Sissinghurst

by Vita Sackville-West

  Vita wanted her ‘massive lumps’ to come from shrubs, particularly flowering forms. ‘The alternative’ to the herbaceous border, she wrote in October 1951, ‘is a border largely composed of flowering shrubs, including the big bush roses … it is possible to design one which will (more or less) look after itself once it has become established.’ This was increasingly important. With the memories of recent war and the challenges that Vita faced with only one gardener there to help at that time, to have a flower garden that didn’t need intensive maintenance was at the forefront of her mind.

  Many of the plants she cherished and planted at Sissinghurst are now well known – shrubs and small trees such as Prunus subhirtella ‘Autumnalis’, Hoheria lyallii, Hydrangea paniculata ‘Grandiflora’, and the pretty early-flowering almond. These were rarer, more obscure and much less readily available in the days when she was championing them – her ‘faithful friends’, as she called them. Many of these still remain the best today, though shrubs such as hoheria are surprisingly rarely planted even now.

  It was with plants such as these that you could get a massed effect with minimal maintenance: ‘The main thing, it seems to me, is to have a foundation of large, tough, un-troublesome plants with intervening spaces for the occupation of annuals, bulbs, or anything that takes your fancy.’

  She puts their case again and again:

  ‘Those gardeners who desire the maximum of reward with the minimum of labour would be well advised to concentrate upon the flowering shrubs and flowering trees. How deeply I regret that fifteen years ago, when I was forming my own garden, I did not plant these desirable objects in sufficient quantity. They would by now be large adults instead of the scrubby, spindly infants I contemplate with impatience as the seasons come round.

  ‘That error is one from which I would wish to save my fellow-gardeners, so, taking this opportunity, I implore them to secure trees and bushes from whatever nurseryman can supply them: they will give far less trouble than the orthodox herbaceous flower. They will demand no annual division, many of them will require no pruning; in fact, all that many of them will ask of you is to watch them grow yearly into a greater splendour, and what more could be exacted of any plant?’

  She adds at a later date: ‘The initial outlay would seem extravagant, but at least it would not have to be repeated, and the effect would improve with every year.’

  Vita – as in all her gardening – was a great experimenter, always wanting to try out new things and ready to uproot them if they failed to impress. She was advised on potentially interesting shrubs by Norah Lindsay, the renowned between-the-wars garden designer, and Collingwood (often called ‘Cherry’) Ingram, an expert on the prunus family, who lived in Benenden, only a village away. Both had a great influence on what was chosen and planted all through the garden; there would be a process of filtering, with things coming in, some then staying, others being ripped out, or moved from one place to another.

  Through this filtering, Vita ended up with some lifelong favourites, many of which she wrote about in her Observer columns. As we have seen, there are other shrubs and climbers she liked for positioning against the many walls, but it’s the flowering shrubs in the following list to which she turned as the main decorative shapes for her flower beds.

  VITA’S TOP SHRUBS AND TREES

  WINTER

  Many of the best winter-flowering shrubs, such as hamamelis, mahonias, wintersweet, are scented (see here) – Vita loved these for picking too, so they have their own section (see here) – but she also included camellias in her early structural planting.

  Camellia ‘Alba Simplex’.

  She liked the single Camellia ‘Alba Simplex’, which she planted in the White Garden and the southwest corner of the Top Courtyard where it still is today. This is the most elegant variety, with very dark green, shiny foliage. I also grow it and love it for its simplicity compared to so many camellias that have a slightly plastic texture and an artificial-looking pink or red colour. ‘Alba Simplex’ is pure white around a golden centre packed with anthers and pollen.

  Vita also grew the pink ‘Donation’, planted in the Tower beds in the Top Courtyard, and had this as a pot plant, grown in her cold greenhouse. She could then bring it in in the early spring to cheer up a dingy corner.

  SPRING

  Our bedroom window looks east, so that on a good spring morning we look out first thing at a sun rising behind the trees in the garden. There are several magnolias here, and in a year when there are no late frosts they glow in that first sunlight as if laden with lit candles, their branches peering over the garden walls. So often magnolias are full of promise in that first emergence of their buds, but then get nailed – literally browned off in the cold spring weather; but when they don’t, they tower over the garden as its most flamboyant spring climax.

  Of course, trees grow, and so if a magnolia does well it becomes more magnificent with every passing year. These particular ones, mostly put in by Vita in Delos and the Lower Courtyard, are now huge, like hot-air balloons of flowers, giving a massive third dimension to the garden.

  Magnolias were one of her favourite garden trees – Vita would love to see them now.

  ‘Many people hesitate to plant that most noble of flowering trees, the magnolia,’ she writes, ‘under the impression that they will never live long enough or remain for long enough in the same place to see it flower. It is true that some kinds of magnolia are not suitable for a short-term tenancy. Magnolia campbellii, for instance, may demand twenty-five years before it pays any dividend on its original cost. [It also grows to about a hundred foot!] But this is not true of some other kinds.

  ‘The Yulan tree, M. denudata, produces a few of its creamy chalices within a year or two of planting, and increases in size and fertility until it is one hundred years old or more. I planted one twenty years ago, and it has long since achieved a height of 20 ft. and a spread of 15 ft. So you see. Its only serious enemy, very serious indeed, is a March frost which may turn its candid purity to a leathery khaki brown. Sometimes it escapes; one must take the risk; it is worth taking.

  ‘It is best planted in April or May, and the vital thing to remember is that it must never be allowed to suffer from drought before it has become established. Once firmly settled into its new home, it can be left to look after itself. Avoid planting it in a frost pocket, or in a position where it will be exposed to the rays of a warm sun after a frosty night: under the lee of a north or west wall is probably the ideal situation, or within the shelter of a shrubbery.

  ‘… people who for reasons of limited space feel unwilling to take the risk, in spite of the immense reward in a favourable season, would be better advised to plant the later-flowering Magnolia Soulangeana, less pure in its whiteness, for the outside of the petals is stained with pink or purple; or Magnolia Lennei, which is frankly rosy, but very beautiful with its huge pink goblets, and seldom suffers from frost unless it has extremely bad luck at the end of April.

  ‘M. stellata, which also flowers in extreme youth, is perhaps the most familiar of all the magnolias to be seen in the amateur gardener’s garden. To my way of thinking, it is by no means one of the most beautiful, being ragged and tattered-looking, but a well-grown bush is certainly effective, seen at a distance.’

  Magnolia soulangeana ‘Lennei’.

  Vita’s dismissal of stellata is a bit tough, as it’s the one a lot of people like best. It’s the classic for a small town garden with its widely spaced, spidery-petalled flowers, and makes a compact plant, shrubbier than most. It’s also one of the earliest to bloom and its flowers are more resistant to frost, so they often look good for most of the spring. All magnolias have wonderful buds, like furry mice sitting on the branch. You can really see – and feel – them with any of the stellata forms.

  She continues: ‘M. salicifolia is one of the easiest and hardiest, and its flowers are less susceptible to frost than either the Yulan or M. stellata … Or, if you want something really sumptuous, there is
the claret-coloured M. liliiflora nigra, which in my experience flowers continuously for nearly two months, May and June; it is a good plant for small gardens, as it grows neither too high nor too wide, and I have never known it fail to flower copiously every year.’ Vita planted the deep, rich M. liliiflora ‘Nigra’ in the southeast corner of the Tower Lawn. The liliiflora has been replanted recently, but it’s now filling out.

  ‘I have not even mentioned that the magnolia is easygoing as to soil,’ she adds. ‘[It] likes some peat or leaf-mould but does not exact it; appreciates a rich mulch from time to time; is rather brittle and thus prefers a sheltered to a windy position; and should be transplanted in spring (March) rather than in autumn.’

  On a smaller scale, Vita favoured for spring other flowering shrubs including corylopsis, deutzias and kolkwitzias. Corylopsis pauciflora is a delicate thing, with pagoda-like primrose-yellow flowers. She describes it as ‘a little shrub, not more than four or five feet high and about the same in width, gracefully hung with pale yellow flowers along the leafless twigs, March to April, a darling of prettiness. Corylopsis spicata is much the same, but grows rather taller, up to six feet, and is, if anything, more frost-resistant. They are not particular as to soil, but they do like a sheltered position, if you can give it them, say with a backing of other wind-breaking shrubs against the prevailing wind.

  Deutzia longiflora – a classic late-spring flowering shrub that Vita loved.

  ‘Sparrows … peck the buds off, so put a bit of old fruit-netting over the plant in October or November when the buds are forming. Sparrows are doing the same to my Winter-Sweet this year [1952], as never before; sheer mischief; an avian form of juvenile delinquency; so take the hint and protect the buds with netting before it is too late.’

  She also liked Halesia carolina, the snowdrop tree, and was given one by a friend. As with lots of her larger-scale plant presents, she planted it in the Orchard where it did well for years, but it has now succumbed to honey fungus. (A new one has recently been planted by the South Cottage back door). ‘This is a very pretty flowering tree, seldom seen; it is hung with white, bell-shaped blossoms, among pale green leaves, all along the branches. It can be grown as a bush in the open, or trained against a wall. There is a better version of it called Halesia monticola, but if you cannot obtain this from your nurseryman Halesia Carolina will do as well.’

  For later in the spring, as well as deutzias and kolkwitzias Vita grew dipeltas, their branches all packed thickly with blossom. She had a deutzia in the Rose Garden and one in the White Garden in the early days, which she could use for picking. As she says, they need a sheltered spot or their blossom may brown in a late frost overnight, just as it’s emerging. They are ‘graceful and arching, May–June flowerers, four to six feet, ideal for the small garden where space is a consideration. They are easy, not even resenting a little lime in the soil, but beware of pruning them if you do not wish to lose the next year’s bloom. The most you should do is to cut off the faded sprays and, naturally, take out any dead wood. The only thing to be said against them is that a late frost will damage the flower, and that is a risk which can well be taken. Deutzia gracilis rosea, rosy as its name implies; D. pulchra, white; D. scabra Pride of Rochester, pinkish white, rather taller, should make a pretty group. They are not very expensive.’

  This flowered at much the same time as Kolkwitzia amabilis and Dipelta floribunda, which Vita kept in a duo together in the Rose Garden: ‘two very pretty May–June flowering shrubs not difficult to grow, but for some reason not very commonly seen. They go well together, both being of the same shade of a delicate shell-pink and both belonging to the same botanical family (Caprifoliaceae), which includes the more familiar Weigelas and the honeysuckles, with small trumpet-shaped flowers dangling from graceful sprays.

  ‘Kolkwitzia comes into flower a little later than Dipelta, and thus provides a useful succession in the same colouring; in other words, a combination of the two would ensure a cloud of pale pink over a considerable number of weeks. It ought to be planted in front of the Dipelta, as it tends to make a more rounded bush, whereas the Dipelta grows taller and looser, and flops enough to require a few tall stakes. Both come from China, and each deserves the other’s adjective, as well as their own, for they are both amiable and floriferous.’ There are none now at Sissinghurst but Troy, the head gardener, is thinking of reinstating a Kolkwitzia somewhere.

  SUMMER

  Vita’s favourite summer-flowering shrubs were undoubtedly roses. She was famously passionate about the old-fashioned Gallica, Bourbon and Moss types, as well as a few elegant and larger-growing species and varieties, among them Rosa moyesii (see here) and its descendant ‘Nevada’. Writing about the old-fashioned roses, she says, ‘What incomparable lavishness they give … There is nothing scrimpy or stingy about them. They have a generosity which is as desirable in plants as in people.’ The joy of a rose, she goes on, is in a June or early July evening, ‘when for once in a while we are allowed a deep warm sloping sunlight; how rare and how precious [such evenings] are. They ought to be accompanied by fireflies, wild gold flakes in the air, but in this island we have to make do with tethered flowers instead. Amongst these, the huge lax bushes of the old roses must take an honoured place.’

  Rosa ‘Nevada’ photographed by Edwin Smith at Sissinghurst.

  She loved roses, of course for their scent (see here), and climbing roses for draping the elegant Sissinghurst walls, but it was the shrub roses that Vita added in great numbers to her newly made Purple Border and Cottage Garden, and en masse to her Rose Garden. She had built up such a large collection since arriving at Sissinghurst, getting some from the old-fashioned rose specialist Edward Bunyard – as well as from Constance Spry and the nurserywoman Hilda Murrell, who helped her with the design and plant choice for the White Garden – that she’d outgrown her first rose garden, made outside the Priest’s House. Vita needed more space, and moved everything to a new site in what had been the vegetable garden on the southern edge of the garden.

  Vita’s favourite roses were the ones with velvet textures to their petals and a richness and grandeur to their colours, roses that ‘swept me quite unexpectedly back to those dusky mysterious hours in an Oriental storehouse,’ she remembers, ‘where the rugs and carpets of Isfahan and Bokhara and Samarkand were unrolled in their dim but sumptuous colouring and richness of texture for our slow delight. Rich they were, rich as a fig broken open, soft as a ripened peach, flecked as an apricot, coral as a pomegranate, bloomy as a bunch of grapes. It is of these that the old roses remind me.’

  Those old-fashioned shrub roses, ‘the Gallicas, the Damasks, the Centifolias or Cabbage, the Musks, the China, the Rose of Provins … all more romantic the one than the other’, had a deep glamour, a fading grandeur, just like all the favourite plants she chose and just like her interiors – her writing room and her bedroom. They were ‘the gipsies of the rose-tribe. They resent restraint; they like to express themselves in all their vigour freely as the fancy takes them, free as the dog-rose in the hedgerows. I know they are not to everybody’s taste, and I know that it isn’t everybody who has room for them in a small garden, but all the same I love them much and would sacrifice much space to them.’

  Vita hated Hybrid Teas, and was not keen on most of the Hybrid Perpetuals, except for one or two such as ‘Ulrich Brunner’ (see here). She felt the new varieties lacked ‘the subtlety to be found in some of these traditional roses which might well be picked off a medieval tapestry or a piece of Stuart needlework. Indeed, I think you should approach them as though they were textiles rather than flowers. The velvet vermilion of petals, the stamens of quivering gold, the slaty purple of Cardinal Richelieu, the loose dark red and gold of Alain Blanchard; I could go on for ever, but always I should come back to the idea of embroidery and of velvet and of the damask with which some of them share their name. They have a quality of their own.

  ‘They usually smell better than their modern successors,’ she went on.
‘People complain that the modern rose has lost in smell what it has gained in other ways, and although their accusation is not always justified there is still a good deal of truth in it. No such charge can be brought against the Musk, the Cabbage, the Damask, or the Moss. They load the air with the true rose scent … Have I pleaded in vain?

  Roses underplanted with bearded iris in Vita’s Rose Garden during the war.

  ‘This charm may be partly sentimental, and certainly there are several things to be said against the old roses: their flowering time is short; they are untidy growers, difficult to stake or to keep in order; they demand hours of snipping if we are to keep them free from dead and dying heads, as we must do if they are to display their full beauty unmarred by a mass of brown, sodden petals. But in spite of these drawbacks a collection of the old roses gives a great and increasing pleasure. As in one’s friends, one learns to overlook their faults and love their virtues.’

  Roses gave Vita the all-important masses in the mixed borders, as well as being the glorious high point in her new Rose Garden. Created in 1937, this looked good almost straight away, and Vita managed to maintain it herself, with the help of one gardener and the occasional pruning skills of Harold, right through the war. The garden was so jam-packed that by 1959 – when Pam and Sybille arrived – if one rose bush failed from poor health or old age, they didn’t bother to replace it. They were sure that a bit more air in between the plants would do them good.