Beverley Nicholls Discusses the Lesser Wart-Weed—And Other Problems

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 538, 15 December 1928, Page 26

Beverley Nicholls Discusses the Lesser Wart-Weed —And Other Problems

In my garden the flowers refuse to pay any attention to the newspapers. Every day, when I am in the country, writes Beverley Nicholls in “London Calling,’’ I turn eagerly to the corner of the page where the behaviour of respectable gardens is described. I read, with pleasurable anticipation, that “now is the time when the first pink shoots of the lesser wart-weed are perfuming the air with their feathery branches. N. 8.: Plant out all cabianthus cuttings without delay.” Then, newspaper in hand, I go out to sniff my lesser wart-weed and see that the cabianthus cuttings are not forgotten. And I find that the wartweed was over weeks ago, and that the cabianthi have not even cut their first teeth.

I can give you chapter and verse for this. All through June I was alternately delighted and infuriated by a shameless bed of dahlias. Now, as everybody knows, there has long been a tacit arrangement, among dahlias that they should flower in August. It is an understood thing. And the right sort of dahlia would be as much ashamed of being seen in flower in June as the right sort of debutante of being seen in Bond Street in August. Not my dahlias, however. They refuse to recognise any social duties at all. I should not mind this so much if my gardener could explain it to me. But he can’t. Gardeners never explain. They just garden. And they adopt a possessive attitude toward the garden which is truly enraging. They refuse to allow oue to do what one wants.

Take a very simple example. In my kitchen garden at the present moment is a large bed of huge green feathers. Those feathers are of no use to anybody. They are asparagus run wild —gone to the dogs, as it were.

There was no sort of need for the asparagus to do that. It was entirely the gardener’s fault. He stopped me eating asparagus when there were still heaps of stalks sticking up through the ground. He said it was “bad for the bed.” I said that even if that were true it was good for my inside. He glowered at me and said that he would not have me spoiling his bed. I threatened to come out at night and cut the asparagus while he was asleep. He threatened to leave. I tried a little philosophy on him. I said that life was an uncertain thing, that for all he knew we might all be dead next year and then what would it matter whether we had spoiled its wretched bed for the asparagus or not? Whereupon he muttered that if everybody went on those principles, “there wouldn’t be nothin’ to heat, nowhere.” AVhiek sounded damnably like the truth. Anyway there the asparagus stands, waving delicate mocking branches at me. And every time I pass it I say to it: “All right. I shall eat you—next year!” However, I do not feel so bad about the asparagus, because qt least I know what it is and can swear at it by its own name. 1 can tell marrows, too, at sight, and on a clear day can detect the presence of artichokes beneath the soil. Flowers are more difficult, aud to

all those whose knowledge of floral nomenclature is not exhaustive, 1 can offer the following tips, which will prove invaluable to them when they are showing inquisitive friends round their garden: 1. Whenever you are asked the name of a rose, always have on the tip of your tongue the name of a French marquise who was murdered in the French Revolution. I find “Madame la Marquise de Polignac” a very serviceable title for, pink varieties. If you are feeling irritable and the rose is red, you can call it Madame Lenin, and say that its leaf is poisonous to hats.

2. If you are asked the name of a tall flower which is neither a sunflower nor a fox-glove, it is nearly always a phlox. Should there be any argument about the matter, i.e„ should your tormentor suggest that it looks more like a lupin, you must smile in a superior way and say: “Well, that is the phlox family, isn’t it?”

If they say no, the only thing to do is to pick it and give it to them. 3. The short flowers are more complicated. There seem to be quantities of them. There are nearly always plenty of snap-dragons, and you can usually create a good effect by referring to these as “Antirrhinums,” or if you wish to be very pedantic "antirrhina.” There is usually some lavender, but your friends will probably know this as well as you. Most people, too, are unaware of the appearance of stocks and pansies. The best thing to do is to get one flower which nobody has ever seen, and lead people up to it as a climax. And when you tell them what it is, always be very casual about it, and say: “Oh, this is merely the lesser oxinpopolos. There must be at least three other varieties in the world. It has to be watered with creme de menthe.”

N.B.—lf you cannot get a flower which nobody else has seen, you can always dip some of the blossoms in ammonia. They will turn bright green. If you then remove some of the petals, the result will be very pleasing to all true nature lovers. r