I couldn't resist any longer. For years I have tried, but defences got weaker and weaker and now I've given in to temptation and at the moment of writing I am in a state of delirious jubilation for it. At long last I have treated myself to a Trachelospermum jasminoides. It is also called false jasmine or star jasmine on account of its similar looking clusters of small white flowers and the equally strong fragrance. But to my nose the Trachelospermum is far superior: not sickeningly sweet and overpowering, just strong, exotic and refined.
Neighbours at the back of our block have a huge plant climbing the fence to a van company next door and in summer, whenever I leave the building, there is this scented cloud drifting towards my nostrils. Whenever I get a whiff of it, I loose every restrain and start sniffing like a dog on a fox's trail - whether I'm in "polite conversation" (at which I am useless anyway, I'm afraid) or else. It took all my will power just to stop myself from running out for no better reason than to smell it again. So why then didn't I buy my own plant any earlier? Lack of space, of course.
Neighbours at the back of our block have a huge plant climbing the fence to a van company next door and in summer, whenever I leave the building, there is this scented cloud drifting towards my nostrils. Whenever I get a whiff of it, I loose every restrain and start sniffing like a dog on a fox's trail - whether I'm in "polite conversation" (at which I am useless anyway, I'm afraid) or else. It took all my will power just to stop myself from running out for no better reason than to smell it again. So why then didn't I buy my own plant any earlier? Lack of space, of course.
Trachelospermum jasminoides - fragrance to die for.
There were three Clematis montana var. rubens and a Parthenocissus quinquefolia covering every square inch of the fences until recently. Madness to have four such strong climbers in such small plot! But we were tenants and only looking after them. Meaning de facto I'd constantly have to prune them. Eventually, with some intervention from fate in the form of our next-door neighbours, the clematis plants one by one went.
The Parthenocissus has happily sized its chance since and romps unhampered by competitors over everything on one side of the garden. On the opposite side I now have trained half my rose to the fence. Then there was the decision of what plant to grow up the third panel: sunny for half a day and in summer only. I badly wanted a Trachelospermum. But would it be happy in this spot? My book says it needs sun. At least, in order to flower really well. Yet it is evergreen, with shiny, somewhat leathery, dark green oval leaves: It would look good and hide the ugly fence even if it didn't flower as well as I hoped.
The Parthenocissus has happily sized its chance since and romps unhampered by competitors over everything on one side of the garden. On the opposite side I now have trained half my rose to the fence. Then there was the decision of what plant to grow up the third panel: sunny for half a day and in summer only. I badly wanted a Trachelospermum. But would it be happy in this spot? My book says it needs sun. At least, in order to flower really well. Yet it is evergreen, with shiny, somewhat leathery, dark green oval leaves: It would look good and hide the ugly fence even if it didn't flower as well as I hoped.
This "camel" is a Clematis montana var. rubens hitching a ride on a Ceanothus and a neighbouring tree.
Same view about three years later: Clematis gone, Ceanothus dead, with its skeleton left in place for the Parthenocissus to climb over - it clearly took advantage of the situation.
But what if it actually was happy there? Would it turn into just such a monster as the Clematis montana had been, suffocating and strangling each and everything within reach? The book spoke of twining shoots, several metres long, vigorous growth, up to 9 metres tall! In other words: Wouldn't I send myself from the frying-pan into the fire? Don't do it, said my head. Do go for it, said desire.
In the end, it was pity and loyalty that made me decide in favour of Passiflora caerulea. Certainly not a very good choice for my plot. The London clay in the bed had been improved with leaf mould and years of dumping spent multipurpose compost from pots there, so I don't worry too much on that front. Yet Passiflora caerulea too needs much sun and is a vigorous climber. Unlike Trachelospermum though, it is not evergreen but on the contrary late to emerge and get into leaf - not before May or even June here - and, left untended, has an untidy growth at that, much like the true jasmine. Not what you'd want if you intend to hide something all year round.
In the end, it was pity and loyalty that made me decide in favour of Passiflora caerulea. Certainly not a very good choice for my plot. The London clay in the bed had been improved with leaf mould and years of dumping spent multipurpose compost from pots there, so I don't worry too much on that front. Yet Passiflora caerulea too needs much sun and is a vigorous climber. Unlike Trachelospermum though, it is not evergreen but on the contrary late to emerge and get into leaf - not before May or even June here - and, left untended, has an untidy growth at that, much like the true jasmine. Not what you'd want if you intend to hide something all year round.
Passiflora caerulea: the flowers always remind me of fancy medals or orders.
But this plant was one of those I had promised "release" for years. In fact, it had come with me from Germany nine yeas ago where originally I had bought it as a houseplant. They are sold as houseplants there, the shoots tied round and round a wire wreath, condemned like a hamster in a wheel. All its life it had spent in a pot and for the past few years had tried its best to withstand the onslaught of the Parthenocissus mauling it in its corner. An unfair battle, as the Passiflora's resources were so limited. I loved its spectacular flowers and the occasional bright orange fruit in autumn and wanted to see it reach its potential. So in it went in the prized - since rare - spot of ground last October. I'm sorry to say I'm still waiting for it to show potential - but freedom can be hard to suffer, I guess. So give it time...
Back to the Trachelospermum though. No, space in my garden obviously didn't increase. But this summer the fragrant clouds proved just too tempting. Moreover, I had come to the conclusion that a) this climber didn't need full sun to flower after all - proved by some specimens that had teased my nose in the semi-shade of a pub garden - and b) I found you could tame the monster. In a front garden in Kew I had seen a panel of green and white up the house wall that on closer inspection turned out to be Trachelospermum: regularly tied to a trellis and rigorously clipped, like a vertical formal hedge.
Trachelospermum tamed into a neatly clipped panel.
It looked very neat with its smallish leaves and still flowered profusely. Checking the "RHS Encyclopedia of Garden Plants", I find it belongs to the same "Pruning Group 11" as does Clematis montana. Both need no regular pruning but can be trimmed "to fit available space", it says. There is a difference though. Apart from the Clematis being deciduous, i.e. losing its leaves in winter, and being much broader leaved (making it look less neat and tidy, even when cut), you would forfeit next year's flowers if you prune the it later in the year when it really gets going and strangles everything. The reason for this is that Clematis montana blooms on last year's growth. Trachelospermum on the other hand flowers on current year's growth - so while pruning in late winter or early spring is recommended, you can snip bits off pretty much any time and just lose part of the flowers or delay them, I would say.
So if for some reason the Passiflora in my garden proves ungrateful or overwhelmed by its new found freedom, I can entertain the hope of training that evergreen monster Trachelospermum into a dense green veneer for the fence. But where do I put it if this "opportunity" does not become available? At the moment, I frankly don't care: Columbia Road Market sold strong plants, a metre high and bedecked with flowers, for £ 10. Every time I enter the garden now I'm enveloped by its intoxicating fragrance and feel like a child with an ice lolly.
So if for some reason the Passiflora in my garden proves ungrateful or overwhelmed by its new found freedom, I can entertain the hope of training that evergreen monster Trachelospermum into a dense green veneer for the fence. But where do I put it if this "opportunity" does not become available? At the moment, I frankly don't care: Columbia Road Market sold strong plants, a metre high and bedecked with flowers, for £ 10. Every time I enter the garden now I'm enveloped by its intoxicating fragrance and feel like a child with an ice lolly.
RSS Feed
