Campanulas - going once, going twice, going three times...

With me again? Thank you! I promise this will be the last post about campanulas for a long time... But  they are just so incredibly beautiful, aren't they! And because I have - or, in some cases had - quite a few more of them, let's dive straight in. I will try to be brief :-) .

Let's start with the "had"s - those that thought it beneath their dignity to stay with me. First and foremost in this category there was Campanula lactiflora 'Pritchard's Variety'.
I'm not sure I had the true thing, as it is described as having dark purple bells and mine were mid-purple only. No matter. Praise has been heaped on C. lactiflora by many a famous gardener, and 'Pritchard's Variety' along with the pinkish 'Loddon Anna' are just the best-known for borders.

Campanula lactiflora 'Loddon Anna' - photo from www.arnhem.groei.nl

Apparently, this campanula too self-seeds like mad - though I'm not sure this applies to the named varieties as well. Lewis and Lynch (in their book Campanulas - A Gardener's Guide) say that E.A. Bowles spoke of its becoming a weed at Myddelton House! I love Myddelton House Gardens, by the way - it is one of my most favourite "London discoveries", even if it is not really within London but just outside the M25. The gardens have been lovingly restored and I often went there with my little one whilst his older sibling was at school. Alas, now they both are and it feels a little sad to go on my own. But that's just an aside.

C. lactiflora, whether 'Pritchard's' or not, did not like its allocated spot - squeezed between the rose, my cistus and pots on the remaining two sides. Neither did it want to wait for the promised land - the one I promised I'd take it to one day when I'd have a proper garden - but went in search for it itself. That is to say: it grew weaker and weaker until this year I believe it reached plant heaven, i.e. it did not come up again. I should like to try this species again when I indeed will have a proper garden, in the meantime I try to take this as a warning.

Campanula glomerata - photo from www.nautesund.no

Nearby, even more in the shade perhaps, some Campanula glomerata just hang on for bare life. In light soils it creeps and runs to the point of overrunning a plot, but on our London clay (albeit improved one) it does not manage much. And, of course, the shade wears it out. My plants are gifts from my mother's garden - the ultimate light soil there, but too dry for C. glomerata to conquer it completely - and they are still with me but too weak to flower. I just leave them were they are, as the spot really is invisible.

But one day, in this longed for garden proper, I should like to try grow them again, especially some of the lovely named varieties such as the white 'Schneekrone' ('Crown of Snow') which has not just one domed clusterhead of flowers at the top but whirls above whirls, like a candelabra primula.

Campanula glomerata 'Schneekrone' - photo from www.flickr.com

I was also a bit naïve with Campanula latifolia, I guess. I had come across a quote saying "its toughness in the face of competition and difficult conditions make it a most elegant plant for wild or woodland gardens. We found the white one among the nettles when we took over our 17th-century garden." Mine was the white one and bearing that quote in mind, I planted it in a dry, shady corner - thinking it would cope and simultaneously be kept in check there.

Well, that was a bit too optimistic perhaps. A new plant, pale lavender, has a slightly more favourable spot and gets watered every now and then, so it is still with me. I wish I could say it was the stately plant I admired elsewhere, e.g. at Kew, but again: too little space and light for that. But at least it does flower. With this campanula, too, there are lovely named varieties - such as the deep violet 'Brantwood' or the pale lilac coloured 'Gloaming'. The species, by the way, is a native to most of Europe, save the Mediterranean. Apparently it loves slightly acid soils and can be invasive there.

Campanula latifolia at Kew Gardens

... and just the blooms

Since at least occasionally I try to learn from my mistakes, I have not planted any more campanulas in the beds but any new treasure I could not resist buying was put in pots. This way, they may not have more room but they will get more light since half the terrace is in the sun for most of the day.

So which treasures are there? Well, there is the lovely hybrid Campanula 'Sarastro': big dark purple or deep violet tubular flowers, that look great next to white or silver-leaved Senecio cineraria. 'Sarastro' looks similar to the perhaps better known hybrid 'Kent Belle', but the latters flowers are less tubular or rather more slashed. So anxious was I not to loose this plant as well that I split the pot-full I bought and planted the bits in three different spots. So far they all do okay, but obviously they need to grow stronger before there'll be much of a show.

Campanula 'Sarastro'

... looking good next to Senecio

Then there is another plant I bought at a plant fair last year, called Campanula 'Wedding Bells'. Frankly though, they must be the wedding bells of a vagabond: two white skirts, slightly crumpled and not very clean ones, put on top of each other. If you lift them - or catch the plant flashing its knickers, so to speak - there are bristly hair and lots of burgundy red dots inside. If I remember correctly, I was told it is of Campanula punctata parentage, and this ancestry would explain the spots. Overall, the plant is pretty but certainly not refined. But it too has the lovely habit of producing more and more blooms from its axils if you snip off - very carefully so as not to destroy the baby buds - the spent blooms.

Campanula 'Wedding Bells' - I forgot to move the pots with cuttings before taking this shot, so this adds to the somewhat untidy feel of the plant, I guess

Double-skirted, too, but much more of a well-bred little lady is Campanula trachelium 'Bernice'. Her skirt is a deep violet-blue, very frilly and girly, and she looks amazing next to my hot pink Salvia 'Cerro Potosi'. Unfortunately, she's also a magnet to black-fly. I am yet to find out whether this is due to my keeping her in a small pot or a general vice, a sort of flaw in character.

Also back in a pot now is Campanula alliariifolia. It is a self-seeded plant which I intend to keep as a back-up, since its mother in the shady bed slowly gets swamped by a white Japanese anemone. I love its slender spire of slim white bells, like a white foxglove perhaps - just a bit more stocky. The plan will eventually bulk up though and form a clump.

Campanula trachelium 'Bernice'

Campanula alliariifolia, self-seeded

And finally: Campanula medium, the Canterbury Bells. They always remind me of a chandelier for some reason. I remember being fascinated by them as a child - in my mind I can still see the seed packet with its picture of the tall inflorescences, their flowers a mix of dark purple, light pink and white. You still get these seed packets, but is there a law that dictates "You are never to get the colour you set out for"? A commandment even: "You shall not seek a specific colour from this mix..."?

I love the dark purple and the white ones best. But with seedlings, there is no way to tell the colour before the plant is well budded up. So which ones to keep? There is only room some very few plants! Invariably I end up with either pink or pale purple... It is maddening. That even happens when I buy a plant in a nursery or garden centre! Campanula medium is biannual, you can get plants in autumn or spring. But no matter how often I buy 'Alba' or 'white form', they never turn out as claimed! But, of course, they are beautiful all the same - just so shamefully fleeting: glorious for one week, two, if you consider the buds, but no good after that.

Campanula medium, the "white form" I bought...

photobombed by a white Campanula persicifolia

Well, obsession never made for rational choices I guess. So I have, as you are sure to agree, far too many campanulas for my tiny plot - many of which look fairly drab for most of the year. But does that stop me? Make an informed guess... Am I happy with it? You bet!