The RHS Early Spring Plant Fair has always been one I wanted to go visit: when more do you need flowers and the scents of spring than in the dreary days of February? Well, in January I suppose. Pre-Christmas is fine: November provides an excellent opportunity to reacquaint yourself with the pleasures of indoors. When the weather is foul and you have a bit of spare time there’s nothing nicer than withdrawing somewhere cosy with a book and a tea. After that, the advent season throughout December is a highlight I look forward to as much as to the actual Christmas festivities. But I’d gladly hibernate from the start of a new year till mid-March.
In February, reserves of sunshine stored from last year are arguably at their lowest. While there are signs of spring to be found already, unless you are lucky enough to have a garden carpeted in snowdrops, hellebores, aconites, dwarf irises etc. – and live in a climate where they are out in bloom by this time – these signs tend to be far and few between: a patch here, a potful there… So the RHS Early Spring Show in London’s Lindley and Lawrence Halls is a huge annual draw for the flower-starved.
In February, reserves of sunshine stored from last year are arguably at their lowest. While there are signs of spring to be found already, unless you are lucky enough to have a garden carpeted in snowdrops, hellebores, aconites, dwarf irises etc. – and live in a climate where they are out in bloom by this time – these signs tend to be far and few between: a patch here, a potful there… So the RHS Early Spring Show in London’s Lindley and Lawrence Halls is a huge annual draw for the flower-starved.
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However, the show usually coincides with half-term break from school - which is why in previous years I’d be away with my two, visiting grandparents. This year we stayed in London. So this year I would definitely go. My two didn’t stand a chance: whether they liked it or not, they had to come.
It is not the most fun to go to the RHS shows with children, I have to admit. My two are well-trained (or long-suffering, depending on who you ask) visiting gardens and the like, and the little one genuinely loves plants. The older one was bribed. So they were well-behaved and reasonably patient. But still. While everyone is very nice, this event isn’t really geared towards children and they can easily get bored and feel out of place. As we arrived amongst swathes of octogenarians, I could sense their hearts sank a little, wondering where on earth I had brought them. I didn’t see a single other child apart from mine during the half day we spent there – although maybe I was just too distracted by the plants to notice.
There must have been some few though, for the lovely ladies from the Chelsea Botanical Art School who offered visitors the chance to try their hand at botanical painting – or, more precise, colouring-in – said they had four children attending their workshop that day already. This is what I had bribed my older one with: the chance to paint. Not her usual subject matter, of course, but still the chance to get some advice and tips on how to use water colours.
It is not the most fun to go to the RHS shows with children, I have to admit. My two are well-trained (or long-suffering, depending on who you ask) visiting gardens and the like, and the little one genuinely loves plants. The older one was bribed. So they were well-behaved and reasonably patient. But still. While everyone is very nice, this event isn’t really geared towards children and they can easily get bored and feel out of place. As we arrived amongst swathes of octogenarians, I could sense their hearts sank a little, wondering where on earth I had brought them. I didn’t see a single other child apart from mine during the half day we spent there – although maybe I was just too distracted by the plants to notice.
There must have been some few though, for the lovely ladies from the Chelsea Botanical Art School who offered visitors the chance to try their hand at botanical painting – or, more precise, colouring-in – said they had four children attending their workshop that day already. This is what I had bribed my older one with: the chance to paint. Not her usual subject matter, of course, but still the chance to get some advice and tips on how to use water colours.
What I should have done, of course, is drop her off there at the start and then go browsing the stalls and marvel at the flower arrangements and installations. I didn’t, as the stalls were mostly in the other hall across the road and I wasn’t too sure I could leave her with the ladies – not because I didn’t trust them, of course, but because they were not there as childminders.
Moreover, it wasn’t just the older one who wanted to try her hand at it, the little one, too, all of a sudden was adamant he wanted to have a go. He is too young still to understand the difference between water colour and any other paint – and not just in terms of the techniques and subtleties to use them. Crayons and felt-tips are their usual means of drawing... But the ladies were very nice and invited him to join in, too - and that’s despite all places being booked already before we had even arrived to ask.
Later, whilst touchingly tending to my offspring to the point of it seeming like a one-on-one tuition, they told me they always welcome children, love them to participate and encourage – no matter their age and ability. Because at this point, they said, it was about kindling or nurturing an interest rather than anything else. Proficiency wasn’t important, this might come later.
Moreover, it wasn’t just the older one who wanted to try her hand at it, the little one, too, all of a sudden was adamant he wanted to have a go. He is too young still to understand the difference between water colour and any other paint – and not just in terms of the techniques and subtleties to use them. Crayons and felt-tips are their usual means of drawing... But the ladies were very nice and invited him to join in, too - and that’s despite all places being booked already before we had even arrived to ask.
Later, whilst touchingly tending to my offspring to the point of it seeming like a one-on-one tuition, they told me they always welcome children, love them to participate and encourage – no matter their age and ability. Because at this point, they said, it was about kindling or nurturing an interest rather than anything else. Proficiency wasn’t important, this might come later.
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This sentiment seemed reflected by most stall holders (quite a few adding an extra bulb or something for their young customers) although I would imagine there’s a limit to the scope of normal child-like behaviour they’d be willing to accept. This is a rather genteel show and market – running around, playing hide and seek behind stalls, even when laughing and causing no more damage than noise would probably not be taken to kindly, especially if there were more children around.
I can’t really blame them. Whilst it would be lovely for more children to see these beautiful flowers and spring displays, a park or perhaps Kew is a better place to take the kids. At that age, subtleties are lost on them. Besides, there were some pretty porcelain cups, vintage crockery and Edwardian flower pots etc. around, too. I wouldn’t want to be the parent whose child knocked one of those stalls over… Also, the amount of care and attention that has gone into rearing the plants and getting them to be at their best in time for the show, then assembling them into well-designed displays – artfully staged each of them, but many looking almost natural – must be enough to get anyone tense and anxious if there were kids “on the loose".
I can’t really blame them. Whilst it would be lovely for more children to see these beautiful flowers and spring displays, a park or perhaps Kew is a better place to take the kids. At that age, subtleties are lost on them. Besides, there were some pretty porcelain cups, vintage crockery and Edwardian flower pots etc. around, too. I wouldn’t want to be the parent whose child knocked one of those stalls over… Also, the amount of care and attention that has gone into rearing the plants and getting them to be at their best in time for the show, then assembling them into well-designed displays – artfully staged each of them, but many looking almost natural – must be enough to get anyone tense and anxious if there were kids “on the loose".
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As for subtleties: I dearly love snowdrops – but I’m not a galanthophile by any stretch of the imagination. I very much enjoyed the snowdrop displays and marvelled at the variations Mother Nature or the bulb breeders have managed to coax out of this little winter-defying icon of a flower. It truly is astonishing to see so many different forms as well-grown bunches (or should that be patches, even when in pots?) side by side. All of them beautiful, all of them desirable. But to part with twelve pounds for a single bulb? And that was the cheapest to be had I saw – most had a price tag upwards of twenty-five pounds! Well, I guess it’s the tulpomania of our days; luckily so far with a little less-ruinous prices (at least I haven’t heard of bulbs selling for the price of a good house or a (petrol-)carriage yet).
I also find myself wondering whether some of them are not really just monstrosities, devoid of all the charm the single Galanthus nivalis possesses so abundantly. (You can tell I’m no fan of double snowdrops.) However, many of course are simply different species which naturally grow larger, others only differ in their green or yellow markings and display the same gracefulness and daintiness as their humbler siblings. Also, voices against “over-bread” flowers that are too blowsy now [though not directed at snowdrops] are at least a hundred years old – witness e.g. the backlash against the Victorians’ efforts in the writings of William Robinson, Vita Sackville-West and many others.
The bottom line for me is: I neither have the money for these collectors’ flowers - nor would I be willing to part with it for such curiosities. But I’m more than happy to gawp at them :-) .
I also find myself wondering whether some of them are not really just monstrosities, devoid of all the charm the single Galanthus nivalis possesses so abundantly. (You can tell I’m no fan of double snowdrops.) However, many of course are simply different species which naturally grow larger, others only differ in their green or yellow markings and display the same gracefulness and daintiness as their humbler siblings. Also, voices against “over-bread” flowers that are too blowsy now [though not directed at snowdrops] are at least a hundred years old – witness e.g. the backlash against the Victorians’ efforts in the writings of William Robinson, Vita Sackville-West and many others.
The bottom line for me is: I neither have the money for these collectors’ flowers - nor would I be willing to part with it for such curiosities. But I’m more than happy to gawp at them :-) .
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I did part with money at the RHS Spring Show though, more than my man would approve of, I’m afraid. But I plunged for several Epimediums, some Lilium martagons, some Nerines and Belladiva-Amaryllis hybrids, a tiny Deuzia pulchra, as well as some stunning leaf-begonias (the latter to plug gaps on my window sill with – though no-one but me has noticed those gaps…). And the little one added to his succulents.
We all could agree that the flower displays were very beautiful – both by stall holders and in the dedicated “displays”, such as a compact recreation of the winter walk at RHS garden Wisley (see photos at top; their newly published leaflet detailing the most important plants used was readily welcomed) or the floral installations of NAFAS, the National Association of Flower Arrangement Societies.
We all could agree that the flower displays were very beautiful – both by stall holders and in the dedicated “displays”, such as a compact recreation of the winter walk at RHS garden Wisley (see photos at top; their newly published leaflet detailing the most important plants used was readily welcomed) or the floral installations of NAFAS, the National Association of Flower Arrangement Societies.
Entering the Lindley Hall, though, many visitors must have felt as stunned as I did. For the centre of the hall was given over to a snowdrop installation by Fiona Silk, a garden designer according to the RHS. Innumerable “invisible” threads hung from the ceiling. Autumn and ivy leaves, alder cones and bundles upon bundles of snowdrops (their bulbs and roots wrapped in moss, I assume, and disguised as brown paper packages) had been threaded or knotted onto these "fishing lines". The whole had an ethereal appearance - as if a sudden gust had swept them all up into the air and there they were, before they’d settle on the ground again. A magical sight. In the middle, hung from a wreath of ivy trails, were bigger “packages”, each of a rare variety or form of snowdrop, an accompanying list detailing their names and provenance.
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At the far end of the hall was a huge banqueting table, lined with chairs, set for a feast that hadn’t yet started, laden with candelabras and decorated to overflowing with pots of snowdrops and artificial snow. Behind the chairs, a forest of hazel and other branches – almost little trees – stood to attention, waiting on or perhaps guarding the invisible guests.
The work of floral artist Zita Elze, current Artist in Residence for the RHS London, it complemented the “whirlwind” installation perfectly. As only a few stalls were set up in the Lindley Hall, these two works of art had room to breathe and were all the more impressive for it. Just fiendishly tricky to capture on camera – especially with dwindling daylight and nothing but a point-and-shoot one to hand. So you have to take my word – rather than the photos – for it and use your own imagination.
The work of floral artist Zita Elze, current Artist in Residence for the RHS London, it complemented the “whirlwind” installation perfectly. As only a few stalls were set up in the Lindley Hall, these two works of art had room to breathe and were all the more impressive for it. Just fiendishly tricky to capture on camera – especially with dwindling daylight and nothing but a point-and-shoot one to hand. So you have to take my word – rather than the photos – for it and use your own imagination.
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You might also enjoy the following posts:
Dope for the flower-starved: from Monet to Matisse
Tropic and not so tropic blooms against the winter gloom
Indoor gardening on the rise, part 2 - and the RHS's Urban Garden Show
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