It’s wisteria and honey suckle time in England

By John Warrington

It’s wisteria and honeysuckle time in England. Just a month ago they had what they hoped would be last fall of snow, particularly as we are about to start summertime. I know that in my garden in England the wisteria, honeysuckle and Virginia Creeper are now climbing riotously, and unless they are pruned during the summer they will be choking each other as they fight for supremacy on their 200-year-old south-west wall. The Californian lilac (cotoneaster) which form an archway round the front door will be housing several birds’ nests, and the rambling rose ‘Emily Grey’ will be peeping into the front bedroom. In a few weeks ‘Emily’ will introduce her fragrant golden-yellow flowers into it as well, providing, of course, that the windows have been left open. At the base of this rose is a group of plants which have been a constant disappointment, but with which I persevere in the hope that they will come good one year. These are called hollyhocks, and seem to be martyrs to mildew and rust diseases in spite of being treated with all the latest chemicals and some very old remedies as well.

Here at home the last two weeks has seen the garden lashed with a couple of hooligan-like ruffians called north-east trade winds and heavy rains which have taken hundreds and hundreds of leaves off the blue gum tree, and blown them into the gutter which ought to be feeding the water tank. Consequently in a period of much water we have found ourselves having to ration it until the problem was discovered and remedied by a sprightly young lad who climbs like a mountain goat and took ten minutes to unclog things. Meanwhile by the front door the concrete urn, filled with home-made compost has been replanted with petunias. They face east and are protected from the rain by the roof overhang. While planting during a lull in the rain the air was suddenly filled with a loud squawking, and I saw two hawks making a play for the hanging nests in the Queen of Flowers tree. Presumably they are built as a protection against lizards and snakes, but present themselves nicely to the talons and beaks of these large and always hungry predators. The hawks were harried by the two small parents but their greater strength told in the end. Several nests were destroyed and the fledglings taken. I don’t care to interfere too much in natural selection but in cases like this I am sorely tempted to create a bit of a noise to deter these carrion-type birds.

Last week I received a consignment of cattleyas. They came in community pots and the many seedlings in them were all intertwined in a mass of root. It took hours to separate them and pot them into a mixture of coconut fibre, bark, broken pot, and charcoal. They will grow, I have no doubt, but I do wish they had been handled a long time ago when their roots were smaller and less liable to damage. After walking round the garden like the hunchback of Notre Dame because of a life-threatening knee infection, which I might add has defied some of the mightiest medical brains in the world including my wife’s, I am happy to report that whatever it was has now departed and I am now an upright man again. A friend of mine is a great believer in the efficacy of plants for curing his ailments. Using any plants for any ailments. His faith is touching. Having read in an old herbal about the effectiveness of crushed house leak leaves (Sempervivum tectorum) combined with cream as a cure for eczema he decided to use this remedy for some rather nasty scaly skin on his hands. There’s an old saying ‘give a monkey a typewriter and it’ll write the Lord’s Prayer.’ Whether my friend stumbled on something new to science or whether it was time for it to disappear anyway I can’t say. However, when he told me I did not fall over in astonishment, for it could in fact have been due to the rum which he was gently spilling over himself and my furniture. A note to pedestrians. Wear something white at night, and may your God go with you wherever you are.