Weird & wonderful roses

The world of roses is full of fantastical specimens that must be seen to be believed, writes JACKIE FRENCH

Thirty years ago, I had a cunning plan. I would foil the attempts of wallabies and possums to eat my roses by planting what I’d read was the world’s thorniest rose, the Madeira, grown for its enormous, reddish, ornamental prickles by those who, er, think large, hooked weapons of skin destruction are ornamental. The possums and wallabies would be so traumatised by prickled snoots and paws, they’d never munch a rosebush again.

The bush arrived as thorny as promised, the prickles 5cm long, wickedly curved and a rich red colour, with insignificant leaves. I wish I could tell you what the flowers were like, but the wallabies and possums ate the bush almost to the ground in the first week, leaving only a few of the big red thorns behind.

Sadly, I still can’t tell you what the blooms of the Madeira rose are like, as I can’t find it in stock anywhere any more. The closest I’ve come to it is the winged thorn rose ( Rosa sericea subsp. omeiensis f. pteracantha) from China, also known as the wingthorn rose. It sounds nearly the same as the rose I knew as the Madeira, with giant red thorns that are almost translucent when young but darken as they age. It’s grown for the beauty of its prickles, or possibly as a hedge to deter burglars (do not expect it to deter wallabies and possums). The leaves are small, soft and fern-like – really just a backdrop to the thorns – and the flowers are small and white, about half the size of the prickles. The bush grows to about 2m, possums permitting, so you might like to update your insurance policy for rose-related injuries.

Once I’d bought a weird rose simply for its thorns, it was only a small jump to impulsively buying one with no petals but just large, lush, mossy-green sepals that give the bush its name, the green rose ( R. chinensis cv. viridiflora). I grew quite fond of this rose, but didn’t object too much when my husband, Bryan, removed it for ease of mowing.

By that time, I had also purchased the apothecary’s rose ( R. gallica var. officinalis), one of the most popular medieval roses brought back to England by the crusaders because of its deep pink blooms and its reputation as a medicinal plant for everything from headaches and hangovers (steep the petals in wine, then drink it

– a version of biting the dog that bit you) to treating stumps after amputation.

I can’t remember if mine was the victim of the possums or Bryan’s mowing, but it wasn’t lamented.

My only other foray into growing weird roses was to purchase ‘Mutabilis’, a China rose that blooms with flush after flush of butterfly-like roses that change colour from deep to pale pink to yellow to parchment so the bush is covered in multicoloured darlings. I fell in love, and we now have five bushes. In my garden it grows about 2m high by 2m wide, and has such spindly growth that possums can’t climb up it, and wallabies can reach only the lower branches. While ‘Mutabilis’ is not a rose to pick, it is one to have outside the kitchen window, where you can admire it over breakfast.

But if you want to startle visitors, the most gorgeous rose is possibly

‘The Prince’, a David Austin rose from 1990 with masses of compacted petals that make the flower look divided into quarters. It opens as a rich crimson colour, then slowly darkens to purple, with the most glorious scent. A bunch of these in a vase elicits exclamations of joy, wonder and rose envy from all who see it. What more can you ask of a rose?