CONSIDERING THE LILY
Justine Picardie on the allure of this most symbolic of flowers
Justine Picardie sings the praises of this most potent, symbolic flower
In the language of flowers, lilies have the most evocative of meanings, denoting passion and purity, sensuality and salvation; their symbolism is associated with both weddings and funerals. As Naomi Slade observes in her new book Lilies, these plants evolved ‘before the very dawn of mankind’, while ancient images of the flowers appear in Minoan frescoes, Roman funerary engravings and Assyrian bas-reliefs. In classical Greek mythology, lilies are linked to the goddesses Persephone, Aphrodite and Hera; in Christianity, to the Madonna, and their metaphorical importance is evident in the Bible. Jesus declares in the lyrical Sermon on the Mount: ‘Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin…’
For those gardeners who are intent on growing lilies, a certain amount of toil is necessary; and the many different varieties we have today are thanks to the hard work of explorers who originally sought them out in the Americas and the Far East. The plant-hunters of the 19th century tracked down rare specimens in India and Japan; and a particularly beautiful variety – Lilium regale – was discovered by the intrepid Ernest Wilson in 1903, in a remote valley in the Sichuan Province of China. There, reported Wilson, ‘in June, by the wayside, in rock crevices by the torrent’s edge, and high up on the mountainside and the precipice, this lily in full bloom greets the weary wayfarer. Not in twos or threes but in hundreds, in thousands, aye, in tens of thousands.’ In the course of his expedition, Wilson was caught in
a mudslide, badly breaking his leg; and although he eventually made it home safely to England with a cache of precious bulbs, he walked with what he called a ‘lily limp’ for the rest of his life.
The Lilium regale certainly deserves its name. It has majestic white flowers, grows up to five feet tall, and looks glorious in a border combined with midsummer roses and the lacy froth of Ammi majus. Alternatively, one could follow the inspiring example of Vita Sackvillewest, who planted generous quantities of this variety in her legendary White Garden at Sissinghurst, alongside pale spires of foxgloves and delphiniums. Equally magnificent are the tree lilies, including ‘Purple Prince’, which can reach well above head height; although you’d need a bold planting scheme to showcase these handsome giants in a herbaceous border.
I’m not a fan of the more lurid modern varieties, preferring instead Lilium martagon (otherwise known as Turk’s cap lilies), which were originally native to Europe. Naomi Slade recommends one of these in particular, the elegant ‘Claude Shride’, which has rich damson-coloured petals: ‘Closer inspection reveals that the heart of the flower is touched with golden brushstrokes and stippled with mahogany, while the prominent stamens are a similar shade of gold.’ She suggests planting these with acid-green euphorbias and purple alliums; or you could mingle them with foxtail lilies and the sophisticated ‘Ariadne’, a classic Turk’s cap with delicately speckled rose flowers.
Even the smallest garden terrace or balcony can contain a pot of beautifully scented lilies, and the more compact varieties can be brought inside as fragrant house plants. These need to be kept in a cool, bright spot, out of full sun, and well away from cats, for whom the pollen is toxic. Slade’s book includes practical advice on container growing, and offers an excellent choice of contemporary ‘Roselilies’ that have been newly bred without stamens, and are therefore feline-friendly.
For me, however, the lily will always be associated with a magical landscape in which the past reaches out to us. As Penelope Lively writes in her wonderful horticultural memoir Life in the Garden, ‘I find particularly telling the way in which their very names are eloquent, speaking across time: the lily travels back through Anglo-saxon lilege to Roman lilium… It is the same kind of eloquence as the place-name; places tell you who has been here, these plants tell who has known them, and spoken of them…’
It is a mark of the lily’s truly iconic qualities that so many great writers have spoken of them; and they gleam in the poetry of William Blake, Emily Dickinson and Sylvia Plath. Their luminous beauty shimmers in the imaginary gardens of fiction; and their unforgettable presence is integral to that Edwardian classic of children’s literature, The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. ‘The place was a wilderness of autumn gold and purple and violet blue and flaming scarlet and on every side were sheaves of late lilies standing together – lilies which were white or white and ruby…’ Burnett’s evocative words even now make me want to hasten outside and plant an array of lilies in my own garden. ‘Lilies’ by Naomi Slade (£25, Pavilion) is out now.