My life in flowers
I have had the great good fortune to live and work in houses that have all had beautiful but very different gardens and grounds. Two had traditional brick-walled vegetable gardens with formal gardens around the house. The third sat on the slope of a hill in the Cotswolds with views of the lake at the bottom and surrounded by gardens designed by Sir Edwin Lutyens and Gertrude Jekyll; beautiful at all times but especially so in the autumn and spring.
In Scotland, the walled garden had mixed flowers and vegetables, leaving the area around the house more austere, with enormous, formally cut yew hedges and lawns. On entering the walled garden through an almost secret small door in the wall, the surprise of all the exuberant colour struck the eye, contrasting with the subdued colours outside.
Madam loved blue and white flowers, so there were massed ranks of delphiniums, ranging from the deepest to the palest blue, monkshood, agapanthus, magnificent Scottish thistles and the wonderfully named Miss Wilmott’s ghost, mixing with the extravagant tangle of other flowers and vegetables. This exuberance was captured by her over many seasons, as she painted the changing shapes and colours of the garden on an enormous My life in flow ers canvas. It took three men to lift it and a Land Rover with a special box on the roof – ‘the paintmobile’ – to transport it from the garden to her studio up the hill. In winter the painting shone in splendour from above the mantelpiece in the studio, where we served lunches for the pheasant shoots.
These wonderful gardens have given me the opportunity to learn something of the art of flower arranging in ideal conditions and I have certainly had plenty of material to play with. When I went to Worcestershire in my first job below stairs, I had no idea. My earliest effort was most certainly not a success. I remember an outcome involving poor, tortured gladioli. Another time, not being au fait with Oasis, I spent ages creating an arrangement of which I was quite proud, only to find that it floated. I’d used foam made for dried flowers.
But my first employer had the most flamboyant good taste and taught me to think big and not be afraid to mix colours and styles. I could go and collect great bunches of wonderful sticky buds in the early spring and armfuls of lilac blossom for the Chinese pots in the hall. Later in the year, when the leeks had bolted, we would pick their beautiful, big, perfectly round pink flowers and fill the empty fireplaces, scenting the house with the faintest whiff of leek soup.
In the beginning I was very tentative but over the years, as I became familiar with what grew in the garden and what could be found in the hedgerow, I became more confident and it was one of the things I really enjoyed, especially creating centrepieces for the dining table. I was even asked to help with the church flowers sometimes, which was a great honour.
Even now, 30 years later, I can remember some of my favourites: ‘shamrocks’ and violets tangling out of small silver bowls along the centre of the table on Gold Cup Day when we had Irish guests staying for Cheltenham Week; a mixture of pink and white meadowsweet and pink roses tumbling from an old silver Monteith bowl for a girly birthday dinner in the summer; always bursts of daffodils in the spring. But never, ever primroses in the house – by family tradition, these blooms were an evil omen foretelling a death in the family.
In Scotland, the leading light of the National Association of Flower Arrangement Societies in the area was kind enough to pass on to me some of the secrets of the art. Because the interior of the house was so spectacularly wonderful, the flowers, of course, had to complement it. For a shoot weekend, the gardener would leave wheelbarrow- loads of flowers and foliage, so the lady of the house and her helper could spend the day before working with the flowers. She would create beautiful, intricate arrangements for the showpiece areas – the vast iron urn in the hall and large vases in the drawing room. My contribution would be more unstructured bits and pieces for the bedrooms or small tables and sometimes to suggest something a little freer. I always did the arrangements for the dining table and we all worked well together.
For weekend house parties we had a different colour scheme for each of the three nights (and different flowers for the daytime). The scheme was led by which of the glass, porcelain or wonderful collection of Wemyss pottery we used as a centrepiece; or which of the lovely old tablecloths, embroidered with thistles, birds or flowers. This lady liked the table to look busy. There was lots of china, glass and candles, and a profusion of fruit and flowers.
We could use Wemyss jugs, urns and baskets decorated with roses, leaves and berries, and pots with lovely fruit finials that we could fill with real fruit; and arrangements of large pink cabbage roses and the deepest pink wild dog roses, with trailing wild strawberry runners intertwined. The dog roses in the Grampians are a much more vibrant colour than down south. We had more Wemyss bowls and baskets, some patterned with apples or pears or oranges, which looked wonderful with autumn fruit, flowers and leaves, and a three-handled ‘bucket’ painted with daffodils that, when filled with early daffs, brightened the dark days of January.
These table arrangements, of course, had to be fitted into the busy schedule of a shoot day, and sometimes the time available was very tight. I always had a rough picture of what I wanted but it was not a very precise art, mostly a case of inspiration on the run. Luckily, this inspiration never failed me. I worked in conjunction with the butler who took great pride in the table setting. He chose which glasses would be used, which colour candles (ivory or white) and which candle shades. We amassed a rather wonderful collection of these, in paper and in parchment, which is more translucent and gives a lovely soft glow. Some had coloured edges, cut-outs or ribbon patterns that we could match with the overall colour scheme. I always let him place the arrangements on the table – woe betide me if an errant leaf or bug fell off at the wrong moment.
For the last night we would often settle for a ‘green’ table, as Madam was very proud of a beautiful piece of French porcelain – a pyramid of greengages that looked good with the simplest of surrounding pots of green leaves, grapes or berries.
We also did a rather striking table, suggested by some old black-and-white French plates decorated with market scenes – Le Boucher, Le Patissier, Le Boulanger, etc – using black vetch pods, blackberries and brambles in the arrangement, and black candle shades. Very effective.
One night we had used Bristol Blue decanters as the centrepiece, with vases of thistles, sea holly and Miss Wilmott’s ghost, glass and silver candlesticks, and small silver tea-light holders at each setting. A most satisfying composition. At the end of a long evening it was all hands on deck to clear the table ready to lay it up for breakfast. The poor under-butler picked up one of the tea-light holders. It was searingly hot, so he, understandably, with an appropriate oath, threw it down on to the tablecloth, which immediately caught fire. I was mortified at the state of the antique thistle-embroidered cloth and most indifferent to his acute pain – oh, how horrid I was.
I find it very sad to think that two of those beautiful gardens have since suffered at the hands of the bulldozer, or are scheduled to do so. The Worcestershire garden has lost its lovely old brick walls in the cause of redevelopment and in Scotland, as part of the break-up of the estate, planning permission has been granted to build a house in the walled garden. At least there will be that wonderful painting to remind us all of happier times. As of now, the Cotswold garden, thank goodness, remains untouched in all its glorious splendour.
Don’t ‘straightjacket’ flowers. Tulips and gerbera, for example, look wonderful when they contort into impossible shapes.
Avoid strongly scented flowers in the dining room – they can compete with the aroma of food. u Beware of poisonous flowers on the dining table, eg, monkshood.
Watch out if you use dill or fennel heads in an arrangement. They look lovely but the smell can quickly become overwhelming.
Astrantia major looks like a useful backing flower with its delicate pinky-green heads, but it smells terrible, as does the equally pretty Nerine.
Scented lilies last ages and are great value as they provide beauty and a wonderful smell. However, the pollen can be a menace. If it gets on clothes, never rub it or dampen it; lift it off with Sellotape and it won’t leave a stain.
I have used bolted rhubarb flowers in a big hall arrangement, which looks fantastic, but the heads that drop off contain a purple dye that can stain carpets.
Finally, when creating a centre arrangement for a dining table, either make it low enough so the diners can see each other over it, or high enough so that it is above their eyeline. I can’t count how many times I have been obliged to talk to the flowers.
In Scotland, the walled garden had mixed flowers and vegetables, leaving the area around the house more austere, with enormous, formally cut yew hedges and lawns. On entering the walled garden through an almost secret small door in the wall, the surprise of all the exuberant colour struck the eye, contrasting with the subdued colours outside.
Madam loved blue and white flowers, so there were massed ranks of delphiniums, ranging from the deepest to the palest blue, monkshood, agapanthus, magnificent Scottish thistles and the wonderfully named Miss Wilmott’s ghost, mixing with the extravagant tangle of other flowers and vegetables. This exuberance was captured by her over many seasons, as she painted the changing shapes and colours of the garden on an enormous My life in flow ers canvas. It took three men to lift it and a Land Rover with a special box on the roof – ‘the paintmobile’ – to transport it from the garden to her studio up the hill. In winter the painting shone in splendour from above the mantelpiece in the studio, where we served lunches for the pheasant shoots.
These wonderful gardens have given me the opportunity to learn something of the art of flower arranging in ideal conditions and I have certainly had plenty of material to play with. When I went to Worcestershire in my first job below stairs, I had no idea. My earliest effort was most certainly not a success. I remember an outcome involving poor, tortured gladioli. Another time, not being au fait with Oasis, I spent ages creating an arrangement of which I was quite proud, only to find that it floated. I’d used foam made for dried flowers.
But my first employer had the most flamboyant good taste and taught me to think big and not be afraid to mix colours and styles. I could go and collect great bunches of wonderful sticky buds in the early spring and armfuls of lilac blossom for the Chinese pots in the hall. Later in the year, when the leeks had bolted, we would pick their beautiful, big, perfectly round pink flowers and fill the empty fireplaces, scenting the house with the faintest whiff of leek soup.
In the beginning I was very tentative but over the years, as I became familiar with what grew in the garden and what could be found in the hedgerow, I became more confident and it was one of the things I really enjoyed, especially creating centrepieces for the dining table. I was even asked to help with the church flowers sometimes, which was a great honour.
Even now, 30 years later, I can remember some of my favourites: ‘shamrocks’ and violets tangling out of small silver bowls along the centre of the table on Gold Cup Day when we had Irish guests staying for Cheltenham Week; a mixture of pink and white meadowsweet and pink roses tumbling from an old silver Monteith bowl for a girly birthday dinner in the summer; always bursts of daffodils in the spring. But never, ever primroses in the house – by family tradition, these blooms were an evil omen foretelling a death in the family.
In Scotland, the leading light of the National Association of Flower Arrangement Societies in the area was kind enough to pass on to me some of the secrets of the art. Because the interior of the house was so spectacularly wonderful, the flowers, of course, had to complement it. For a shoot weekend, the gardener would leave wheelbarrow- loads of flowers and foliage, so the lady of the house and her helper could spend the day before working with the flowers. She would create beautiful, intricate arrangements for the showpiece areas – the vast iron urn in the hall and large vases in the drawing room. My contribution would be more unstructured bits and pieces for the bedrooms or small tables and sometimes to suggest something a little freer. I always did the arrangements for the dining table and we all worked well together.
For weekend house parties we had a different colour scheme for each of the three nights (and different flowers for the daytime). The scheme was led by which of the glass, porcelain or wonderful collection of Wemyss pottery we used as a centrepiece; or which of the lovely old tablecloths, embroidered with thistles, birds or flowers. This lady liked the table to look busy. There was lots of china, glass and candles, and a profusion of fruit and flowers.
We could use Wemyss jugs, urns and baskets decorated with roses, leaves and berries, and pots with lovely fruit finials that we could fill with real fruit; and arrangements of large pink cabbage roses and the deepest pink wild dog roses, with trailing wild strawberry runners intertwined. The dog roses in the Grampians are a much more vibrant colour than down south. We had more Wemyss bowls and baskets, some patterned with apples or pears or oranges, which looked wonderful with autumn fruit, flowers and leaves, and a three-handled ‘bucket’ painted with daffodils that, when filled with early daffs, brightened the dark days of January.
These table arrangements, of course, had to be fitted into the busy schedule of a shoot day, and sometimes the time available was very tight. I always had a rough picture of what I wanted but it was not a very precise art, mostly a case of inspiration on the run. Luckily, this inspiration never failed me. I worked in conjunction with the butler who took great pride in the table setting. He chose which glasses would be used, which colour candles (ivory or white) and which candle shades. We amassed a rather wonderful collection of these, in paper and in parchment, which is more translucent and gives a lovely soft glow. Some had coloured edges, cut-outs or ribbon patterns that we could match with the overall colour scheme. I always let him place the arrangements on the table – woe betide me if an errant leaf or bug fell off at the wrong moment.
For the last night we would often settle for a ‘green’ table, as Madam was very proud of a beautiful piece of French porcelain – a pyramid of greengages that looked good with the simplest of surrounding pots of green leaves, grapes or berries.
We also did a rather striking table, suggested by some old black-and-white French plates decorated with market scenes – Le Boucher, Le Patissier, Le Boulanger, etc – using black vetch pods, blackberries and brambles in the arrangement, and black candle shades. Very effective.
One night we had used Bristol Blue decanters as the centrepiece, with vases of thistles, sea holly and Miss Wilmott’s ghost, glass and silver candlesticks, and small silver tea-light holders at each setting. A most satisfying composition. At the end of a long evening it was all hands on deck to clear the table ready to lay it up for breakfast. The poor under-butler picked up one of the tea-light holders. It was searingly hot, so he, understandably, with an appropriate oath, threw it down on to the tablecloth, which immediately caught fire. I was mortified at the state of the antique thistle-embroidered cloth and most indifferent to his acute pain – oh, how horrid I was.
I find it very sad to think that two of those beautiful gardens have since suffered at the hands of the bulldozer, or are scheduled to do so. The Worcestershire garden has lost its lovely old brick walls in the cause of redevelopment and in Scotland, as part of the break-up of the estate, planning permission has been granted to build a house in the walled garden. At least there will be that wonderful painting to remind us all of happier times. As of now, the Cotswold garden, thank goodness, remains untouched in all its glorious splendour.
My top tips
You don’t always need Oasis – you can get a freer look without it, though if the flowers need support, then glass marbles are an attractive alternative.Don’t ‘straightjacket’ flowers. Tulips and gerbera, for example, look wonderful when they contort into impossible shapes.
Avoid strongly scented flowers in the dining room – they can compete with the aroma of food. u Beware of poisonous flowers on the dining table, eg, monkshood.
Watch out if you use dill or fennel heads in an arrangement. They look lovely but the smell can quickly become overwhelming.
Astrantia major looks like a useful backing flower with its delicate pinky-green heads, but it smells terrible, as does the equally pretty Nerine.
Scented lilies last ages and are great value as they provide beauty and a wonderful smell. However, the pollen can be a menace. If it gets on clothes, never rub it or dampen it; lift it off with Sellotape and it won’t leave a stain.
I have used bolted rhubarb flowers in a big hall arrangement, which looks fantastic, but the heads that drop off contain a purple dye that can stain carpets.
Finally, when creating a centre arrangement for a dining table, either make it low enough so the diners can see each other over it, or high enough so that it is above their eyeline. I can’t count how many times I have been obliged to talk to the flowers.