When my sisters said that they were going to come over to France for a couple of days, I jumped at the chance to show them what I had been up to in my rather rampageous Normandy garden. In the event, they found out why this part of Europe is so green – the rainstorms verged on the biblical and the howling gales made Caroline feel she was back at home in Scotland..
In the four minutes or so that it wasn’t actually pelting, we wandered about discussing the fairly fundamental question of which plants look good together and which don’t.
I’m not as expert as Louise when it comes to shape and textures combinations as you’ll see from her Great Plants this Month column today but I’m constantly tinkering with combinations of plant colour.
An example: bronze fennel leaves looked great in new borders I was developing of mauve, pink and purple flowers, but when its yellow flowers unfurled, it looked ghastly. So the fennel had to go. (Personal gripe – it’s the sort of consideration that NEVER seems to be taken into account in a Chelsea Show Garden or even a Garden Makeover Programme.) Then, by dumping the pale pinks as well, and replacing them with orange crocosmias (‘Tangerine Queen’ mostly) and orange roses (‘Super’, ‘Fellowship’, ‘Westerland’) – bingo! The purples were lifted by the colour contrast and began to sing, instead of being deadened by the pinks and yellows.
Reds can also be very tricky. Catalogues and plantlists have some funny ideas about what it is, ranging from a Plummy Magenta (doesn’t that sound like an acquaintance of Bertie Wooster’s!) to Hazelnut Brown (definitely that annoying girl behind me in Class 3B). Some reds have yellow in their makeup, others have pink, and photos often lie. Whites can lighten colour-effects, or punch a hole right through them. I find true blues really difficult to place with other plants perhaps because they are so rare in the plant-world that they always look artificial. I accidentally put Rosa ‘Penny Lane’ with a purple vine, and they looked great!
Do I understand why this is? No, not really, though many swear that it is all to do with the colour -wheel where the idea is to plant neighboring shades together or colours directly opposite to one another…I think. My method is a great deal more haphazard than that, as my critical sisters were generously eager to point out at regular intervals.
It’s true, after conceding the obvious – that Elaine’s Normandy garden is bloom-azing – Laura and I were hugely relieved to find the odd colour atrocity in the undergrowth. What possessed Elaine to plant the egg-yolk yellow ligularia in her pink and white cottage garden? She falteringly explained that she’d ‘plonked’ it there as a stop gap and then forgotten about it until it flowered, but we didn’t let her off with that.
But the old girl did raise quite a good point about the duplicity of copper fennel in producing that cloying yellow flower head. Ligularia, hostas, I find they’re all capable of sabotaging your colour scheme. Everything is going splendidly well in your planting scheme with some funky leaf shapes and cool greens working as a great foil for everything else and then, basically…… Donald Trump turns up at your hen party……a ghastly, clashing flower head pops up and ruins the whole thing.
I am much lower down the evolutionary scale than Elaine when it comes to colour combinations, although considerably higher than Caroline obviously. Elaine will dig up and move a perfectly happy plant just because there is a chromatographic nuance in its colour spectrum that doesn’t have a synergistic effect on its neighbour. I am generally just happy if it grows.
I tried to pay attention when she was explaining how the colour wheel had dictated the planting scheme in her tapestry beds, but there were so many distractions in her Normandy retreat.There are nesting storks in her garden, for goodness sake! Even her French neighbours get excited about them.