Gentle Cookie purring all the day long
Gentleman Jaffa, the pacifist, on his cover
The ever-hungry Monster on his favourite chair
Young Taz, who likes being cuddled and wandering around the kitchen
Titch in his favourite place, under the boiler
Imagine my joy when my mum woke me up later that morning to tell me my bunny was still alive, having been fed several times after I’d gone to bed and been wrapped up, literally, in a roll of cotton wool and placed in a little box on a shelf in the heating cupboard till morning. It was nothing short of a miracle. Before I went to school that day I was allowed to feed him. After that, I was full of inspiration. With a hop and a skip and a jump I ran off to tell my teacher all about my bunny, which I called Easter, because Brian had found him then.
Thanks to the round-the-clock care from my wonderful mum, who nursed him and saved him - virtually from the brink of death - and as much help as a five-year-old could muster, Easter survived his ordeal, and through careful nurturing, had a great life. He slept on his bed of straw in the hutch, which my hero-of-a-dad built for him, scampered up and down the outdoor run nibbling the grass, and was given freedom to hop about indoors after I got home from school.
Through their love, my parents had demonstrated that a garden need not be solely a place for growing vegetables and flowers. There was no sign saying, ‘Keep off the grass’. It was not one of those pristine lawns with clipped edges. Instead, it had daisies and buttercups, sweet clover and baby-blue cats’eyes - those sweet little veronica flowers.
My friends and I made daisy-chains and buttercup-chains, and had fun picking buttercups to place under our chins and ask ‘Do you like butter?’ On sunny days we spread out rugs and brought out our toys and had teddy bear picnics and dollies’ tea parties, afterwards playing a game of rounders, or hide-and-seek amongst the lines of washing. The garden was a fun-filled place, secure and child-friendly. Best of all, it was a sanctuary for pets too.
Thus, I remember happy days in our garden, where I helped my mum hang out the washing, and was encouraged to sow seeds under the watchful eye of my dad, who raised crops of healthy vegetables and grew colourful nemesia, dreamy violet-hued geraniums, scarlet peonies, and the tiny flowers of London Pride, while I played with my Easter bunny and showed him off to all my friends.
As I look around Barleycorn, not forgetting our previous garden too - I think of all the plants and flowers our two sons have grown; the fun they have had as children, playing with their friends in their sand-pit, their paddling pool and sharing their toys; learning about all the wild creatures which come to visit; and the rescued pet cats and rabbits they have had - and I remember golden days in the garden of my childhood and the life-enhancing example my loving parents taught me about the all-encompassing qualities of a garden where family and friends, and pets, too, are made welcome.
Growing just outside our front door are posies of pretty perennial violas, which create a mass of low growing colour in shades of blue, purple, indigo and violet. The plants thrive in little spaces deliberately left between paving slabs, which my husband laid. The reasons why I chose to position them there will become evident.
They first begin flowering here in April when the tulips are in bloom, and extend their growing season throughout the Summer till late October, when the Michaelmas daisies are out. Even during wet Summers they produce a wealth of charming ‘faces’ in jewel-like shades, and every year, without fail, they repeat their performance. They are not prone to diseases, are seldom affected by insects, and require very little maintenance, other than a good haircut at the end of the season. Sweetly scented, their perfume becomes stronger on warmer days.
Their habit is clump forming which makes them ideal for growing along the front of a border and along the edges of paths. Being shade tolerant they also do well under shrubs and roses. I grow the white viola cornuta under our rugosa hedge, where, on Summer evenings they draw the eye, owing to their resemblance to little white butterflies.
Although violas are similar to pansies, there are many differences. Pansies have larger heads, tend to be more straggly, are more often annual or biennial, can be badly affected by heavy rain, and have a shorter growing season. That is not to say that I do not grow them in our garden. I love the colourful frilly-headed varieties with their velvety texture, and find them ideal for growing in pots and troughs.
The earliest violas I remember as a child were the little heartsease, or Johnny Jump Ups, growing wild in fields. The first year we created the garden here, I sowed several packets of them and through the years they have seeded themselves around, beautifying the paths and our scree bed, and creating a striking effect.
Under our potentilla hedge I grow cousins of the viola, little violets with purple heart-shaped leaves. The flower is similar to the viola but at the end of each petal there is a spur. As their name suggests, they are violet in colour and are sweet scented like the viola odorata. Apart from their intrinsic beauty, I find violas, pansies and violets so irresistible, they are essential plants in our cottage garden at Barleycorn.
