One of the signature plants in Cleve West’s design for Horatio’s Garden in Salisbury is Libertia grandiflora. For those of you unfamiliar with it, it’s (to quote the RHS) “a strong-growing, clump-forming evergreen plant, up to 90cm tall, with narrow, dark-green, grass-like leaves. In early summer, white, bowl-shaped flowers, 2-3cm across, are carried on erect stems and are followed by round seed pods in autumn which turn black when they mature.”

Close up, the flowers of Libertia grandiflora are simply stunning. 

I’m not sure’bowl-shaped’ really does justice to the flowers, which are gorgeous – and the plant’s real attraction. They float above the strappy foliage on long, arching stems, forming a cloud of pure, white for a few brief weeks in late May and early June.

Sadly, either side of that short flowering season, they retreat to a supporting role, providing a green foil to other, showier plants. Their seed heads remain on their stalks through summer and autumn (unless you cut them off, which we don’t). The leaves, like many grasses, tend to coarsen and lose their charm as the year progresses: and the dense clumps of foliage are a fantastic hiding place for snails (as well as dead leaves and other garden litter, which easily gets trapped). Some gardeners cut them back hard when they have gone over, and apparently they survive, but a better option is to replace them when they start to outgrow their spot.

We have them in a couple of borders, and in the beds along the bottom of the apple and wisteria-clad archway. There is a moment in late spring when the Libertia begins to flower, along with pale pink Tulip ‘Angelique’ and apple blossom up above, which is magical.

The apple and wisteria archway, with big Libertias flowering. These are the specimens which have grown too big for their boots and needed replacing.

Leaving the seedheads means that they will proliferate, and they do so with great vigour. Libertia likes a dryish, well-drained, sunny and exposed site to do its best – and the garden at Salisbury, perched on the top of Odstock Down, provides just that. Off they romp, growing everywhere they can – wedging themselves between the paving and its edges, and treating the dry stone walls as a de facto seedbed. On the plus side, this gives us a plentiful supply of seedlings to pot up, either for re-use in the garden or for sale to visitors. For Libertia grandiflora is always in demand with visitors. It seems to be a plant many have never seen, and are instantly drawn to. I tend to encourage caution among potential buyers, as this is a big and enthusiastic plant which owners of small gardens might live to regret – but they are readily seduced by its white loveliness. Small plants and transplants tend not to flower straight away, usually taking 2 or even 3 seasons to really hit their flowering stride: the odd customer has grumbled – though lack of flowers might be due to insufficient sun, as much as the plant’s youth.

All good things come to an end, and many of our Libertia – planted when the garden was created in 2012 – have become coarse and unruly, bullying aside other plants, and presenting the untrained eye with unattractive clumps of rather tired grass-like growth, especially as we reach the end of the season and there is less colour to distract the viewer. So, the past couple of weeks have seen us removing the largest specimens completely.

After. You can still see some big L.grandiflora on the other side of the path, but all the ones on this side have gone, leaving some space for Tulips and replacement specimens to go in.

Thankfully, Libertias don’t have very deep roots – rather they form a dense, fibrous root system which is bulky but fairly shallow. With help from a couple of volunteers, and some deft fork-work, they will come out quite readily. The hardest plants to extract were those which had managed to wedge themselves between the steel arch, the stonework of the rill, and the roots of adjacent apple trees; fortunately only a couple had dug themselves in so thoroughly.

They don’t split very well – and anyway, divisions would still tend not to look as fresh and sharp as new, young plants. We will put in some of our pot-grown seedlings, which look really good, and establish a rolling programme of replacement from now on, never allowing individual plants to get more than perhaps 3 or 4 years old. Meanwhile, in our small nursery, we will be bringing on the next generation ready to take their place in due course. 

Back in May I saw this glorious display of Libertia peregrinans at Hillier Gardens near Romsey. This one is commonly known as Chilean Iris – perversely, Libertia chilensis has the common name of New Zealand Satin Flower – and is sometimes confused with L. grandiflora.

Now, before you all complain, this blog will ‘auto-post’ to Twitter without me going anywhere near the little blue bird, so I don’t personally feel that this constitutes a breach of Lent Twitter-fast.

A week and a bit in, and my withdrawal from the Twittersphere is going ok. I do miss some folk’s tweets (not HIS, obviously). And I do sometimes find myself with a bon mot or witty riposte to an item on the radio, but with nowhere to put it. But apart from that, the time gained is a boon. More importantly, the freedom from an unhealthy chatter of gloom and near-despair about the state of the world, is truly liberating and almost certainly good for my state of mind. Yes, social media allow you to feel part of a wide online community of like-minded souls, but given the dire state of the world right now, I’m enjoying not knowing what’s going on every minute of every day.

Another thing I do miss is the opportunity to post lovely photographs of the gardens I work in, most especially the thoroughly photogenic Horatio’s Garden in Salisbury. But that’s what Instagram is for.

Isn’t it?

This January was far colder and drier than any of the past few years. Although we’ve had no snow here, we have enjoyed several stretches of cold, bright days and frosty nights.

The practice of leaving perennials uncut through the winter has a number of benefits – and we follow it in Horatio’s Garden, Salisbury. Cleve West’s design includes a good number of tall perennials – Aruncus dioicus ‘Horatio’, Acanthus mollis ‘Rue Ledan’, Eryngium giganteum ‘Silver Ghost’, Aster umbellatus and others, as well as the tall grass Stipa gigantea. None of these are cut-back until the early spring, when bulbs start to push through, and dead foliage begins to turn to unappealing brown mush. The benefits are several, and chief among them is that these plants provide food and shelter for all manner of beneficial creatures. From the House Sparrows dangling precariously to catch the last seeds from Stipa heads, to the myriad insects and mini-beasts which live in and around the dead stems – and in turn feed the resident robins and dunnocks – the rewards are significant.

However, the other benefit is aesthetic. Every January the gardening press is full of delicious images of frosted seedheads twinkling in the low winter sunlight. And most winters, the damp, dull reality in our gardens falls miserably short of the ideal. But not this year. I’ve lost count of the mornings that I’ve arrived at work and gone straight outside with my camera to capture the frost and rime-coated plants. It seems hard to take a bad picture when everything is sugar coated in white and so beautifully lit.

And the beginning of February has been wet and windy, flattening a lot of the taller stems and turning foliage to mush.

This was our cue to begin cutting-back in earnest, clearing and tidying, and in the process allowing the emerging bulbs to have light and air.

September marks the beginning of the new school year, as well as the turn from summer to autumn. It is a time of change, of new beginnings, and of taking stock: far more so – for me, at least – than New Year itself. Having grown up in a household of teachers, and having been governed by the academic calendar myself for much of my life, there is something essential about this time of year. It is a time of nostalgia, as well as a season of looking forward.

My new beginning has been the wonderful opportunity to take on the position of Head Gardener at Horatio’s Garden in Salisbury. The garden, designed by Chelsea award-winner Cleve West, is adjacent to (indeed, part of) the Duke of Cornwall Spinal Injuries Unit at Salisbury District Hospital. It provides garden therapy, and a restorative environment of peace and quiet, for patients who are adjusting to life-changing spinal injuries.

Having served my time in private gardens of one sort and another, the chance to work alongside passionate and committed volunteers, to the benefit of patients and their families, is an absolutely amazing thing. To do so in an award-winning, beautifully designed and gloriously planted garden is horticulturally even more exciting.

For one thing, gardening can be a very solitary business. Not that I mind altogether – in fact I have written before about the pleasures of working in one’s own company – but talking to fellow volunteers, patients and other visitors on a regular basis is more than welcome.

And here is a garden which bears very much the imprint of its designer. This is, and will remain, ‘a Cleve West garden’. It is my job to act as custodian of Cleve’s vision, whilst taking the garden forward. Having talked to Cleve about this, he is adamant that the garden cannot remain static – but there is an ethos, a spirit and a sense of place to be retained whatever changes the future may bring.

I hope you will want to join me on the journey.

The sculptures featured are by Dorset-based sculptor Simon Gudgeon.

Blogging has taken another unplanned and entirely unofficial sabbatical of late. No particular reason why, just a lack of motivation. And if I am not motivated to write then why, dear reader, should I expect you to be motivated to read?

Nevertheless, the year has been trundling along nicely enough, with plenty of work to be done, and plenty do-able too, in spite of the wet and inconsistent weather. Yet again we’ve had no winter to speak of: without checking, I think we’ve had six frosts since November, and never more than two together. I don’t need to bore you with tales of flowers appearing way before their normal season – whatever ‘normal’ means any longer.

My largest current commission, a wholesale replanting of a garden in the New Forest, has been on hold as the ground is too waterlogged to begin the task of removing turf and creating new borders, let alone planting anything new. Elsewhere, though, apple trees and wisteria have been pruned, weeds (which continue to grow) have been cleared and plans made for the coming season.

One client has asked me to create a soft fruit garden for him. He already has a very aged plum and an apple in the garden, and has got the bug for preserving and cooking with fruit. So, raspberries, strawberries (to grow in redundant Victorian chimney pots), black and red currants, gooseberries, blackberries and loganberries are all going in. Sadly the supplier, having to struggle with the weather too, isn’t able to get them to me just yet, but it’s a lovely project to work on. I have even sown the seeds (metaphorical as yet) of peaches and apricots, and perhaps figs, as the garden has a terrific old south-facing wall to provide sun, warmth and shelter.

My allotment, pretty much a lost cause last year, has also started to get some attention. Raised beds have been cleared, and the old dining room carpet has provided welcome cover for the largest area of bare earth. There is still a lot to do, but an early start never hurts. Chillies and broad beans (’The Sutton’) have been sown in the greenhouse, and will be joined by more early sowings as the weeks pass. A good range of sweet peas, sown last autumn, are also doing well, and are bushing out after having their growing tips pinched out. 

One consequence of the mild weather has been a general shortage of garden birds. On chilly days there are more in evidence on feeders and bird tables, but generally it’s been a thin winter for birds in the garden – as they’ve been more than happy to stay out of town, foraging happily in woods and fields still full of food. 

Rooks, magpies, and wood pigeons foraging in the winter fields – illustration by Charles Tunnicliffe, from ‘What to Look for in Winter’ (Ladybird, 1959) 

What to wear when gardening? I look at old photographs of
gardeners from 100 years ago, and rather envy their tweed suits and ties –
whilst wondering whether they were only quite so well turned-out when there was
a camera about…

For the male gardener in 2015 there are probably three
options. Firstly, old clothes – those no longer fit to be ‘seen out in’, but
still with some life in them. Secondly, outdoor/activity clothing – again,
possibly relegated from actual hiking duties, but not quite ready for the
recycling bin. And finally, ‘workwear’ – the sort of pocket-laden garb sported
by all manner of tradespeople.

Now, none of these quite fits the bill. Old cords are
comfortable and warm (and have that desirable touch of the Monty Dons), but they’re
horrible when they get wet and  (by the
time they reach the garden) they’re prone to going through at the knees. Cord
and other ‘old trousers’ also only have the regular  allowance of pockets, and those are usually
not fastenable so dropping change and keys in the herbaceous border becomes a
problem. Activity trousers have plenty of (zipped) pockets, and dry quickly,
but they are usually made from fairly light fabric, and aren’t waterproof –
ideal for hill-walking but less so for cold, wet days in the garden.

The ‘workwear’ option – the likes of Dickies and Dunlop –
may be more practical, and widely available, but somehow don’t quite feel right.
As a gardener, I want to be warm, dry and comfortable – but not look like Bob
the Builder.

I was pleased, therefore, to be given the chance to try out
a pair of Genus All-weather Gardening Trousers. These are specifically designed
for gardening – rather than being co-opted from another purpose, or from the
Oxfam bag.

Fabric-wise they are on the ‘technical’ side, being made
from a mixture of Polyamide and Spandex – which means they’re light,
quick-drying, and nicely stretchy. They’re also comfortably warm (on a chilly
autumn morning), and pretty waterproof too. Given that we gardeners spend a lot
of time on the ground, they have fully adjustable, built-in knee padding (which
works very well), and a damp-proof seat – so you can perch on a wet stone wall
or bench for elevenses, without getting the proverbial ‘soggy bottom’.

There are plenty of pockets too. Two zippable pockets on the
thighs, a zippable ‘kidney’ pocket (intended for a mobile phone), and two non-zipped
hip pockets. I’d prefer them all to be zippable myself, but then I am prone to carrying
(and losing) more things than are necessary.

Two ‘stab-proof’ pockets allow you to carry secateurs and
other sharp tools handily without injuring yourself. One is designed for a long
Hori-hori knife (of which more in another blog) – though mine was so sharp it
did still poke through uncomfortably.

Interestingly, Genus started out making gardening clothes
for women – whose options are maybe more limited than those for men. But the demand for men’s versions suggests male gardeners are keen to have suitable, well-made and
thoughtfully-designed clothing as well: and why not?

If you’re looking to invest in some serious trousers for the
garden – as an amateur or a professional gardener – I’d recommend you give these
Genus trousers a go.