Precious jewels
Ursula Buchan
Afeature of the gardening world, which probably strikes me rather more forcibly than it does you, is the number of amateur plant specialists there are. These are experts in one area of plantsmanship, usually, who aggregate in groups in order that they can exchange technical talk, test their skills in competition and learn from their fellow-enthusiasts. Although hidden from general view (unless you become an expert yourself and start looking for them), these people add much to the sum of our understanding about plants, whenever their expertise leaks out of learned journals and into the popular prints. The layman may find their conversation mystifying, even sometimes tedious, but it is pleasing to know that it goes on. One of the reasons I like the specialists I know so much is that they are ‘doers’ by nature. It seems to me no coincidence that these people often turn out to be magistrates, charity volunteers, parish councillors, youth leaders; in short, contributors.
Galanthophiles, or snowdrop fanciers, are the best known of these enthusiasts, probably because newspapers and magazines, stuck for horticultural copy in January, profile them every year. But there are plenty of others: fuchsia enthusiasts, sempervivum specialists, hosta fanatics and fern experts, for example. If you met one, at a regional flower show, perhaps, or when visiting a private garden open for charity, I am sure you would be impressed by the depth of both their knowledge and experience.
Some specialist groups are reasonably large, with thousands of members: for example, the Hardy Plant Society, the Alpine Garden Society, the Herb Society and the British Pteridological Society. However, many, like the Nerine and Amaryllid Society (where galanthophiles can find a home), are smaller, while a few, such as the Aquilegia Email Group, exist only in cyberspace. Most of them offer meetings, shows, tours, illustrated lectures, foreign field trips, seed exchanges, journals, newsletters and discussion forums, and, perhaps most important of all, the chance of friendship with like-minded enthusiasts. Not bad for a subscription of £10 to £25 a year.
One such is David Hoare, a retired professional gardener from Lyminge in Kent. He is a member of the Saxifrage Society (membership 160). Saxifrages are alpine ‘cushion’ plants, and the ones I was particularly interested in seeing were those of the Kabschia and Engleria sections, which have low rosettes of stiff, pointed and usually sil very leaves. There are many cultivated forms and hybrids of these saxifrages; they have single, round, five-petalled flowers in white, yellow, pink or red, and they come out between January and March. These are plants of limestone mountains, which generally need to be grown in ‘alpine houses’ in this country because, though perfectly hardy, they are prone to rotting in wet winters and can also be scorched in sunny weather. Alpine houses are unheated and well ventilated to try to mimic montane conditions; the glass gives protection against winter wet rather than cold. A house full of saxifrages in flower is a wonderful thing.
David is one of the most successful growers of these plants. In 2006, at the Kent Alpine Garden Society Show (of which he is Show Secretary), he won the top award, the Farrer Medal, for a 32cm diameter terracotta half pot of Saxifraga ‘Tenerife’ (a shallow dome completely covered by small, single, white flowers with bright yellow stamens). It was a vintage year for saxifrages, because of the cold winter and late spring. This year was not so good, according to David. The flowers on plants came out in more patchy fashion, the winter and early spring temperatures being too high to suit them. Nevertheless, his two small aluminium glasshouses were bright with these exquisite flowers (along with the equally picky and beautiful Primula allionii), the flowers set on plumped-up foliage cushions, like precious jewels offered to a king.
This beauty comes with a great deal of quiet, careful effort. The Saxifraga potting mix, in which they are planted, consists of three parts John Innes No. 2, one part fine Cambark, one part perlite, and four parts coarse grit (not to mention ground-up oldfashioned mothballs to deter vine weevil); the clay pans, which set the plants off so well, are plunged in wet sand on the glasshouse bench, and need to be turned every fortnight to ensure even growth. The masses of small flowers must be meticulously picked off after flowering.
As with so many other public organisations, specialist plant societies, like the Alpine Garden Society and Saxifrage Society, must work hard at both attracting and retaining members, at a time when people seem increasingly unwilling to join societies or take an active part in their organisation. When I think of the obvious pleasure that David Hoare derives from his saxifrages and his association with other growers of choice alpines, that seems to me a pity.
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