We Made a Garden

by Margery Fish

  8. Planting

  I learnt a great deal from Walter that first year of gardening. The first thing I learnt was that he knew a great deal more about the subject than I thought he did. I was a complete novice, and I thought that he was too. I knew he had had gardens and gardeners, but I assumed that being very busy he had left all the planning and work to them. I may say I got very tired of one particular gardener during that first year. He was quoted at me morning, noon and night until I came to hate his name. Everything he did was perfect, he never neglected anything and he always did all the jobs that needed doing at the right time. It was no good for me to tell Walter that I had to sandwich my gardening between housekeeping! household jobs and a certain amount of social life. In his opinion there was no excuse for not getting things done at the right time.

  Another of his gardeners had my sympathy, and I think there was a moral for me in the tale of his undoing. This man had one joy in life and that was to grow wonderful chrysanthemums in pots to bring into the house in the winter. According to Walter he used to stroke and fondle his chrysanthemums so much that he was neglecting the rest of the garden. Remonstrances had no effect so one day Walter took a knife and slashed off all those pampered darlings at ground level. It was by remembering this episode that I learnt to have a sense of proportion and fairness in my gardening, and not devote too much time on the things I like best at the expense of the rest of the garden.

  The first inkling I had that Walter held very definite views was concerning the level of the flower beds. I had always seen them raised above the surrounding grass or path, and I made mine in the same way. I suppose the original idea was for better drainage and to allow one to get the best possible view of the plants. Rose gardens are still often made in this way, and one sees it in parks and public gardens. I never thought of it before Walter pointed it out, but the whole idea is superficial and a bed that is absolutely flush with the path or lawn looks larger and far more attractive. Now that I have paved paths I am even more enthusiastic over the idea as I plant sprawlers as near the path as possible so that they spill over the path and break the hard line. In Walter’s day I had to be careful that nothing spilled over the path, which was then gravelled, as the roller did not recognize the rights of sprawlers. A plant that benefits from this level way of planting is Gentiana acaulis. It likes being trodden on and I plant borders of it so close to the path that they regularly receive attention from my full-sized feet.

  We used some of our plentiful supply of stones to keep the beds separate from the gravel paths. In my ignorance I first put them in vertically so that several inches protruded above the ground, but after it was pointed out to me I realized that the effect was far pleasanter and just as effective if they were laid flat. One thing Walter taught me was to avoid unnecessary distractions. One must have something to separate flower beds from paths but one should not draw attention to the border and so detract from the flowers themselves.

  It is surprising that in quite good gardens one often sees a gravel path merging straight into a flower bed. It is bad for the path because earth inevitably mixes with the gravel and one gets more weeds than ever. Something neat is needed, that blends into a picture. We were lucky in having plenty of stones, and I was able to pick out flat, even-shaped stones with one straight edge at least. These were laid very carefully so that they were level on top and the straight sides were used to make the edge of the path. If I’d had straight paths I should have used a line, but I had to rely on my eye to get a straight effect for my curving paths. Some people use bricks, and they look quite well if laid flat, particularly if there are brick paths. Sometimes they are put in diagonally to make a jagged edge, and that I think is a pity, rather reminiscent of the horrid little fancy tiles so beloved by Victorian gardeners. I’d treat them both the same way and cover them up at once with luxuriant greenery if I couldn’t remove them altogether. Sometimes one sees shells in cottage gardens, which may be quaint but are neither very effective or attractive. Unobtrusive concrete mouldings are as good as anything if they are laid almost on the level of the path and are weathered to match the gravel.

  In some gardens plants make a successful edging. In the more spacious days little box hedges were the answer, but cost and labour these days make them a luxury. London Pride or thrift can both be grown in an even band and need little attention. A low lavender hedge is sometimes used, and in wide borders, something massive is in keeping, megasea or Stachys lanata are ideal, or even acanthus where space is really no object. Some of the tight growing mossy saxifrages will keep the peace between path and bed, or even those sturdy double daises that grow about four inches high. I have seen nepeta clipped as a hedge but that is a sacrilege. The whole beauty of nepeta is its graceful loose way of life, and soft blue flowers, and to confine it to rectangular form is most unappreciative. With paved paths there is no problem. The earth comes right up to the path and gives several inches of extra space in which to plant.

  On the whole I had very little interference with the way I planted my beds, but I was urged to prevent monotony by having an occasional tall plant right in the front of the beds. I obeyed this so literally with some lupins that one had in the end to be sacrificed because it got so enormous, so I chose my accents more carefully afterwards. It was Walter who gave me the idea of planting groups of irises right at the edge of the path, so that their clean upward thrust made contrast with the low growing plants on either side. He also taught me the value of massed effects, so instead of an odd delphinium dotted here and there, as I would have planted them, he insisted that they were planted in groups of five or six. I realized that this was the only way to avoid a spotty effect.

  I went through some dreadful times when I first started planting. In spite of all my efforts quite a lot of clay was left in the soil, and the harsh March winds whipped it into hard nodules which made the most uncomfortable homes for my newly planted creatures. I know better now and, though I have improved the soil immeasurably, I always use a mixture of sand and peat when planting, particularly with small things. Then I see that the roots are spread out and every little fibre has close contact with this good rooting material. Such treatment makes them feel snug and at home and they hardly know they have been unrooted from one place and transported to another. The worst thing you can do to a plant is to permit an air pocket anywhere near its roots, and this is what I am ashamed to say I did when I first began gardening. My planting was so insecure that the plants lurched about in the bed and were blown this way and that by the wind. Like a woman holding on to her hat they were too busy trying to keep a foothold in the earth to give a thought to anything else. Firm planting is one of the first essentials, and it is a good idea to give a little tug to anything that is just put in to make sure it is firmly anchored. I always test my cuttings in the same way, though not quite so vigorously.

  Firmness in all aspects is a most important quality when gardening, not only in planting but in pruning, dividing and tying up. Plants are like babies, they know when an amateur is handling them. My plants knew, but I didn’t. Walter would not tolerate an unhealthy or badly grown plant and if he saw anything that wasn’t looking happy he pulled it up. Often I would go out and find a row of sick looking plants laid out like a lot of dead rats. It became some thing like a game. If I knew I had an ailing child I was trying to bring round I’d do my utmost to steer him away from that spot. It didn’t often work and now I realize that he was right in his contention that a plant that had begun to grow badly could never be made into a decent citizen and the only thing to do was to scrap it. Sweet Williams were my greatest trial until I learned to cheat. Mine had an awful way of becoming leggy and untidy, and instead of sitting up straight and sturdily they flopped about and lolled about in a way most unpleasing to my lord and master. I should have saved myself a lot of anguish if I had discovered earlier that a lot can be done by putting the unseemly legginess under the soil, and making it so firm that each spike is supported. I have even used this
unorthodox treat ment for pinks that straggled, to make them temporarily presentable. Of course, the real answer is to grow and plant them properly.

  Another thing I was taught was to get plants into the soil at the first possible moment. It really hurt my husband when people bought or were given plants and delayed planting them. Sometimes we’d see a border being remade and heaps of plants left lying about with their roots exposed to the air. It is so easy to cover the roots with sacks if one hasn’t time to heel them in, and it makes all the difference to the life of the plant.

  Planting came first in our lives and whatever job was on hand it had to be abandoned if plants arrived. I remember one weekend when we had some rather special visitors, to whom we were showing the countryside. A parcel of flowering shrubs was delivered by the railway. The visitors just had to amuse themselves while we dealt with those shrubs. First we put their roots in a bucket of water while we dug the holes, then Walter planted them feverishly and I watered them copiously while our visitors looked on and thought we were slightly mad.

  Sometimes, with the best intentions in the world, it isn’t possible to plant immediately, but one can always dig a hole and heel the plants in the earth, or with trees or shrubs that are too big to plant like that, one can see that the roots are covered with straw or sacking. I have given plants to people—and kind people at that— and seen those same plants weeks later huddled together in a corner just as I had taken them from my basket, without a crumb of soil or a handful of leaves. When I give away plants I like to pack them in damp moss so that they come to no harm if neglected. One can do that with a few small treasures but it takes too long when giving away large quantities, and the only thing to do is to choose the people to whom you give them.

  One mistake nearly all beginners make is to plant too close together. I heard a lot about this when I first started gardening, jokes on the subject were read out to me, and I came to the conclusion that most humorists were male, because it was always the wife who made this silly mistake. It is extremely difficult to visualize how big your plants will grow, and it is quite natural to want to cover that expanse of bare earth as quickly as possible. In fact if you planted the things as far apart as they ought to be the effect would be very bare and bleak for a long time, but it is the only thing to do. Most people plant shrubs far too close together and the effect is com pletely ruined when they grow up. It is far, far better to plant them

  at the right distances and fill the gaps in the early stages with temporary plantings. It is sometimes worth while to put in more shrubs than you will eventually want if quick results are needed. I did this with Euphorbia Wulfenii in a place where I wanted a quick screen. Three plants were put in fairly close together and I had my effect in the first year. The strongest of the three overlaid the other two, and I removed them. The beginnings of a garden need not be painfully bare if you plant less worthy subjects among your permanent collection.

  It requires great faith to allow the right amount of space when planting, but when you do the results are surprising. Michaelmas daisies, as an example, if grown properly with individual shoots about a foot apart (half the height is the usual allowance) make themselves into fat bushy plants which are a joy to behold (and need a stout stake to uphold). Annuals should be thinned out ruthlessly and instead of spindly specimens those that are left will show you what can be done when a plant has adequate space in which to develop. I have seen a single plant of night-scented stock make a bush about eighteen inches square, not because of my strong mindedness, I fear, but owing to the fact that all its little brothers and sisters died in infancy and it was left alone.

  9. Staking

  When it came to staking I came to grief badly. In the first place I did not stake early enough, and quite a lot of handsome heads of flowers were condemned by my mentor because they were crooked by the time I did tie them up. Nothing will straighten a plant that has grown crooked. And when I did stake I was accused of doing it too loosely. My idea was to allow the plants to grow as naturally as I could so I put a few sticks at the outside of each clump and tied string—not too tightly—to the sticks. I admit it wasn’t satisfactory because the wind blew the flowers about mercilessly in my little enclosures and they got tangled and bent. I was warned that I must be more drastic but took no heed. So Walter taught me a lesson. He got stout stakes (mine were slight because I didn’t want them to show too much) and he drove them into the ground with a mallet. Then he took those poor unsuspecting flowers, put a rope round their necks and tied them so tightly to the stake that they looked throttled. He put into the action all the exasperation he felt at a pigheaded woman who just would not learn. I did learn then, because I knew what would happen to my poor flowers if my staking was sloppy. I never achieved the perfection that was preached to me, that is, a stick for each stem, but I was more generous with sticks and I made an elaborate cage of string between them so that the flowers had little play. Most people use twigs or peasticks for their staking and it is quite successful in ordinary soil, but I never succeeded because I couldn’t get the rough sticks sufficiently deep into my heavy clay, and they were never firm. I could use a mallet with straight sticks, and though it made more work, it was the only thing to do.

  There are, of course, other good ways of supporting one’s flowers. In a very big border, full of big plants, coarse netting stretched over posts gives magnificent support. For individual plants there are excellent wire circles that are placed flat on the ground over the plant and raised on upright supports as it develops. With this method the plant starts right and gives no trouble at all, but it is not very easy to use these supports on very big clumps without a lot of wasteful overlapping.

  Now I use metal supports in the form of a half circle with long prongs that are pushed into the ground. I copied the idea from a friend and got the local blacksmith to make them for me in all weights, sizes and heights. To preserve them and to make them less conspicuous I have painted them dark green. Sometimes I use two to make a complete circle, or one with string tied behind it. In large plantings half a dozen or more can be used at different angles and for supporting plants along a wall they are ideal, as the flowers hang over slightly in a natural way. I make a practice of putting them in very early, pushing them in a long way to begin with, and pulling them up as the stalks grow taller. When one lot of plants have finished blooming and no longer need support I lift out the wires and put them in to help the next lot of plants that are coming on.

  There are people who will not admit the necessity for tying up their plants, and their gardens are always a depressing sight. There is only one way to avoid staking and that is to grow only plants that never need any artificial support—but what a lot of lovely things would be missed if one did that.

  10. Gardening with a Knife

  Walter had one garden adage he was always quoting at me: ‘It is nice to take a walk in the garden and better still if you take a hoe with you.’ I think a pair of secateurs would be my choice.

  How often one sees odd bits of dead wood, suckers and overhanging branches as well as deadheads on one’s morning amble. That timely snip saves a lot of time and trouble, and one can collect a few flowers for the house at the same time.

  Deadheading is a most important part of gardening. It isn’t only from the point of tidiness that one should remove spent flowers. A plant will go on flowering over much longer periods if every dead bloom is removed at once. Kept in a state of frustrated motherhood it will go on producing flowers in the hope of being allowed to set seed and thus reproduce itself. I often get three flowerings on Canterbury Bells by persistent deadheading, and I even deadhead my naturalized daffodils so that they do not deteriorate. I have some old swords and I keep one sharpened for this job. One can slash off a lot of heads in a very short time.

  My friends are not so keen on this habit of mine, it deprives them of all the exciting seeds they would like. The only plants I allow to come to maturity are those which I want to increase, such as primul
as and cyclamen, willow gentian, blue poppies and incarvillea.

  Walter was never tired of telling me about a certain great garden, whose noble owner boasted that no dead flower would ever be found therein—a wonderful standard which we’d all like to copy. I often wondered how many gardeners were employed in that garden, and if there were many beds of violas in it.

  We used to have great arguments about this deadheading job. Walter used to go round with a pair of secateurs in his hand and snip off his dead roses, but he never picked them up. I complained that I wasn’t the fifth gardener and it wasn’t my job to go round clearing up after him. But I always did because I couldn’t bear to see the beds littered with dead flowers. In the end it became a family joke and he took great delight in telling me when various parts of the garden needed the attentions of the fifth gardener. He pruned roses in the same way and, when I protested, always explained that the important thing was to get the pruning done and the little matter of collecting the prunings could be done at any time—but never by him!

  I think a good many gardeners would have better gardens if they used secateurs more. Most plants respond to quite severe cutting down. Aubrietia, for instance, should be cut right down to the ground the moment it shows signs of getting brown and leggy. It responds magnificently to this treatment and is very soon covered with a new crop of tight green leaves, and before you know where you are is flowering a second time. Some people take shears to their aubrieta but I think secateurs make a better job as they cut closer.