REMEMBERING ROSES

WHILST this Winter has not been particularly cold, its soaking dreariness seems to have lasted for months. News is bad, spirits are downcast… I want to try and bring a little beauty into our lives. Their wonderful scent cannot be shared, but I can talk about roses…

When we moved to this house five years ago, I was determined to bring roses into the rather bare garden. I could easily have planted duplicates of the ones I left behind, but with a couple of exceptions I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to choose new ones. Time has passed, and on the whole my roses have flourished, but I still feel nostalgic for the ones I left in my tiny garden in Mid-Devon.

William Lobb is a rose I first heard of from famous rose-grower Cyril Fletcher. I wanted a moss rose, something old-fashioned and highly scented, and sure enough this flourished on a trellis from the word go. Planted in 1989, when I left it in 2014 this rose had matured and spread right across the trellis and beyond.

I chose not to plant it again, because it only flowers once and not for very long. This photo (left) is from June 2010.

One rose I have planted again is 'Compassion' which I first came across in my Uncle's garden at Oxford. It's not the healthiest of roses, and it doesn't really like it here, but the scent is quite breathtaking.  In the photo (in my old garden) it mingles with Paul's Himalayan Musk, a strong and rampant climber which can be a bit of a thug and is very thorny. The combination worked extremely well at the cottage, but I'm in two minds about Paul's Himalayan Musk, as it's quite a lot of work to keep under control, although again it is sweetly scented.

Starlight Express (left) is an unscented rose. I seldom choose a plant without scent, but the colour was so gorgeous and this rose grew incredibly fast and well.

Spirit of Freedom (right) is, in contrast, a highly scented rose. The full-blown flower head must be seen in all its glory before the petals fall, because they all fall at once, forming a carpet of rose-confetti... 

To end this little essay on roses, I must share with you a wonderful poem which is centuries old, but which illustrates the timeless beauty of the flower.

Extract from: ‘On New-blown Roses’ by Decimus Magnus Ausonius (c. 310 - c. 395 AD) – a Roman poet. Translation: Helen Waddell, 1948

Spring, and the sharpness of the golden dawn.

Before the sun was up a cooler breeze

had blown, in promise of a day of heat,

and I was walking in my formal garden,

to freshen me, before the day grew old.

I saw the hoar frost stiff on the bent grasses,

sitting in fat globes on the cabbage leaves,

and all my Paestum roses laughing at me,

dew-drenched, and in the East the morning star,

and here and there a dewdrop glistening white,

that soon must perish in the early sun.

Think you, did Dawn steal colour from the roses,

or was it new born day that stained the rose?

To each one dew, one crimson, and one morning,

to star and rose, their lady Venus one.

Mayhap one fragrance, but the sweet of Dawn

drifts through the sky, and closer breathes the rose.