Renowned plantsman and retired nursery operator, John Joe Costin shares his perspective on our taste for the exotic and how we may be missing out on evergreen opportunities
In my experience, the majority of Eastern European migrants who made Ireland their home share two obsessions. The first is to experience the drama of our western seaboard; the second, our range of broadleaf evergreen species. Before every return bus trip home to Cracow or Liv for holidays, there was one repeated question put to me: “would that grow in my country?”. The answer they most regularly got was a heartbreaking ‘no’.
Our record winter temperature low was recorded in the National Botanic Gardens, Glasnevin on 12 January 1982 at -18.5oC. The deep freeze refrigerator that is the vast land mass of Siberia exerts its influence on the winters of all northern European countries that lie north and east of the Alps. It induces lows of -40oC and monumental snowfall where the Siberian airflow meets the moist Atlantic winds. In such extremes, plant diversity is reduced to extensive monocultures, such as pines, firs and birch. What we rather parochially call Scot’s pine (Pinus sylvestris), growing here at the western edge of its natural distribution, could more accurately be called Siberian pine, because its eastern distribution extends across the entire Eurasian land mass to Okhotsk on its eastern seaboard. Likewise, once you drive east from Berlin, virtually the sole roadside verge tree is birch. An acquaintance once advised that you would want to be very fond of those trees to endure the Transiberian railway journey, as they accompany you all the way to Vladivostok.
HOLLY AND IVY
The yearning for broad-leaved evergreens may be hereditary. New England was settled 300 years ago, but they still demand English holly for Christmas, even though it is not hardy enough to grow on the east coast. There are now 1500 acres of holly orchards in Oregon, the berried produce of which is trucked across that continent in temperature controlled lorries to satisfy that holiday demand. When I went to the Nine Elms Market in London, the traders related that the bulk of their supplies were delivered as lorry loads of branches, broken by hand from hedgerow trees across Ireland by Irish itinerants. They could procure no other supply. There is now only one three-acre holly orchard in Ireland.
Ubiquity can breed indifference. I had mine to ivy recalibrated by the rhapsodies of a Dutch visitor I was driving, who marveled at the luxuriant growth, the glistening greenness and the freshness of ivy in our winter landscape. They do not have its equivalent in the Netherlands. While we are indifferent to it, because of its ubiquity, the Danish houseplant industry responded to peoples’ needs for broad-leaved evergreens by producing and exporting annually millions of ivy plants for the housewives of Europe, listing all its tolerances to low light, low temperatures, dust, shade and long periods of neglect, which makes it such a resilient houseplant. What grows in the open here, they have to produce in heated glasshouses.
I drove across and visited five of the Iron Curtain’s eastern European countries in 1971. In Cracow, I learned of their angst. Hedera helix, considered endangered, was listed as a protected species, I could not offer sympathy. There was no endangerment. They were simply recording a geographic fact, that the eastern boundary of the natural distribution of ivy was retreating a little westward. It would be more scientific to ask where is the Polish border because it has moved both further east and west as different powers held sway in central Europe.
Plants do not recognise national boundaries. The Polish people’s concern could be more accurately termed neurotic nationalism or bad science. ‘Endangered’ is a trigger word to attract journalists’ antennae now, and seems to be indispensable to strengthen applications for research or film funding. It was painful for the Polish, only in the sense that so few broadleaves grow in their climate. I did not doubt their sincerity. ‘Discovery’ used to be the most exciting word in the lexicon of garden writers. Now, unfortunately, ‘extinction’ seems to have displaced it. It is a precise, scientific term if used correctly to define loss, but is a term, more often misused by propagandists, a sensationalism for those seeking news headlines.
“We like exotics in our gardens and demonstrate a loathing to allocate precious space to natives”
It should make us appreciate how blessed we are with the choice and range of evergreens we can grow. My Dutch guest could not understand why we had not selected ivy as our national emblem. Graham Stuart Thomas (1) wrote that the Irish ivy “Hedera helix ‘Hibernica’ AGM is not only the finest ivy for ground cover but is one of the most reliable
and useful of all cover plants for large areas. It will grow equally well in sun or shade and is not as prone as other self-clingers to ascend trees or upright objects”. When we tire of weekly mowing and edge trimming or re-evaluate those activities as unsustainable practices, then we may see the beauty of and the wisdom in planting an Irish ivy lawn. Why we do not already have such an educational feature in at least one of our many state-owned gardens or horticultural colleges is a mystery. Over the past 14 years, the word ‘sustainable’ has been bandied about and much abused, with claims, often made that are either invisible or unverifiable. An ivy lawn might be a self-evident first.
The Plant Finder 2006 lists 302 cultivars, 19 of which have received an AGM. ‘Dunloe Gap’, ‘Irish Lace’ and ‘Shamrock’ show there is some native appreciation, but it is minuscule compared to international acknowledgement in place names such as ‘Boskoop ‘(NL), ‘California’, ‘Chicago’, ‘Pittsburgh’ (USA),’Niagara Falls’ ( Canada), ‘Heise’ (Denmark), ‘Jerusalem’ (Palestine) and ‘Stuttgart’ (Germany). HHH is listed in only one Irish heritage garden: Fota.
We show little appreciation in our landscape or gardens of the Zen Buddhist principle that less is more. We like exotics in our gardens and demonstrate a loathing to allocate precious space to natives. If we had the developed sensibilities of the Japanese, we would see enormous variety in shades of green and great diversity in our mosses, ivies, ferns and hollies. Accessing the prestige of owning a moss garden might be the easiest of all, simply
by killing the little grass that is left in so many of our moss rich lawns. In what we might see as dull, the Japanese see food for the mind and balm for the soul. We have been conditioned to equate a great garden to a feast of colour. We have not yet acknowledged our own individuality or developed our own style. Making a statement that what a garden design is inspired by or based on is an admission that we must try harder.
The Japanese are not alone in their appreciation of the aesthetics of green. Green is the emblem of salvation for Muslims and is doubly appreciated for its preciousness in a religion that emerged from and flourished in the vast deserts and steppes of Western Asia. While supervising the development of a nursery in an oasis 500km north of Riyadh in 1980, I learned from a constant stream of nomadic Bedouin sheepherders, clad in black, of their need for greenery and the commitment they willingly made in order to enjoy the status of growing a tree. I explained to each that it was like another marriage. The trees would have to be watered daily for the rest to their lives. It phased no one. No one considered that a burden. Muslims are called to pray four times a day. To them, a daily watering was just another form of prayer.
ARBUTUS UNEDO ‘RUBRA’ AGM
Any system devised to evaluate the comparative value of ornamental plants should have a weighting favouring those that provide dividends in the leaner months of the year. Every day, for six weeks, flowers embroider the Arbutus crown and are always a therapeutic surprise because of the gloom of shortening days promises little. It is my favourite of available cultivars because its clean glossy foliage is the perfect backdrop to enhance the conspicuousness of its pink-red flowers, that create such an unexpected eye-catching display in October-November. This cultivar is propagated by grafting. The species is readily raised from seed, but the provenance is crucial as the ornamental quality of the foliage varies greatly. Seed sourced from the Mediterranean countries is to be avoided as the foliage invariably has a hairy grey bearded scruffiness, a necessary modification that protects against the heat of warmer places.
In Ireland, the oldest specimens of the strawberry tree (Arbutus unedo) grow in wild native groves in Killarney. The tallest measured 10 x 1.01m girth in 2010. The Irish name is Caithne. Renowned for its beautiful wood, it is sought by sculptors and furniture makers as ‘Killarney wood’. Auction catalogues occasionally list pieces for eye-popping prices.
Given the amount of land and historic properties that are in state ownership and given the extraordinary allure forest parks now have for the public, it is opportune to plant a large plantation of Arbutus with each cultivar allocated a block of at least 2 hectares so that future generations can traverse the first broadleaved evergreen forest in Ireland along broad avenues. In the longer term, this would ensure an unlimited supply of Killarney wood for our artists, sculptors and furniture makers. It would be a project with more credibility than a lot of the environmental guff that fills the airwaves. Society does not show much evidence that it is willing to pay the real cost of precious, slow-growing hardwoods that we might make disposable products from.
An enthusiastic gardener from the Gap of Dunloe in Kerry once offered me cain apples, a fruit unknown to me. It was the local name for the Arbutus berries. Derived from Cahina (which is how one pronounces ‘Caithne’), the Irish for Arbutus, it was a literal translation
as the berry in Irish is called Caithne Ull, the strawberry tree apple. Arbutus has not given rise to many place names: Owenacahina, (river Arbutus), near Glengarriff; Ard na Caithne, the Irish for Smerwick, the infamous harbour near Dingle; Quin Co Clare is derived from a slightly different root, Cuinche. The most northerly placename is one of the many islands in Clew Bay, Co Mayo that is named Quinsheen. The limited number of place names does not suggest a former ubiquity. It is surprising that Malahide Castle is the only one of 29 heritage gardens that list it. One would imagine that connoisseurship of exotics
would be inclusive of the most exotic in our native flora.
COLONIAL ROOTS OF EXOTIC SPECIES
Anthropologists analyse our actions to identify what influences our behaviour. In this case, they might see the negative influence of colonialism. It was standard practice for colonialists to denigrate the native and exalt the superiority of their own as an enlightened justification for their presence. An oft-quoted example was the reaction of friends when a lady arrived in a fetching new outfit. ‘I bet you did not buy that in Ireland’. This may explain how our best natives species are so under-represented in our best collections.
Had I the power of compulsion, I should recommend that an Arbutus tree be planted in every garden. This bit of omnipotence was inspired by no less a character than Hitler. My mother had a saying that “there was bad in every good person and good in every bad person”. When I read that on coming to power in Germany, Hitler had ordered every landowner to plant a specified number of walnut trees on their land, I gave him the
benefit of the doubt that he must have had some redemptive values.
OUTSIDE THE BOX
When Napoleon was upbraided for taking such a quintessential Italian painting as the Mona Lisa back to Paris as war booty from his successful campaign, he patiently explained to the complaining persnickety official that all great artists irrespective of where they were born are Frenchmen. Based on that precedent, Buxus should be considered an honorary native Irish species, because it grows better here than most places. Buxus is perceived as a dense slow growing subject for a low hedge and many of us mistakenly identify the dwarf form used for that purpose, B. sempervirens ‘Suffruticosa’ as the species. We should, therefore, be grateful to those among us who have the virtue of patience. The tallest box in the UK and Ireland, growing at Birr Castle, measures 11.5m or 37ft and 9 inches. This is a figure that many gardeners will look at with incredulity. It is, of course, a small desirable evergreen tree.
The weightier charge is that we have underused the gems, among the 93 cultivars of B. sempervirens listed by the Plant Finder.
Betula s. ‘Pendula’ is, without doubt, one of the best evergreen small specimen trees gifted to us. It is elegant, with pendant branches that will eventually do justice to the name. While It is difficult to procure already formed, it is easy to train. B.s. ‘Handsworthiensis’ is a wonderful cultivar grown by Longleys Boxwood Nursery near Liss in Hampshire. Its distinctions are its foliage and growth habit. The high gloss large leaves measure 5x2cm. The dense pyramidal habit is topiary untouched by shears. It measures 110cm at the base and tapers rocket-like to the tip. Its height is 240cm. I ordered it in 1974 and it was delivered and labelled as B.s. ‘Myrtifolia’. This box is an excellent cultivar for formal assignments and for smaller spaces and for those who like an array of topiary pyramids but without the need for laser controlled trimming or the need to cope with the growth rate of Taxus baccata specimens.
The roots of our obsession with exotics and non-natives may well be traced back to our colonial legacy, but our past does not have to dictate our future. Our inability to appreciate and capitalise on the aesthetics, appropriateness and intrinsic cultural and environmental benefits afforded by our range of native evergreens have cost us dearly. I urge the savvy among you to seize upon this for the benefit of all. ✽
 JOHN JOE COSTIN has been involved with commercial horticulture for more than 50 years. He is viewed as one of the founders of the Irish nursery sector and played an instrumental role in it’s evolution. Recently retired, John Joe now travels extensively and continues to write on plant matters at home and abroad. |
