Do I need to worry if I individually cut off hundreds of tiny shrivelled Campanula cochleariifolia blooms, characteristically also known as Fairies’ Thimbles, with nail scissors? I mean, it does sound like a case for a head shrink, right? I may have a serious problem!
Well, while that might well be, this particular case has more to do with wanting to enjoy the flowering period of one of my favourite plants for as long as possible, unspoiled by the ugly sight of wilted blooms. Campanulas – or bellflowers - do not wilt well, aesthetically speaking. A reason why it might not be a good idea to have too many of them in a small plot. But, as I said, campanulas are amongst my absolute favourites and I would not want to be without them. So in order to keep things looking good I cut most faded flowers off immediately. One by one. Obviously, I have more spare time than is good for me. Yet one of the few advantages of gardening in a tight space is having a limited number of plants so you can tend to them individually: I have, after all, only two bowls full of the above mentioned C. cochleariifolias.
Well, while that might well be, this particular case has more to do with wanting to enjoy the flowering period of one of my favourite plants for as long as possible, unspoiled by the ugly sight of wilted blooms. Campanulas – or bellflowers - do not wilt well, aesthetically speaking. A reason why it might not be a good idea to have too many of them in a small plot. But, as I said, campanulas are amongst my absolute favourites and I would not want to be without them. So in order to keep things looking good I cut most faded flowers off immediately. One by one. Obviously, I have more spare time than is good for me. Yet one of the few advantages of gardening in a tight space is having a limited number of plants so you can tend to them individually: I have, after all, only two bowls full of the above mentioned C. cochleariifolias.
Campanula cochleariifolia, or Fairies' Thimbles
I do grow several other species however, and thought I might list them below. Some are in pots and those tend to do best with me. Others I have squished into the narrow bed running around the terrace on three sides, all more or less in shade. This, together with being suffocated by their more robust neighbours, probably accounts for their not doing too well (or having given up altogether already).
I know. Why plant them if you don’t even have a good spot and space for them? There’s no rational explanation I’m afraid. It is greediness that made me buy all these campanulas in the first place because I adore them and wanted their company. And now I try to keep them alive, promising them that one distant day – if they hold out for that long – I’ll set them free in a proper border. Poor things, I really hope they keep faith in me!
So here comes my campanula list:
I know. Why plant them if you don’t even have a good spot and space for them? There’s no rational explanation I’m afraid. It is greediness that made me buy all these campanulas in the first place because I adore them and wanted their company. And now I try to keep them alive, promising them that one distant day – if they hold out for that long – I’ll set them free in a proper border. Poor things, I really hope they keep faith in me!
So here comes my campanula list:
First, of course, the above mentioned Campanula cochleariifolia, of which I grow a blue and a white version. According to the excellent book “Campanulas. A Gardener’s Guide” by Peter Lewis and Margaret (Timber Press, 1998) it “thrives in crevices, scree-beds, sink troughs, paths, paving, drives, walls and pretty well anywhere else, creeping and seeding joyously. Some consider it a menace, and others just despise it.” Personally, I love it. Cutting faded blooms off, it obviously can’t self-seed and when the creeping rhizomes overcrowd the pan, as those shallow pots are called in rock gardening circles, I just divide and give surplus bits away.
A white and a blue version of Campanula cochleariifolia
I have a very sentimental attachment to Fairies’ Thimbles: my grandfather used to grow them as edging along both sides of the main path in his garden. As a child I was fascinated (and still am) by their perfect miniature bell shape and graceful daintiness. However, I quickly, if disappointedly, learned that you can’t really preserve them by pressing. For one thing, the shape isn’t half as pretty in 2 D (two dimensions). Far worse though: they don’t keep their colour! Rather than a lovely blue or white, you’ll be left with a transparent, slightly brownish or bluish shadow of the flower. That, by the way, seems to be the case with many if not most campanulas. Best to enjoy them alive, then.
Campanula pulla - for want of own picture taken from the blog www.spitalfieldslife.com
Similar in form and size but flowering less abundantly with me and generally more difficult to establish is Campanula pulla. ‘Pulla’ apparently means ‘very dark’ and the flowers are a really deep purple. According to Lewis and Lynch, it would be ideal in a sink or trough but less so in a pot, loves lime and tends to flower itself to death if not frequently divided. Well, the latter not to my experience. Also, opinions seem to be divided on whether to keep it shady or in the sun. I move it around but tend to favour shady or semi-shady spots. One thing I agree with: don’t let it dry out! The experts advise “a moisture-retaining soil, with abundance of both grit and humus, and due attention to water requirements”. As I said: it sometimes helps if you have a tiny plot…
 Campanula rotundifolia - photo from commons.wikimedia.org |  Campanula rotundifolia - photo from www.flowersinsweden.com |
Next up on the list is Campanula rotundifolia, the Harebell or Scottish Bluebell. It is similar to C. cochleariifolia in its graceful daintiness, even more so perhaps since it grows considerably taller than the previous two. It is a native species in Britain and in most of Europe and one of the prettiest wildflowers to my mind. In my garden however, it is one of these maddening cases where the seed packet says it will grow pretty much anywhere and self-seed generously at that – and you feel all the more stupid for utterly failing to establish it
It did not do well in the “border” but wandered into the crevices of the terrace tiles. All fine, but not only was it a bit shady there when other plants grew, but also we’d accidently trample it a few too many times. So I decided to transplant it to my “meadow” – a long window box I had planted, not too densely, with Red Campion, Ox-eye daisies, wild strawberries and a small chicory among other things. They are all doing fine as I have used “spent” soil from other pots, meaning there should not be too many nutrients in there. All except, you’ve guessed it, the harebell. But it stubbornly has come up again between the tiles…
Campanula patula - photo from http://gallery.new-ecopsychology.org
For my “meadow” I should perhaps try Campanual patula which I remember growing abundantly in German meadows, in quite long grass. It too is a wildflower native in Britain, though while once common it apparently is now only found very locally. It is quite tall and has starry rather than bell-shaped flowers and from memory I know these to be of a reddish purple rather than the blue-purple of the harebell.
 Hairy: Campanula barbata |  C. barbata in a deep pot |
Then I have a pot with Campanula barbata. It is tempting to link the Latin “barbata” to the German word “Bart” – beard – and I am sure the connection is there since this campanula, flowers and all, is hairy. It is fascinating to observe a bumblebee crawling into a bloom, barely bigger than the insect itself, and then for it to re-emerge and wipe its big equally hairy bum while sitting on such an unsteady, perilously bending seat.
Lewis and Lynch point out it tends to be short-lived, often being biennial only. Mine has lived for several years now but I made sure to give it a tall pot for its long taproot. The latter is perennial, while anything above ground dies down in winter – making me fear the worst each year. Then, in mid- to late spring, new leaves emerge and I sigh with relief. Touch wood the plant will continue to do so in the foreseeable future as unfailingly I either do not let it set seed (for aesthetical reasons, see above, and in the hope of not weakening the plant) or gloriously forget to sow it. Oh, and apparently Campanula barbata prefers – and thus may live longer in – deep, lime-free soil that isn’t too rich.
Campanula poscharskyana climbing up a wall
Walking around in the neighbourhood, I often come across another campanula – especially in slightly neglected front gardens. It is Campanula poscharskyana and much as I try, I fear I’ll never remember its name by heart. Notwithstanding this, it is a creeper with flat star-like flowers that clings to walls and romps in crevices. I’m sure it can get out of hand fairly easily as it is decidedly rampant, has such long shoots and puts down roots wherever these shoots find a tiny suitable crack to hang on to.
Campanula poscharskyana will cling on to - and grow in - every little crack or crevice
As I do not have a wall with cracks in and am too nervous to let it loose elsewhere in the garden, I keep one plant in a shallow pot – albeit not the usual purple-blue one but a variety called “E.H.Frost” with milky-white flowers. Also, its leaves seem paler than those in my neighbours’ gardens – but that may have to do with depletion of nutrients in the pot rather than it being a “natural” feature. I feel pretty guilty about it, it reminds me of cheetahs or eagles kept in zoo enclosures: poor creatures with no room to run or soar as they were meant to by Mother Nature
Campanula poscharskyana 'E.H. Frost'
In a similar vein, there is Campanula portenschlagiana, only marginally easier to remember but prettier in my eyes: I like my bellflowers to be bell-shaped. (Although, to be precise, these are more funnel- than bell-shaped). It used to be called C. muralis because this plant, too, grows and looks great in wall crevices etc. – like a mural perhaps. Lewis and Lynch describe it as “one of the menaces among campanulas” because it has not just “long questing stems reaching out to cover the ground” but “more reaching out below the surface of the soil in quest of fresh territory”. But they immediately qualify their harsh verdict by adding “although the runners do quest far, in a more open situation they are not at all hard to control by just pulling them out; only in a neglected situation will they spread menacingly”. Somewhere I have read it described as “the most charming weed in the world”.
Campanula portschlagiana - photo from www.99roots.com
I have mine in a container, shading the foot of Clematis tex. ‘Princess Diana’ and very decoratively hanging over its rim. Each year there are masses of deep lavender blooms. So many in fact that you can hardly spot any leaves. When spent, you simply pull off the flowering stems that grow from the rosettes and it looks all tidy again. Usually you get more blooms a little later.
Last year, Campanula portenschlagiana had seriously crowded out the clematis which grew feebler and feebler. Time for some serious action. I carefully removed the top 10 centimetres of soil in the container, making sure I caught every bit of campanula runner – including from between the clematis shoots. Then new soil was added until the previous level was reached. Finally I broke off some campanula rosettes from the pulled up mass, leaving just a tiny bit of “stem” below the leaves, and put those back into the container. Water them for the first two weeks and – voilá – the new plants should have taken root. They really root dead easy and since there usually are so many of them, you needn’t even bother with runners.
I’ll write about more campanulas next week.
I’ll write about more campanulas next week.
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