Chris Palmer
“Reggie, go and put a pound on Lester Piggott.”
My grandmother, known to me as Nan Palmer, ruled the roost and my uncle would have jumped to attention. It’s a clear memory of Derby Day, possibly over sixty years ago. Why I was with them a few miles from home, that weekday afternoon in June I cannot explain. These were the early times of my life, when there were clear and unambiguous signposts during the year. Events that had a meaning for me. They were tied up with newspapers and television, principally, the BBC. I realise now that it was invariably sport – The Boat Race, The Grand National, The FA Cup Final, Wimbledon, The Open and the new season of Match of the Day.
Derby Day was one. I was not one to bet, but the race still seemed to matter. I would notice the runners and riders and consider the predictions. It was always at the start of summer, invariably a hot day and in mid-week, when I was working.
In 1981, I was in the first few months of a new job, driving back to the office in my battered red Toyota 1000. I always seemed to be in a hurry those days but in the early afternoon, I pulled into a side road to listen to the thrilling commentary as Shergar won The Derby. A few months later, with the football season starting again, summer was over.
Now, though sport still matters hugely to me, there are other moments during the year that have taken on a greater significance and feel as if they have greater emotional weight. They are signposts. They reflect the seasons. It’s all about the gardening year now for me.
The first few snowdrops start it off, then the spring bulbs, daffodils and tulips. Cutting the grass for the first time with that familiar fragrance as I tip the first load into the wheelie bin. It always makes me think of playing fields and sports days at primary school. This year, fine dry weather enabled the cherry blossom to linger longer than in previous years. Planting out dahlias in June when the risk of frost is passed is another day to relish.
We are now halfway through the year. A big moment now is picking the first runner beans. One significant milestone took place back in early May and that was bringing out the bamboo canes from the shed where they were stored over winter. Some will be too brittle and need to be replaced. Putting them out in the familiar row, or a wigwam, depending on space, is a very happy moment. There is the promise of plenty in two months’ time. Taking them down again in November is a sign of the end of the vegetable year.
I started the bean seeds off in wee pots on my bathroom windowsill. It is so much easier than sowing in the ground. I then harden them off until the risk of frost has passed. Bad weather can, of course, derail the progress, but usually by the end of July produce will be plentiful.
Certain elements of our lives are extremely divisive and attract strong opinions – Marmite, Mrs. Brown’s Boys, Margaret Thatcher, and Football VAR decisions (don’t start!). In the garden, I suggest this applies to the quintessential summer flowers, gladioli. To me they are the sign of high summer. Whether we like it or not, the days are getting slightly shorter, but as compensation there is a richness in the colours in the garden and the warmth of the day lingers into the evening. Gladioli stand tall, erect, almost theatrical, but if there is a strong wind, they are prone to keel over, and invariably do not last very long. Do gladioli always promise more than they deliver? Gardening opinion is divided.
At first, I was uncertain myself about gladioli. There is no doubt that they are a dramatic addition to a garden border but they only flower for a couple of weeks and do not enjoy strong winds. Are they also too blousy?
I have learned over the past few years that there are answers. I plant the bulbs at least six inches into the ground and put out stakes beside them so that there is immediate support. I plant bulbs every two or three weeks from early spring so that when one group of flowers dies, another group is ready to flower. I also put them in the most sheltered position. They can be grown in pots but almost certainly they will need support.
There is a huge choice of colours. I prefer the gaudy, brash varieties. More subtle hues are available. The diversity of colours adds to their attraction.
I’m confident that I will see some gladioli when I visit a garden in North Ayrshire on 25th July. Scotland’s Gardens Scheme is a charity linking a large number of private gardens throughout Scotland that open to the public on specific times during the year, raising funds for diverse charities. It is a chance to explore secret gardens and hidden gems. There are 19 in Ayrshire and Arran, and I plan to visit a few, and would encourage anyone with an interest in gardening to check out the website:
www.scotlandsgardens.org.
My visit is to a garden in Fenwick, described as an established cottage garden with raised beds, a greenhouse and a small woodland area. There are steps to a waterside deck with open access to Fenwick Water which flows through the south side of the garden. On a lucky day a visitor might see kingfishers as they streak along the water, a heron or dippers. It is only open for one day in the year with the admission fee of £6 going to Chest, Heart and Stroke Scotland.
Which secret garden will you visit?
As July moves into August, those of us with greenhouses will be starting to harvest tomatoes, and possibly peppers and chillies. This will be my second year. Although I had lots of advice last year from my greenhouse guru, Sandy,
I managed to make elementary mistakes with my tomatoes. I didn’t pinch-out side-shoots and failed to remove the lower leaves to allow plenty of light to reach the plants. They became too tall, bushy and unmanageable. There was still a good harvest and I avoided blossom end rot. Good gardeners learn from their mistakes. I hope to this summer.
This is mid-summer. Whatever the size of your garden, now is the time that is anticipated all year. Rewards for hard work should be celebrated. Take every opportunity to enjoy these weeks, before summer slowly but inexorably slips into autumn.
