Sage Advice

Confessions of a galanthophile

Callum Halstead

Galanthophilia is a condition for which there is no known cure. While it is not clinically recognised, I am of the firm opinion that it not only exists, but can strike any horticulturallyminded person without warning. From personal experience, it can even affect those who had previously been of the opinion that they weren’t at all interested in Snowdrops (Galanthus spp.).

Aside from the obvious tell-tale sign of a rapid expansion in one’s Snowdrop collection, other symptoms of galanthophilia include, but are not limited to, the following. Bookmarking the web address of every single Snowdrop specialist in the country (and in severe cases, international suppliers too). Spending a disproportionate amount of time browsing said websites. A gradual increase in the amount of money that you are willing to part with for a single Snowdrop bulb. The sudden urge to buy rare and expensive books about Snowdrops. Feeling the need to create a dedicated database in order to catalogue your rapidly expanding collection. Funny looks and probing questions from your friends and relatives who don’t understand your newfound obsession.

For years, I didn’t really get it. I had studied the differences between the various common species as a horticultural student and yes, they were all very nice. Still, if you’d asked me if I would ever consider starting a collection, my answer would have probably been something along the lines of “Why? They’re all near enough the same, aren’t they?” Broadly speaking, Snowdrops are indeed all quite similar. A single bulb will give rise to a pair of strappy green or blue-green leaves. Between these, one or, very occasionally, two flower stems called ‘scapes’ will emerge between late winter and mid-spring, giving rise to a single pendulous flower with three pure white outer petals and three smaller inner petals, each tipped with green. I appreciate that this level of detail is enough for some, and I quite understand those who are perfectly content to simply enjoy a breath-taking view of a woodland awash with a sea of Snowdrops for the beautiful sight that it is. So what is it that galanthophiles find so beguiling? What is there to become so obsessed by?

The source of fascination lies in the small variations that reveal themselves as you look a little closer. In nature, Snowdrops of the same species do vary slightly from one another, just like any other living thing. Most of the time these variations are negligible, but very occasionally the difference between parent plants and their offspring will be a bit more pronounced. If found, then these distinctive plants can be dug up and grown on as new cultivars. These days, modern cultivars are bred and selected to have specific attributes; however, a lot of the older cultivars (many of which are still in cultivation) occurred naturally, without the influence of humankind. These were only saved and nurtured after being discovered by chance in woodlands or overgrown gardens by keen-eyed gardeners. It was this search for rare anomalies and an appreciation of their subtle (or sometimes not so subtle) differences, often combined with a tendency to collect, that gave rise to the galanthophile.

What finally got me hooked on these little white flowers was an invitation to visit nurserywoman Beryl McNaughton’s home garden, where I was treated to a tour of her Snowdrop collection. Beryl had spent many years growing a range of different varieties, assessing their varying characteristics and suitability for growing in eastern Scotland, then offering the best performing varieties for sale in her nursery, Macplants. The majority of the varieties that took pride of place were classic older cultivars, many of which were introduced in and around the first half of the twentieth century. Highlights included the large flowered and beautifully scented Galanthus ‘Bill Bishop’, the tall and impressive G. ‘Sentinel’, as well as many of the Greatorex Doubles: a group of fine double-flowered Snowdrops bred by Heyrick Greatorex in the 1940s and named after Shakespearean characters. (G. ‘Desdemona’, G. ‘Hippolyta’ and G. ‘Ophelia’, etc.). These are all plants that have stood the test of time and remain some of the best in terms of reliability, vigour and elegance.

Well-established clumps graced every bed and border surrounding Beryl’s house. At the bottom of the garden, the lawn— itself peppered with drifts of native Snowdrops (Galanthus nivalis) —merged with the wooded banks of the river below, where a carpet of gently nodding white flowers stretched off in each direction as far as the eye could see. It was quite wonderful to see all of the different cultivars growing so happily across the garden; however, what really captivated me was a display of potted Snowdrops in the greenhouse. Having dozens of varieties laid out on a table, growing in close proximity to one another, made it easy to appreciate their diversity of form. Virescent Snowdrops, with unusual green markings on their outer petals, grew adjacent to frilly doubles, which in turn sat next to beautiful lantern-like poculiform varieties with flowers containing six large outer petals and no inner segments. What was striking was just how perfectly formed each of the varieties were, each resembling a tiny masterpiece of art nouveau sculpture. I could have spent hours in that greenhouse.

That very day, I ordered my first Snowdrop bulbs online. After this, the transition of my interest in Snowdrops from curiosity to obsession was relatively swift. My garden at the time wasn’t very big and so Snowdrops, being very small, made perfect sense— although, once I had exceeded fifty varieties, I had to admit that I was running out of convenient spaces between other plants. As I knew that I would probably move house in the not too distant future, I grew each variety in a separate aquatic pot, which I then sunk into the flower beds around the garden; it was very straightforward to gather the collection back together, ready-potted to take away with me. Even if you’re not planning on moving, this is a good method of keeping tabs on your Snowdrops, making it very easy to find and lift dormant bulbs, as and when you want to divide the clump or swap some bulbs with a friend.

There are literally thousands of cultivars to choose from, which can be bamboozling for anyone new to Snowdrops. A few minutes spent browsing a specialist nursery’s website can also be quite eye-opening if you’re unfamiliar with Snowdrop pricing. While the more expensive bulbs are no doubt lovely, I think it’s best to start cheaply, selecting a few classic varieties to get you used to growing Snowdrops before you start splashing the cash. Just because a variety is inexpensive, does not mean it is unworthy of a place in a collection. Galanthus ‘S. Arnott’ for example, a highly-regarded old cultivar that frequently features in garden designers’ lists of favourite Snowdrops, will set you back no more than a few pounds. Once you have tested the water with a few lower priced varieties and reassured yourself that they’re happy growing in your garden, you can progress to some more choice varieties.

One of the latest trends in the world of Snowdrops is plants that have yellow markings on their flowers, rather than the usual green. These markings are often accompanied by a yellow ovary held above the flower and sometimes a yellow flower stem too. To some purists, the idea of a yellow Snowdrop seems sacrilegious and I have to say that some new ‘yellows’ look rather more sickly and anaemic than beautiful and elegant. There are, however, some stunning examples. Particularly sought after are the exquisite ‘Dryad Gold’ series of Snowdrops, bred by Anne Wright at Dryad Nursery, as well as Joe Sharman’s famous Galanthus ‘Golden Fleece’— which sold for an eye-watering £1,390 a few years ago. These days it still commands a high price, selling for around £200 per bulb. For anyone keen to add a yellow Snowdrop to their fledgling collection, but not quite as keen on parting with so much money, I would recommend either Galanthus ‘Spindlestone Surprise’ or G. ‘Wendy’s Gold’; the latter is actually one of the parents of G. ‘Golden Fleece’. Both should be available at the much more reasonable price of £15-£20 per bulb, so no need to re-mortgage the house.

When one thinks of Snowdrops, one thinks of early spring; however, it’s quite possible to have flowering Snowdrops in the garden from mid-autumn to late spring if you select the right plants. Below I’ve listed five varieties to extend the Snowdrop season, providing an almost continuous display through the colder months. These suggestions are arranged in their likely order of appearance, and I’ve selected varieties that are clearly distinct from one another, offering variety and interest while also helping you to tell them apart until you get your eye in.

� Galanthus elwesii ‘Barnes’— a large and handsome variety, usually appearing from late November into the lead up to Christmas.

� Galanthus ‘Faringdon Double’— usually the first double Snowdrop to flower, appearing around Christmas time.

� Galanthus ‘Merlin’— a vigorous cultivar that appears in early spring. The inner segments of its flowers are almost completely green, contrasting wonderfully with its pure white outer petals.

� Galanthus ‘Trumps’— one of the finest examples of an ‘inverse poculiform’ Snowdrop, so please don’t let the name put you off. The petals of this tall cultivar are each marked with green and flare outwards, rather than curving inwards.

� Galanthus ‘Hill Poë’— possibly the most ‘double’ Snowdrop there is, with five outer petals and its centre brimming with extra segments.

Snowdrops are best grown in a moisture retentive, but free draining soil. This sounds like a contradiction in terms, but it’s important to understand for growing all sorts of plants. The moisture retentive part means that the soil does not dry out too quickly and that its structure allows it to hold onto sufficient moisture for plants to access over a long period. The free draining element simply means that the soil does not allow water to pool and sit for days on end. Imagine a sponge dipped into water and then left on a draining board. The excess moisture will drain out of the sponge, but if you then squeeze it, you will see that it has retained some water in its structure. This is what we are looking for in a good garden topsoil. Adding in organic matter such as well-rotted garden compost can help with moisture retention, while digging in grit can help to improve drainage. Different cultivars will vary slightly in their needs and growing requirements; however, most are robust and tolerant enough of a range of conditions, leaving a wide margin for error. If you’re unsure, any good supplier will be able to offer specific advice on the plants that they have for sale. The main thing to ensure, regardless of the variety that you are growing, is that they are placed somewhere where they won’t dry out completely. In the wild they thrive in broadleaf woodland, so in the garden they are usually best placed under and around deciduous trees, where they are likely to receive a good amount of light in the early season before the tree canopy fills in. They will likely not perform so well beneath conifers or in any area where they receive little light.

If growing in pots, the key once again is to strike a balance between moisture retention and good drainage. A simple 50:50 mix of John Innes No.2 and potting grit is a good place to start. If you can get hold of it, you can swap some of the John Innes out for an equal amount of well-rotted leaf mould; to save on weight, you can also use perlite inv place of grit. Pots often look better when they’ve been top-dressed to hide the bare soil; as well as looking more attractive, this helps to conserve moisture in the pot while also preventing weeds from taking hold. I usually use a centimetre thick layer of potting grit, but Sphagnum Moss (Sphagnum sp.) also works well and looks particularly beautiful with Snowdrops in old terracotta pots.

As you may have guessed, there is very little hope for me now. Having found myself (not entirely by accident) working at Cambo Gardens, home to one of the UK’s national collections of Snowdrops, I am surely set to descend further into my own personal galanthomania, beyond all hope of recovery.