all will be a notable contribu- tion to the national spirit.... '
By May 1942 (the Japanese took Man- dalay on the 2nd), the cardboard covers of the Journal had been abandoned and it had shrunk in size and number of pages. Yet, despite paper shortages, the Journal contin- ued to be published throughout the war, sent out monthly to thousands of members (then called Fellows) and sold to non- members for 1/6d.
The war does intrude, to be sure. There are, for example, touching letters from British officers in prisoner-of-war camps, reporting how pleased the men were with the flower and vegetable seeds sent by the Society. One complained, however, that, as the camp had been, until recently, pine for- est, the soil was poor and sandy and did not provide ideal growing conditions. The Soci- ety also organised a sale of orchids and other plants for the Red Cross.
Underlying the elegant little essays about the founders of the Society and meaty accounts of recent research into lily propa- gation is a desire to ensure that, whatever happened, horticultural life and, in particu- lar, scientific investigation should not be allowed to fizzle out. Lectures and meet- ings continued to be held. Even flower shows survived, albeit on a smaller scale: only Chelsea Show was a casualty of the wartime uncertainty, not being held again after 1939 until 1947.
To those who remembered the pre-war Journal, the wartime effort must have seemed a shabby, makeshift affair, but, from this distance, the wonder is not that it was done badly but that it was done at all. I imagine that its continued existence owed much to the Ministry of Agriculture's need to encourage amateurs to grow their own food, but that hardly explains the presence of, for example, a scholarly article on graft hybrids and chimeras the month after the evacuation from Dunkirk in June 1940. (There was, interestingly, also a note about the increase of Colorado beetle in western France where there were 'abnormal condi- tions at present prevailing. . . . ') Even the Blitz in May 1941 (the Chamber of the House of Commons was reduced to rubble on the 1 1 th) did not prevent a small flower show from being held at Vincent Square in June.
Such bravado springs from a most under- standable desire not to feel entirely without influence over the world around us, nor let large, uncontrollable events spoil all our fun. For me, these wartime journals force- fully, if quietly, make the point that, what- ever happens, il faut cultiver notre jardin.
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