Carol Klein on the impact of growing sparkling snowdrops at Glebe Co age
Snowdrops may be diminutive but they have enormous impact
All flowers are special but somehow the very first flowers of the new year, despite their diminutive stature, have to be the most special of all. Where just a few weeks ago all was bleak, dark soil, it’s now sparkling, lit with hundreds of snowdrop flowers.
Although we anticipate their coming, nothing prepares you for the thrill of seeing those first new shoots, pristine and perfect, pushing through winter’s mire. They remind me of darning needles, the flower encased within the eye formed by the twin leaves. Within days, the flowers have shaken themselves free, each three-petalled flower with its underskirt of white edged in green dangling from a pedicel. Each flower hangs down, both overskirts and underskirts, ensuring that the pollen within is kept dry and warm – the temperature within the inner petals being several degrees higher than the ambient temperature. Apparently snowdrops are thermodynamic – they can produce their own heat.
We think of snowdrops as ‘ours’, of their being indigenous, of having always been here. Impossible to be accurate about exactly when they were introduced to our shores, we can only go by written or pictorial references, the first of which is in Gerard’s Herbal at the end of the 16th century. Hilary Mantel writes of Henry VIII walking among snowdrops. He died in 1547, so presumably there must be records of snowdrops earlier than those recorded by Gerard.
Enough detective work – whenever they were introduced and by whom, they thrived and are to be seen all over the British Isles both ‘in the wild’ and in our gardens, cultivated by all sorts of gardeners. They thrive best where natural conditions are ideal – damp and shady suits them, especially Galanthus nivalis, our most ubiquitous snowdrop, and its many cultivars.
Opinions vary on just how many cultivars there are and galanthophiles would argue long and hard about this and any other fact about their favourite flower.
Some people collect snowdrops and a few will go to enormous lengths to acquire the next one on their list. Ridiculous amounts of money are paid for individual bulbs – more than £1,000.
Although we have quite a few varieties here at Glebe Cottage, I have no interest in collecting them. For me, the joy is not of acquisition but of seeing them en masse, spreading themselves naturally and carpeting the ground. When snowdrops are happy, their bulbs will divide spontaneously and many will self-seed, creating clumps and, eventually, colonies. From just a few bulbs we now have hundreds.
If you’ve got snowdrops and want to increase their numbers, you can try a process called twin-scaling, where dormant bulbs are cut up with a sharp knife under hygienic conditions into several pieces, each one with part of the base plate (the bit the roots come from) and a section of the scales. They are then placed in a bag of Vermiculite and put into a dark place until new roots and shoots start to show.
Otherwise, with clumps you want to increase in the garden, plant each bulb about 10cm (4in) deep and a few inches apart in random groups. There’s no such thing as ‘too many snowdrops’!
‘Nothing prepares you for those first new shoots, pristine and perfect, pushing through winter’s mire’