Surprises lurk in the spring tidy-up

Press, 28 September 1984, Page 18

Surprises lurk in the spring tidy-up

Gardener’s I DIARY

One of the great pleasures of gardening at this time of year, when rising soil temperatures are making it safe to divide and replant summer and autumn-floweirng perennials which are apt to rot if disturbed in midwinter, is to be reminded frequently of all the good hot-weather plants whose charms have been forgotten during winter.

Just when, you despair of finding anything to fill the gaps left by winter frosts, you can be sure of encountering some obliging perennial which can be split up and replanted to patch over failures. Some of the most obliging in this respect are the geraniums. By “geranium” I mean the “true” geraniums which are all, or nearly all, hardy herbaceous plants. I don’t mean the plants that people call “geraniums” but which are really pelargoniums. The origin of this confusion is lost in the mist of time, but it is persistent, which is unfortunate, because while gardeners continue to be confused about them the true geraniums will continue to suffer loss of face as hardy garden plants. The difference between the two should be very clear to anyone who troubles to look at their flowers: all the geraniums have regularly shaped flowers With petals of equal length arranged in a circle; pelargoniums have

their five petals arranged in two groups of uneoual length. Most of the pelargoniums come from South Africa, most of the geraniums from the temperate zone of the Northern Hemisphere. Geranium endressii “Wargrave Pink” is one of my summer favourites — throughout the season, provided you don’t let it get excessively droughtstricken, it carries a succession of clear pink saucerflowers. Its greyish-green leafage is evergreen, more or less, and is good to look at in winter, too. Rather brassier, because it has that hint of magenta that seems to be anathema to many gardeners (I like it), is “Claridge Druce,” which is either a form or a hyrbrid of G. endressii named after the famous British botanist who discovered it. Whether it is a wild plant, or is of garden origin, is not certain. I believe this one might appreciate a hot summer — my young plant looked miserable throughout the last growing season, when the weather remained almost constantly cool and moist. But it was a pretty small, miserable plant to begin with — the Tauranga nursery which supplied it ought never to have taken it away from mother. It looks happier now, and I hope for big things from it in the next few months. Overseas it has a reputation as a very

strong grower, and in Britain it is sometimes used as ground cover. One geranium which I find very useful for groundcover in any odd gap that needs to be filled is G. macrorrhisum “Ingwersen’s Variety.” If only it had a name easier to pronounce (and spell) this plant would be much more popular. I find it one of those rare obliging plants which will grow in almost any soil, and almost any apsect, and will put up with quite a bit of shade. Wherever I plant it in the garden it quickly makes a good clump, spreading a little, but not pugnaciusly, by underground stems. The flowers of “Ingwersen’s Variety” are orchid pink and produced early in the season, but it is really for the nose, rather than the eye, that I grow this plant. The shapely leaves, light green with a suggestion of grey, are covered with glandular hairs which at the slightest touch release a briskly aromatic perfume. There isn’t any word to describe it, because there is no other scent quite like it — it’s just a fresh, herby smell. Another variety which grows in my garden has the same odour but deeper pink flowers which are much brighter in the garden. However, I prefer the restraint of “Ingwersen’s Variety.” It is easily propagated by pulling a clump to pieces in early spring, and is semievergreen, retaining some leaves (and scent) throughout winter. I think it must come true from seed, because odd clumps turn up occasionally in places where I know I haven’t planted them. They are always welcome.

Geranium pratense is another inveterate seeder whose offspring are always welcome, especially because it isn’t easy to propagate by division. This native of Britain and Europe is known there as the “meadow cranesbill,” and is one of the larger members of the family, growing as much as 45cm high — only the tender G. maderense and they blackeyed G. psilostemon, from Siberia, are larger as far as I know, the snootier gardeners tend to look down their noses at the meadow cranesbill, but I like it — it has attractive, finely cut foliage and plenty of flowers which are not only a good size but are that warm lavender-blue colour which is always welcome in hot weather. A non-seeding double-flowered form is in cultivation, but I haven’t grown it. Rather similar, but scaled down about a third, is G. :himalayense, which is what we must now call the plant long familiar as G. grandiflorum. Fortunately, this species can be propagated easily by pulling it to pieces and replanting in spring; as far as I know, it never sets seed in gardens. It isn’t just a matter of cross-pollination; I’m sure of that because I have two clones, distinctly different, and though they have had plenty of opportunities to fertilise each other • they have never done so. Like the meadow cranesbill, G. himalayense has pretty lavender-blue flowers, lightly veined with red. All the clones are good, but one of mine tends to be a little earlier than the other and to have more flowers on slightly shorter stems, and it’s the only one I bother replanting now, though I still have a clump of the other for sentimental reasons — it was one of the first perennials I grew when I began gardening in the 19605. I hope to have a third clone flowering soon, be-, cause I have one seedling up from a packet of overseas seed of the species. It will be interesting to compare this with the

locally cultivated clones. Geranium psilostemon is one that I haven’t grown for about 10 years, mainly because it hasn’t been available; in one of my gardens it used to seed itself about mildly, but I forgot to take a few seedlings with me when I moved. However, I hope to rectify the omission soon, because I finally obtained some fresh seed last autumn and have a stout batch of seedlings coming on. I hesitate to call this geranium bright, because it’s a little more than that — it’s almost garish. The flowers, each about the size of a 50c piece, are shocking magenta with a coal-black eye. Placing it in the garden will require some premeditation.

Geranium lambertii, on the other hand, is one that can be slipped in anywhere there is a gap or even a suggestion of a gap — it has a scandent habit and is never happier than when leaning all over something else with stronger stems. This flowers late in the season, and as it is white (with crimson veins) it can be placed next to almost any other colour without fear of a clash.

It’s not a showy plant, because the flowers nod, and usually all you can see of them in the garden is their backs. But it has a pleasant element of surprise — I like to lift a blossom with a finger to display the crimson markings, which always make visitors gasp. Propagation of this species is by seed, which it sets with some reluctance — I always think I should get out there with a paintbrush to make sure it’s .pollinated, but usually don’t remember in time.

Geranium sanguineum, the “bloody cranesbill,” is the most common species seen in gardens, I guess. It’s too common altogether for the anti-magenta league, but I think it has a place. It isn’t fussy about where it grows, it flowers freely no matter what the season is like, and although it doesn’t spread very much it is tough enough to withstand competition from just about anything. The most common colour of its flowers is a hard nagenta, but if you are patient and grow on a range of the seedlings that always pop up around it you may be rewarded with one which is near-red or near-pink. I have a very attractive dwarf seedling which grows no more than 15cm high and has flowers of a deep colour, almost purple. If G. sanguineum is despised as a weed by some, its subspecies, G. lancastriense, is treasured by those lucky enough to grow it. This is a rare British native, known to grow wild only on the island of Walney. There is not a trace of magenta in this plant. Several clones exist — some are white, some are palest pink, and all are veined exqisitely with an intricate deep pink network. I have three, from different sources, and all are different; “Carter’s Form,” a bit pinker than the others and stronger growing, may be the best but the most elegant is a pale, pale pink form which hardly increases at all. It really needs rockgarden conditions, I think. “Russel . Pritchard” is another geranium that has not gorwn well for me recently; I have lost and replaced', it a couple of times. This is a hybrid between the “bloody cranesbill” and one of the native New Zealanders, G. traversii from the Chathams. I don’t know quite what you have to do to please this plant. I’ve seen it thriving in dry, hungry soil, and in sticky clay, and I’ve also seen it sulking in both types of soil. When happy it runs about, betraying the influence of its Kiwi parent, and takes root at intervals to form large clumps, which disappear in early summer beneath its light crimson-pink flowers. G. traversii itself, in any of its pink forms, is a good garden plant in gardens in which it will grow well — I have found it somewhat of a miff; it comes and goes from self-sown seed (right now it’s gone) and looks very pretty in midsummer when covered with its clear pink flowers, but is apt to die unexpectedly just when it is looking best.