Gardens
Defining terms
Ursula Buchan
From time to time a phrase or buzz- word captures the imagination and atten- tion of a restless (I beg your pardon, receptive) gardening public. `Groundcover', `organic gardening', 'wildlife gardens', and `container gardening' have all had their day in the sun. The phrases are shorthand, imprecise and capable of a hundred inter- pretations, and they often embody an idea pursued by some people for years.
This year, it has been the turn of 'gar- dening with Mediterranean planting'. Planting a selection of these, it is said, is the right response to the unusual condi- tions brought about by what is loosely called 'the drought'. On the face of it, there is much to commend this idea, considering that Mediterranean native plants are adapted to endure dry soil and oppressive heat in summer. But we need to define terms. If by 'Mediterranean' we mean the plants that we see in gardens bordering the Mediterranean, then we would be wise not to take much notice.
Like many other Brits, I spent my sum- mer hols in Majorca. In particularly idle moments, when not occupied with the seri- ous business of reading a novel on the beach, I would wander about the resort, looking into villa gardens. They were charming and colourful, but they were also as artificial, in their planting at least, as a seaside garden in Kensington. There were bougainvilleas from Brazil, Trachycarpus fortunei from China, eucalypts from Aus- tralia, Canary Island date palms, hydrangeas and Hibiscus rosa-sinensis from Asia, cannas from Peru, and plumbago and pelargoniums from South Africa. True, there were also native oleanders and prick-
ly pears, lavenders and cistuses (and, no doubt, plenty of bulbs in the spring) but these were far outnumbered and out- gunned by flashier families from the sub- tropics. Even some crops in the fields such as lemons and figs were naturalised citi- zens, not natives.
To take up this point may look like bar- ren pedantry, but I don't think so. I, for one, am much more influenced by what I see, than by terse geographical references in plant encyclopaedias. When I think of Mediterranean plants, it is those I have seen on holiday, which come immediately to mind. The sub-tropical exotics in Major- ca need a great deal of watering in sum- mer. Every evening, sprinklers and hoses are going full pelt. Where is the advantage in growing these plants, if it is shortage of water that worries us? After all, as I was told with glee on my return in late August, the sun was almost as hot and desiccating in my garden in Northamptonshire, while I was away, as on the beaches of the western Mediterranean.
But the real problem with attempting to grow bougainvillea, plumbago, Chinese hibiscus, cannas and Canary Island palms, is not their thirstiness but the fact that they are not hardy in our climate. It is the lack of frost in the winter, not of water in the summer, which makes the Mediterranean littoral suitable for these exotics. That, and the wonderfully harsh light which allows the eye to accept their strident colours.
What we should be growing, if we are
worried about drought, are xerophytic plants, many (although by no means all) of which are native to the mountains of the Mediterranean region: hairy-leafed sub- shrubs like artemisia, helichrysum, phlomis, cistus, helianthemum and lavender, togeth- er with the many bulbs, like species tulips and irises, which solve the problem of hot, dry summers by dying right down until the autumn rains come.
None of these are strangers to British gardens; that is the irony of it. As with `organic' or 'container gardening', the idea of gardening with Mediterranean plants is way behind the real times. For many years, thoughtful gardeners have been filling sunny borders, where the soil was poor and free-draining, with the hardier 'drought- lovers' from southern Europe, without ever feeling the need to make a great do out of it. The way xerophytes have flourished and flowered in the past few seasons will have been a source of quiet satisfaction to many gardeners, not given to grand schemes. And should the very wet and cold winter, which is probably just round the corner, succeed in sending such plants to their long home, these people will shrug their shoul- ders, and wait in quiet amusement to be told the next buzz-word. What is it to be? I rather favour 'mulching with life'. This phrase has all the virtues: it is easy to mis- interpret, of startling modernity (having been invented as late as 1883), and it is practised by people who have never heard the expression.
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