June 2001

Here in Leicester June is traditionally the month of roses although some species roses regularly open in May.

Apart from a vigorous bed of Elena which is now about fifteen years old I have few large flowered bush roses left in the garden. I am, however, for sentimental reasons, trying to keep alive two struggling bushes.

In the late fifties my husband and I bought a house with tiny gardens to the front and rear. Since the outdoor space was too small to practice cricket skills my husband, Ralph, displayed no interest in it, but each month I saved up pennies from my housekeeping allowance to buy a few plants.

One of these was an HT rose called Wendy Cussons which I bought last knockings from the market one Saturday late in Spring and planted close to the front gate. It was, of course, well past the time for planting out bare-rooted roses and the poor thing struggled to survive but eventually produced a bloom late that October.

I was standing at the front door to welcome Ralph home from work when I saw him stop by the gate and stare at that rose's first bloom. He stood perfectly still for well over a minute. Then he turned to me and said "That is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. Where did you get it?" I told him I had picked it up at the market .

He thought for a moment, then thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a ten shilling note.

"Buy some more tomorrow when you go shopping," he ordered.

The next day I trundled the sturdy carriage-built second hand pram holding our three infants four kilometres into town and bought a bundle of five HTs, all individually labelled.

Meanwhile Ralph had spent his lunch hour at the library borrowing a Rose encyclopedia. By the time he returned home that evening he had become a rose expert.

Four of the roses I had bought passed muster, but the fifth - oh dear, the encyclopedia described it as an excellent greenhouse rose. We had no greenhouse. I was called every name under the sun. However, rather than waste it Ralph planted it with the others, grumbling the whole while.

The next year, it grew as healthy as the rest and bloomed before them all. It's flowers were heart-stirringly beautiful in a gamine rather than classic style and we both fell in love with it even if it would never win prizes on the show bench.Ralph made sure that he budded it up regularly so that we always had several plants of it

Enough of this rambling into the past. It must be the hours spent lounging round the pond that has brought on these reminiscenses. It has been so beautiful lately. The yellow flag irises, mimulas, and water buttercups have ordered me to sit and just enjoy the tranquility I have slaved to obtain.

Even the three surviving koi have come out and cruised around what little open water remains. I cannot understand how such large fish manage to remain completely hidden for nine months of the year.

Before I close for this month I had better record that we had frost warnings on the 6th and 7th of June this year.  My garden was unaffected but my hairdresser reported she had to scrape ice off her car both mornings. Over the border in Warwickshire HYDRA's Ryton gardens lost their runner beans and had their potatoes damaged.   Luckily I was in Deux Sevres and blissfully ignorant of the danger at the relevant time.