There's not been a lot of time for the garden, which has gone from being a tidy, lovingly tended baby to a squalling, messy adolescent running around uncontrolled. But my seed-raised Dahlia 'Bishop's Children' (Thompson & Morgan, £2.99 a packet) are providing me with a little joy at the tail end of a less than satisfactory summer. Thankfully, I can turn my eye from all those rain-drenched asters in the Long Border that should have been staked (or Chelsea-chopped at the beginning of June) and rest it on the luscious bronze foliage of what has to be the most rewarding annual I've ever raised. For 'rewarding' read: they were sown, neglected, pricked out, neglected, planted, neglected - and still they thrive!
The 'Bishop's Children' seed strain was developed from Dahlia 'Bishop of Llandaff' (and the other bishops in his series), itself the result of an all-black foliage introduction from France in the late nineteenth century ('Lucifer'). A grower named Stephen Treseder produced a dark red peony-flowered beauty in 1927, which he decided to call 'Bishop Huges', but unfortunately the good bishop objected to his handle being used. The name was changed to 'The Bishop', which failed to make the grade in the face of harsh standards set by modern botanical nomenclature (use of 'The' is a botanical offence, no doubt punishable by death). Finally the 'Bishop of Llandaff' was born - and dahlia snobs (like myself) have worshipped him ever since.
I didn't actually realise I was a dahlia snob - I just knew that I liked what I liked. And what I liked had to be 'refined' (in my terms), have single or semi-double flowers and exceptionally good foliage. All hail The Bishop! But France has swung me there, as in so many things. I now delight in the fact that the French have a bit of a dahlia obsession. Everywhere you go, planted out by the side of the road, in fields, round the front door - they are everyone's favourite flower. And who can knock a plant - any plant - that's growing really, really happily? Certainly not me - I'm a convert.
When we moved to this garden in September 2011, I inherited a number of absolutely superb, dark red and purple dahlias - pompons, singles, all variations on a colour theme, but with their own quirky little personalities. Between the voles (whose favourite food their tubers seemed to be) and my own tendency to overwater in winter, they are all just a sad memory. I have to start rebuilding the collection next year, but at least the 'Bishop's Children' are a start. I'm going to try lifting the tubers between mid-October and the beginning of November (when the frost has blackened the stems) and overwintering them in bark chippings (from our autumn wood delivery), kept barely moist. Fingers crossed.
The 'Bishop's Children' seed strain was developed from Dahlia 'Bishop of Llandaff' (and the other bishops in his series), itself the result of an all-black foliage introduction from France in the late nineteenth century ('Lucifer'). A grower named Stephen Treseder produced a dark red peony-flowered beauty in 1927, which he decided to call 'Bishop Huges', but unfortunately the good bishop objected to his handle being used. The name was changed to 'The Bishop', which failed to make the grade in the face of harsh standards set by modern botanical nomenclature (use of 'The' is a botanical offence, no doubt punishable by death). Finally the 'Bishop of Llandaff' was born - and dahlia snobs (like myself) have worshipped him ever since.
I didn't actually realise I was a dahlia snob - I just knew that I liked what I liked. And what I liked had to be 'refined' (in my terms), have single or semi-double flowers and exceptionally good foliage. All hail The Bishop! But France has swung me there, as in so many things. I now delight in the fact that the French have a bit of a dahlia obsession. Everywhere you go, planted out by the side of the road, in fields, round the front door - they are everyone's favourite flower. And who can knock a plant - any plant - that's growing really, really happily? Certainly not me - I'm a convert.
When we moved to this garden in September 2011, I inherited a number of absolutely superb, dark red and purple dahlias - pompons, singles, all variations on a colour theme, but with their own quirky little personalities. Between the voles (whose favourite food their tubers seemed to be) and my own tendency to overwater in winter, they are all just a sad memory. I have to start rebuilding the collection next year, but at least the 'Bishop's Children' are a start. I'm going to try lifting the tubers between mid-October and the beginning of November (when the frost has blackened the stems) and overwintering them in bark chippings (from our autumn wood delivery), kept barely moist. Fingers crossed.
The one seed packet gave me 100 per cent dark foliage and only single flowers. I've planted them out in the (so-called!) cut flower border in the main garden, but also in the tiny border we have at the front of the house. There was a certain amount of domestic strife over the last week, because all of the plants I had grown so lovingly from seed were concealed behind my husband's horrid old jalopy (the last in a long line). Not only could no one passing by enjoy them - even I was forced to squeeze behind the car for a quick fix. Finally I can see them when I drive up to the house!
I think the 'Bishop's Children' foliage looks quite lush with Nicotiana langsdorffii and N. 'Perfume Mixed' (even though I do say so myself). Nicotiana are also 'rewarding' annuals - see above. Since I specialise in rather jungle-style plantings (mostly because they never get any aftercare) it may not be to everyone's taste, but I'm happy.
I think the 'Bishop's Children' foliage looks quite lush with Nicotiana langsdorffii and N. 'Perfume Mixed' (even though I do say so myself). Nicotiana are also 'rewarding' annuals - see above. Since I specialise in rather jungle-style plantings (mostly because they never get any aftercare) it may not be to everyone's taste, but I'm happy.
This is the first of the Bishop's children to flower in the border at the front of the house. I was about to write that the colours in my mix have only been red and orange - gorgeous, but a little limited. However, study the photograph. Dare I believe I am not kidding myself? There might be a purple flower about to burst forth into the late summer sunshine (hopefully) of Châtillon?
Rose 'Etoile d'Holland', over our garage (soon to be summer living room, fingers crossed) door is the plant that dictates the colour scheme in the road. My feeling is that there have to be greens and purples and the 'right kind' of red out there, otherwise there's a terrible clash with the dominating rose. But perhaps that very startling orange 'Child' on the far left of the picture is thumbing its nose at the rose. Saying, 'At least someone in this house likes bright colours!' (And has no taste, I'd add ...)
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