East Lambrook Manor Garden : Snowdrops

In a book published in 2014, The Galanthophiles: 160 Years of Snowdrop Devotees by Jane Kilpatrick and Jennifer Harmer, they describe snowdrops coming of age "between 1854 and 2014". The book  "explores not only the discovery of new variants and species during that time but also the stories of the ardent enthusiasts who sought out, cherished, and shared these deceptively fragile white flowers." And I think that's it, that is why I love snowdrops, those deceptively fragile white flowers that contain a botanical anti-freeze allowing them to emerge in the coldest of winter months and bring promise to the late winter landscape.

I cannot recall the first time I visited East Lambrook Manor near South Petherton in Somerset and while not an annual visitor I have been here a number of times, to look at snowdrops in particular. This Grade 1 listed garden, while important in its own right as the foundation of the cottage style garden, is a mecca for the Galanthophile.  I do not class myself as one, I simply like snowdrops. 

Much has been written of the origin and history of snowdrops in Britain, therefore I'll only briefly mention some of that here as there is no definitive answer to that question, and I like that vagueness. 

The accepted wisdom is that the species referred to as the native snowdrop Galanthus nivalis is not native to Britain at all.  That is probably true, however the origins of this snow piercer in the British Isles is a little murky, with its first recorded mention in literature being within General Historie of Plantes by John Gerard printed in 1597. However these were snowdrops already growing in gardens and monasteries, and they were not called snowdrops by Gerard but described as Leucojum bulbosum praecox minus –  or as he called them ‘Timely flouring bulbous Violet’. 

Some references head further back into history, citing that with the retreat of the last Ice Age, snowdrops may have colonised Britain naturally from their core regions today of the Caucasus and Western Asia, with records being lost in the historic pollen samples. This may possibly be true, though it could be argued why did they not survive this colonisation in temperate Britain? But it is highly probable that the Romans at least knew of snowdrops and may have brought them to Britain as their Empire expanded. It is natural for people when living away from home to have a little reminder of their native area. All the more intriguing given that Galanthus the general name for snowdrops is derived from two Greek words meaning ‘milk’ and ‘flower’ referring to the white petals and Nivalis from the Latin word for ‘snow’.

The ability of snowdrops to push through snow is also suggested for the explosion of snowdrop records in Britain in the mid Victorian era when it is thought soldiers returning from the Crimea War brought with them snowdrop bulbs found naturally in the region, as a reminder of the first sights of spring during a bitter war.  

Or maybe it was the Vikings, who we now know traded extensively with southern Europe and the middle east. Or the Normans as they arrived on Britain's shores. It is intriguing and what garners my thoughts is we now know a lot more about early history, how populations traded and moved about a lot more than previously thought.

It is well documented that religious sites were possibly a nucleus of snowdrops in Britain during the Medieval period, especially out to the west in Wales and Ireland. Those monasteries, abbeys being the centre of not only learning but mediaeval medicine, were associated with the local, shall we call them native, physicians. Monks and religious followers travelled widely across Europe and Asia bringing with them knowledge of botanical medicine, with a chemical (an alkaloid galantamine) derived from the bulb of snowdrop being first mentioned by ancient Greeks for its mind-altering properties and used for centuries in the treatment of headaches, nervous tension and to ease migraines. Is it then a simple leap of faith to suggest snowdrops have a longer history in Britain than wisdom decrees, through ancient medicine and monastic herbal gardens.

My historical context with East Lambrook Manor is not as long and as I have mentioned I don't have any documentation to confirm when I first visited.  History is a funny thing. This is not a garden to come and walk amongst the drifts of snowdrops through woodland. It is a modest garden which displays over 100 cultivars of the twenty or so species of snowdrop known. There may be 21 species now, I'm sure I read somewhere on my visit a new species has been discovered. Margery Fish (1892 –1969) who bought this manor and garden to get away from the London Blitz admitted herself she was not a gardener when she arrived. Yet in a few decades she became a leading authority on the informal cottage style garden planting which broke the mould of the more rigid and formal Victorian and Edwardian bedding. 

She also liked snowdrops, though her first interest was the Hellebore genus. Eventually though she became an avid galanthophile which was explored in her book A Flower for Every Day, which includes an account of the giant snowdrop variety "S. Arnott", first exhibited at a Royal Horticultural Society exhibition in 1951.  Probably the most common species of snowdrop is the native snowdrop, Galanthus nivalis, the giant snowdrop Galanthus elwesii and the  pleated snowdrop Galanthus plicatus which sits in the middle, size wise. From these three species hundreds of cultivars and sub species have emerged either naturally or through breeding, with it being estimated there are over 1000 cultivars of all snowdrops.

The more I looked at the very well arranged and labelled cultivars in the garden the less I realised I knew. From a distance they are low growing white flowers, but close up, snowdrops are unique, sometimes subtly sometimes not. Petal markings, leaf shape, growth habit are all different. I found myself eavesdropping the gardener at East Lambrook chatting to a serious Galanthophile, with them discussing that this variety is like that variety but you can tell them apart by the length of the green edge on a single petal, but only when the flowers are mature. I'm not sure I'm ready for that level of interest or knowledge.

As a simple rule though, of the three species above the best way to tell them apart is to examine the leaf. G. elwesii has a rounded (‘supervolute’) leaf base, while G. plicatus leaves have a folded (‘plicate’) lip along the edge. The leaves of the much bigger overall G. elwesii are fleshier and wider. I bought a species snowdrop myself G. gracillis which is tiny and has a characteristic twisted leaf. I think I may be getting obsessed.

What I enjoy about this garden is that it is well laid out, every clump of snowdrop is labelled, so as we wandered about I could take notes or photographs. At the time of our visit the garden wasn't too busy, but it was obvious those who came came for a reason, to discover more of these delicate little flowers arranged in a showing border like fairy hats on green stalks.

This cultivar I especially liked as it really did feel like white fishing fly on a rod and line, sadly though they'd sold out. 

This was the most expensive variety on sale, though recently I read that at auction a single snowdrop bulb Galanthus plicatus 'Golden Tears', sold in February last year for a record-busting £1,850.

While it is not advisable to grow snowdrops in containers, this single specimen is breaking free and has emerged between the cracks in some steps. How it got here made me wonder.

I did like the way the gardeners here displayed cultivars in these terracotta pots. They were not here permanently, just for the snowdrop month of February, but it allowed a closer inspection than getting onto hands and knees in the garden. This one above G. gracillis is one that I bought - a species snowdrop, the one with the twisted leaves. It may have cost £12.50 for a pot, but there are a dozen or so bulbs developing that I can see.

This variety I also liked, though a lot more expensive to buy, therefore I resisted. The green shading to the petals is a strong feature on this and another cultivar I liked G. philippe andre meyer whose green markings were very much like an exclamation mark. I really am becoming an obsessive. The variety below G. elwesii 'Natalie Garton' was one which Julie my wife loved, so we managed to purchase a pot of these to bring home, with a third variety G. elwesii 'Marjorie Brown' completing our spending today. In fact we bought these as Valentine gifts between us, something to look forward to in the years to come.

We'd spent nearly two hours wandering about in this gem of a garden. It made me think though that even though snowdrops are seen as ubiquitous today it was not until 1753 that the Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus reclassified the snowdrop using the Greek and Latin term we still use – Galanthus Nivalis and in doing so, split this from another favourite of mine which I've long grown in my own garden for later spring show, the snowflakes or Leucojum species. Then in 1805 snowdrops were moved into the Amaryllidaceae family where they remain to this day, though a lot of chopping and changing is going on botanically at the moment.

After all that excitement I took our purchases back to the car and then returned for a well earned cup of tea, next to some snowdrops of course.