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
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
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