Flower picking, like much traditional agricultural work, is poorly paid, physically demanding, and often very unpleasant, with workers starting work at dawn, often picking in driving rain or the sullen drizzle which is so much a feature of west coast climates. Picking has yet to be mechanized, so thousands of workers are needed in Cornwall during the picking season. Pay is generally piece-rate with a checker totting up each worker’s totals; needless to say, each bud picked has to be perfect, with a 28cm (11-inch) stem. Wages are usually paid at the end of the day. In the past, much labour was local, or supplied by Gypsies and other itinerant travelers. Now much of the workforce are seasonal migrants from eastern Europe. Protective gloves are a must, as daffodil sap contains toxins which discourage animals from eating the otherwise lush-looking leaves, and which cause a nasty rash with prolonged exposure. Daffodil rash has always been a problem for pickers, but modern materials for gloves has now minimised the risk.
Wind is inescapable in Cornwall, and so windbreaks have long been used, particularly on the Scilly Isles. A county agricultural experimental station even made a study of the subject, ending up promoting Monterey pine (Pinus radiata), Leyland cypress (Cupressus ×leylandii), and, at a lower height, varieties of Escallonia. Growers on the Scillies have traditionally used Pittosporum crassifolium and Olearia traversii, both New Zealand shrubs very tolerant of salt-laden winds but vulnerable to long periods of freezing, and rarely grown on the mainland.
Particular individuals have played a role in the development of Cornwall’s daffodil industry. Chief among them was Dan du Plessis (1924–2001), whose father was a South African soldier who came to Europe to fight in World War I and moved to Cornwall after being demobbed. Dan and his brother Peter started trading in 1953, growing daffodils for cutting but diversifying into the bulb business and breeding in the 1960s. Dan went on to win many awards, building up a large collection of high-quality varieties and inspiring many younger breeders in the process. In particular he acted as a link between growers and breeders.
In an industry where different regions can offer each other stiff competition, the ability of a particular area to keep up with the latest in technology and research is vital. Walter Abbiss (1893–1967), horticultural superintendent for Cornwall for an incredible forty years, from 1923 to 1963, was one such key figure, doing much to inform and interest growers in modern production and marketing methods and in promoting hot-water treatment against eelworm.
Matthew Zandbergen also played an important role in the Cornish daffodil business, as we heard in the last chapter, and is remembered as having had a particular love of Cornwall. He was friendly not only with the Williamses but with many other U.K. and U.S. growers, acting as something of an intermediary between them all. Despite his reputation as someone who was always on the lookout for varieties to take back home to the Netherlands, he also did much to promote traffic in the reverse direction, selling modern Dutch varieties to Cornish growers in the 1950s and so helping regenerate the industry after the war.
‘Brideshead’ (Large-cupped, 2002) and others bred at Rosewarne EHS, in fields at Fentongollan Farm, Cornwall.
A significant and unusual part of the Cornish daffodil story concerns the Rosewarne Experimental Horticultural Station, which ran a daffodil breeding programme from 1963 to 1989, near Camborne on the north coast. The station was set up by the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food to undertake research into the specific problems of farmers and growers in Cornwall. This was the golden age of government funding for agriculture and horticulture and, globally, a rare example of public funding for flower growing. Among ornamental plants, daffodils were the major priority. At the time, it was felt that private breeders were too narrowly concerned with novelty and perfection rather than what mattered to growers: disease resistance, early flowering, durability, long stems (essential for cut flowers), and good buds (as most would be sold in bud).
An early priority was early flowering; a key variety used was ‘Rijnveld’s Early Sensation’, a short Trumpet bred originally by F. Herbert Chapman in England, of unknown parentage, sometime before 1943, but only registered in 1956 by F. Rijnveld & Sons of Holland. This was not the first time English growers might feel aggrieved at Dutch nurseries taking their plants and renaming them—a constant problem in plant breeding history. One of the resulting Rosewarne crosses, the very early Large-cupped ‘Tamara’ (1980), remains important today.
In 1968 Rosewarne attention was turned to Tazettas, specifically early and vigorous bold-coloured varieties; it was felt at the time that this division had too little attention from breeders. A very early New Zealand–bred variety was used, ‘Autumn Sol’ (1961); ‘Innisidgen’ (1982) was one outcome, still important and one of the first to flower on the Scillies, where Tazettas are an important crop.
Head breeder at Rosewarne was Barbara Fry, who had come originally to Cornwall as a wartime Land Girl. Like all breeders she swapped material with others and was always on the lookout for good new sources. One she found was a breeder in Maryland, Harry Tuggle; after he died in 1969 she managed to get hold of most of his stock, including many young crosses, yet to flower. These included one she named ‘Hugh Town’, for the capital of the Scillies, a very early Tazetta, and the now very widely grown ‘Martinette’ (1985); interestingly, she also produced a Tazetta named for Dan du Plessis (1996) from the same parents as ‘Martinette’. One of Tuggle’s greatest successes (but only via Rosewarne) was ‘Cornish Chuckles’ (1996), a cross between ‘Matador’ (one of the parents of ‘Martinette’ and ‘Dan du Plessis’) and Narcissus cyclamineus. ‘Cornish Chuckles’ is thought by many to be one of the best dwarf varieties of the last few decades—it is under 30cm (1 foot).
The Rosewarne station was closed in 1989, despite a valiant local campaign by growers and experts, the victim of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher’s privatisation of much publicly owned property. Some five hundred clones are throught to have passed into the industry from Rosewarne, and many would argue that the potential of their seedlings was still being realized in the late 2000s.
Daffodil fields beyond the sea
THE SCILLY ISLES
IN 1870, SCILLY ISLES farmer William Trevellick packed some daffodils into an old hatbox and posted it off to the great flower, fruit, and vegetable market of Covent Garden. Two weeks later he was delighted to get a cheque for “seven and six,” i.e., seven shillings and six pence (now 35p, but worth £28). More boxes followed, and then with demand proving high, he offered neighbours the chance to join him. Before long, the Lord Proprietor of the Scillies and landlord of much of the islands, Thomas Algernon Dorrien-Smith, observed what was happening, and being a relatively progressive and business-minded member of his class (which many British aristocrats were spectacularly not) saw the potential and spent around £10,000 (£0.75 million today) on a trip to Holland to buy bulbs. He also encouraged the planting of hedges as shelter against the ever-present westerly winds. Dorrien-Smith was keen to develop the economy of the islands, as when he took over as Lord Proprietor, there was much desperate poverty, with kelp-burning (for fertiliser) being one of the few industries, many islanders depending on welfare handouts of food, and smuggling not unknown.
By 1885, around sixty tonnes of daffodils were being dispatched annually, rising to 635 tonnes in 1905. The islands had acquired a whole new industry. As time went on, and mainland Cornwall also began to produce more and more early daffodils, the Scilly Island farmers increasingly had to specialize. What worked for them were the Mediterranean-origin Tazettas, which make the most of the Scilly environment—mild, but drier than Cornwall and with sandy soils; these began to flower in early January.
Early growers planted their daffodil crops in very small fields as near to the sea as possible to get the greatest advantage of the ocean’s warming influence; proving uneconomic during the latter part of the twentieth century, most have been abandoned to rough grass, gorse, and bracken, but among which daffodil flowers often valiantly struggle.
During t
he course of the twentieth century it was discovered that burning straw on the ground above Tazetta bulbs helped to improve growth; during the 1970s research showed that ethylene in the smoke stimulated early flowering—but only for Tazettas; this gas plays a part in regulating a wide range of plant processes, especially the maturing of flowers and fruit. The islands produced little straw and shipping it in was expensive, but growers found that covering the ground with plastic sheeting and pumping in smoke used the straw more efficiently.
‘Scilly White’, the daffodil which launched the Scilly Isles flower industry, an old dwarf Tazetta of unknown origin dating back to the 1860s and possibly older.
Growing the earliest daffodils in England
THE TAMAR VALLEY GROWERS
THE TAMAR VALLEY is a long, branching fjord of an estuary whose tidal branches penetrate deep into Cornwall, its main course acting as the boundary between Devon and Cornwall. Some of its valley sides are extremely steep and are now covered in scrub and young woodland; every now and again, anyone who explores the often dense undergrowth may come across a ruined shed, a wall, or some other sign that this area was once cultivated and used.
Indeed, these slopes were once very intensively cultivated, with workers tending fruit, flowers, and vegetables in plots which they called gardens. All produce, materials, and tools had to be laboriously carried up or down. Workers might be quite close to each other but separated by a long plunge down, followed by an equally long haul back up, so they shouted and sung to each other from one incline to another. The area was so densely cultivated that it was said that even the railway lines were edged with rhubarb. Now, all this has life and activity has almost entirely vanished.
Unusual daffodil varieties for sale in buckets by the side of the road in the Tamar Valley.
The reason for the intense cultivation of the Tamar Valley, which really lasted less than a hundred years, was its combination of warm south- and west-facing slopes and the water, which moderates temperatures. Frosts were rare and light, and spring came early, almost earlier than anywhere else in Britain. This climate had been exploited for fruit growing since the 1700s, but in the late nineteenth century, local growers began to try other crops. Several local mines had recently shut down, so there was plenty of hardworking labor available to turn its hands and minds to new economic activity. Disease was making tree fruit uneconomic—another driver of change. Finally, starting in 1849, the railways had arrived, making it possible to grow short-lived, high-value crops and sell them to distant cities.
Strawberries came first, then daffodils, and finally a great many other flower and florist crops, such as anemones and irises, along with rhubarb and other speciality crops. Daffodils really got going in the early years of the twentieth century with ‘Van Sion’ (now called ‘Telamonius Plenus’), a messy double dating back to the seventeenth century; ‘Maximus’, a Trumpet variety with an even longer history; ‘Ornatus’, a Poeticus type of recent French origin; and ‘Golden Spur’, a Trumpet discovered in a Dutch garden in the 1880s.
What really launched the daffodil trade, however, was the discovery, allegedly by a local farmer, Septimus Jackson, of a new variety in a hedge, sometime in the 1880s. A double Poeticus type, white and with a heavy scent, the late-flowering plant was quickly dubbed ‘Tamar Double White’. By modern standards it is not a particularly attractive flower, but the scent was clearly something special. It also had a reputation for being difficult outside the valley. It took until the 1920s for there to be enough of it to become a worthwhile crop, but then it really took off and became a mainstay for the valley’s growers. Perhaps what made it really popular was its popularity as church decoration for the Whitsun festival, on the cusp of spring and summer. After World War II, however, disease problems caused it to go into decline; it is rarely seen today.
A pub sign in the Tamar Valley celebrates the area’s daffodil-growing heritage. The artist is Rob Rowland.
Daffodils long ago discarded onto the steep banks around fields known as “Cornish hedges” have often survived and flourished over many decades—they are a rich source of heirloom varieties.
This old flower packing shed in the Tamar Valley was found by photographer Jo Whitworth while photographing daffodils for this book. As well as the old labels and the kettle, there were “even old work coats still hanging on nails on the wall—it was incredibly atmospheric.”
The heyday of the Tamar Valley was probably the 1950s, when up to ten thousand people could be working here at the height of the spring season, which is more than the entire population today. Each “garden” was almost invariably a family-run affair, but during the spring and other busy times, migrant labor and more importantly part-timers joined in; many of the latter were men who worked elsewhere during the day but wanted to earn extra money in the evenings.
Managing such steep slopes was a problem, and delayed mechanization until the late 1950s. Local ingenuity often came to the fore; for example, the invention of the “earth-car,” which was an old car, stripped down and with a wooden axle attached to the driveshaft, used to power a winch to pull either a plough or a container. When used for plowing, the wife usually drove the engine while the husband walked behind the plow. Wheeled transport was often difficult, as one retired grower remembers: “When anything needed moving from one area to another, we had sheets of old galvanise which we loaded with bags of bulbs and manure, and we dragged these along with ropes.”
Another “Cornish hedge.”
Soil slippage down steep slopes was a particular problem; during storms there could be landslides with soil and crops tumbling down the valley sides, burying more crops below. The earth-car came in useful here, with containers of soil from lower slopes being hauled back up to higher.
Flowering started in early February and continued through to May, with growers picking from up to fifty varieties. For most of the valley’s history, flowers were picked when fully open, with white flowers going in blue-paper-lined boxes, yellow in green. During the 1960s though, London flower wholesalers began to put pressure on the growers to change to picking flowers in bud, which meant that they took up only half the volume and did not need quite such a high level of protection in transit. Despite the opposition of many growers, the practice quickly took off, to become universal.
Old varieties have been collected and planted out in meadow and orchard areas around Cotehele House in the Tamar Valley, where visitors to the historic property can also admire and learn about the daffodils and the social history of the local flower industry.
During World War II, national regulations were introduced to turn ornamental plant production facilities over to food. As a result many of the daffodils were dug up and thrown into the hedges, but, being daffodils, many survived and spread, resulting in the rich array of heritage varieties that can be seen growing along roadsides and hedge bottoms today. Regulations forbade the transportation of any ornamental crop, even in private baggage! Under the Transport of Flowers Act 1942, two London hauliers were jailed for six and twelve months, respectively, for carrying 138 boxes of flowers, including daffodils, leading to a public outcry. Some Scilly Isles growers, however, decided to fight back, sending some daffodils to Prime Minister Winston Churchill, who apparently declared, “These people must be allowed to grow their flowers and send them to London, they cheer us up so much in these dark days.” In March 1943 the transport ban was lifted. Problems remained though—not enough boxes, chief among them. One grower has vivid memories of this time: “We were reduced to using waxed cardboard boxes that had contained meat for the American soldiers. … The stench when these boxes were opened was horrendous and it was not unusual to discover a slice of rotting beef adhered to the box … but the daffodils still sold well during the war years, despite the poor presentation.”
The 1960s saw a rapid decline in the market garden industry in the Tamar. Increasing rail freight charges and the pulling up of smaller railway lines across the country made the distribution of the flower
s much harder. Glasshouses and polytunnels elsewhere in the country and in the Netherlands began to compete. By the end of the decade the growing business was almost over. Grass, scrub, and tree seedlings began to take over the steep slopes of the gardens, and the packing sheds and houses where workers might take a break or brew a kettle fell into disrepair. The daffodils carried on blooming, as daffodils do, until the shade of brambles and trees reduced their flowering and eventually suppressed them altogether. Those in hedgerows (where many had been dumped during the war) fared better, as there is always some light, at least coming in from the side, resulting from regular cutting and pruning.
Today however, we have a good record of the Tamar Valley fruit and flower business. One reason is that a number of projects have sought to record the memories of retired local growers, with several books published telling their stories and including vintage photographs. Fortunately too, there has been an obvious local centre—Cotehele, an estate belonging to the Edgecumbe family and now run by the National Trust, a heritage conservation body. Back in the 1960s, a group of local growers donated some daffodils to Cotehele, where they were planted out in areas of grass in the garden, itself a well-established and much-loved visitor attraction. Part of the Trust’s mission at Cotehele was the preservation of the knowledge of local social history and so, eventually, attention turned to the daffodils.
The orchard at Cotehele.
In the early 2000s, led by the head gardener at Cotehele, John Lanyon, heritage daffodils were dug out of hedgerows and ditches and planted out in the orchard of apple and cherry varieties, which had also been important crops here. In 2003, an old packing shed was re-erected in the garden and furnished as it would have been during the daffodil-growing heyday. The shed was made of corrugated iron, a material which previously would have been condemned for its ugly utility; many garden visitors enjoyed the irony of watching the National Trust, a byword for genteel good taste, put up such an “eyesore.” Inside, audio recordings of retired growers were made available for visitors to listen to.
The Daffodil Page 8