Hallelujah! Days are longer, fair-weather gardeners are emerging from their burrows and green shoots are shooting everywhere.
Hellebore-hunters are active. Galanthophile gurus are on their hands and knees, rear end uppermost – bottomising, says a botanist friend. But Lent lilies and snowdrops aren’t the only flowers.
Of the several winter-flowering honeysuckles – shrubby, steadfast, easily grown, easily sourced – Lonicera fragrantissima unfailingly braves the February elements, sporting small, creamy-white flowers, which are, yes, fragrant. It’s been in British gardens since 1845, when Scottish plant-hunter Robert Fortune hauled it back from one of his China exploits.
A close relative, L × purpusii, is also worthy of a favoured spot, where its perfume can be huffed. It has a couple of named improvements: ‘Spring Romance’ and the similar, exceedingly free-flowering ‘Winter Beauty’. Go on. Buy both. Sweeten future Februarys.
Find fragrance too among the daphnes – more expensive but worth their pennies; sorry, guineas.
A clue to its sweet odour is embedded in the species Daphne odora. It’s another Far Eastern shrub, for which the mighty and wholly reliable Hillier Manual of Trees & Shrubs advocates some winter protection but nevertheless considers it ‘hardy enough to withstand frost of considerable severity’. That’s my kind of plant. And Hillier will guide you to many another.
We gardeners are perhaps tempted by too much exotica; it empties our wallets, as well as our gardens.
Don’t let sarcococca’s tricky spelling put you off. These smallish evergreen shrubs with fine stems and foliage amply repay the purchase price with a prolonged annual abundance of petite yet terrifically strong-scented, white flowers. They’re happy in the shade too, against a north-facing wall. A few blossoming sprigs in a vase bring more than the promise of spring indoors.
Camellia sasanqua is among the earliest of its clan to brighten mid- to late-winter days. It bears ‘numerous progeny’ (Hillier again), appreciative of some shelter against a south- or west- facing wall. I’d say its many varieties are too costly to experiment with. But, if tempted, satisfy your yearning with ‘Crimson King’ and/or ‘Narumigata’. Leave the plentiful others to folk with heated glasshouses, in which they can bask in something akin to a Mediterranean climate.
Two more woody must-haves where space is available: Garrya elliptica ‘James Roof’ for its intriguing pale grey catkins up to eight inches long at this time of the year; and any of the hamamelis (witch hazel) fraternity whose ‘spidery’ flowers, from the palest yellow to rich ruby red, adorn naked branches throughout these chilly weeks.
But, here again, you’ll need a deep pocket if you want a group of them, although there’s no risk of their being slayed by any of winter’s full-on blasts.
Heathers I don’t do. But if you must, garden centres will be happy to oblige. They’ll be flooded with them right now.
Lamentably leaving aside hellebores and snowdrops – the gardening press overdoses on them at this time of year – I can guide you to some alternative delights.
For years, I’ve grown Iris reticulata, whose ball-bearing-sized bulbs I pot up as soon as they reach the shops each autumn. It’s their clear blues of a spring sky that I crave, beautifully realised in the varieties ‘Harmony’, ‘Blue Planet’ and the newish ‘Alida’. Try them intermingled with sunny yellow I danfordiae and stand by for swathes of uplifting colour on six-inch stems.
And what better promise of a forthcoming spring than the equally failproof splendour of the diminutive crocus? Common, perhaps – but so are roses in their season.
Plant hundreds come September. Their plenty nourishes the soul.
David’s Instagram account is @hortusjournal
