From William Wordsworth to Ted Hughes, poets have been inspired in different ways by the annual spring arrival of "fair" daffodils, writes JANE POWERS.
DAFFODILS ARE THE heroic souls of the plant world, braving March's roaring weather to flower dependably year after year. With their rain-jacket-yellow blooms, they make a stout-hearted crew in the early garden – one that is sure to raise a smile. Or maybe not: the poet Ted Hughes in his poem Daffodilssaw them as vulnerable and distressed: "Every March since they have lifted again / Out of the same bulbs, the same / Baby-cries from the thaw, / Ballerinas too early for music, shiverers / In the draughty wings of the year". (Which makes a change from Wordsworth's 10,000-strong host of golden you-know-whats, frantically high-kicking and "tossing their heads in sprightly dance".)
This year, in early February the newly sprouted bulbs seemed more full of mettle than ever (or more shivery, depending on your viewpoint), as they patiently marked time during a week of snow and sleet. In fact, most daffodils are perfectly hardy, and have the equivalent of antifreeze running in their vascular systems. Yet their leaves appeared shockingly green against the cold white ground, and their flower buds – which have since opened to reveal their glorious, eggy yellow blooms – were tightly sheathed in a spathe of tissue-thin plant skin.
The tiny ‘February Gold’ is one of the first to flower in this garden, along with an unknown trumpet planted by a previous incumbent. Another early narcissus this spring is ‘Printal’, a curious-looking thing with a split corona, which doesn’t seem to be available anymore, since the main growers, Langeveld bulbs, have gone out of business. The split corona group of daffodils (narcissus and daffodil are one and the same) are those where the cup or trumpet looks as if it has been cut into separate sections and pressed back to lie against the outer petals. However, the petals – since we’re being botanically correct – aren’t really petals at all, but are known as tepals or perianth segments. Split corona narcissi are more prevalent than they used to be, and while they don’t have the same nostalgic appeal as the conventionally shaped daff, they can be very pretty with their open faces and splayed tepals. They also look slightly artificial, and their protruding stigma makes them resemble those trick lapel flowers that spray water into the unsuspecting face (all of which puts me in a very good mood when I see them).
Although daffodils are the quintessential yellow flower, breeders have been hard at work incorporating white, orange, green, red and “pink” into the narcissus colour palette. The pink isn’t a true pink at all; it’s more like pastel orange, or the hue of an off-colour prawn that you’d be wary of eating. It looks truly awful if you grow it next to your normal, canary-yellow daffs, as each colour screams hideously at the other. But it sings a sweet and gentle song when seen on its own, or when paired with white or blue flowers. Pink-cupped narcissi, if you can find a late-flowering variety, look gorgeous with bluebells. I’m not suggesting names here, because individual varieties of the more unusual bulbs (such as the pink lads) come and go from year to year, so searching for a particular one may be a frustrating waste of time.
It’s a better idea, when buying the bulbs in the autumn, to read the labels and choose by the colour, flower shape, height and flowering season, instead of being enslaved by names. However, if you’re hell-bent on getting a list of varieties, and are handy with the internet, check out the American Daffodil Society’s database of hybrids (www.daffseek.org). There you can search among many thousands of narcissi, by name, colour, season and division, and by several other characteristics. Mind you, plenty of them are now extinct, but it’s an interesting window on the enormous numbers that man has bred within this genus. About 18,500 cultivars are detailed here.
You may also search by country of origin. This is most gratifying if you put in “Ireland”, and “Northern Ireland”, for around 14 per cent of the total number were raised by hybridisers on this island. Many of the great names of daffodil breeding, such as Lionel and Helen Richardson, William Baylor Hartland and Guy Wilson, are no longer with us. But Brian Duncan, one of the most respected breeders in the world, is alive and kicking in Co Tyrone – and working on improving miniature daffs. His introductions, and plenty of other exhibition daffodils, are available from Ringhaddy Daffodils (www.ringhaddy-daffodils.com).
But let’s leave off blowing our Irish trumpet, and consider a few practicalities. Although the main daffodil admiring season is now (see panel for places to pay some homage), the time for planting is in the autumn, when the dormant bulbs come on sale. Don’t let them hang around after you buy: get them into the ground or into pots immediately. If you’ve bought only a dozen or so of an unfamiliar variety, you might grow them in a container for the first year, to see how you like them, and where they might fit into the garden picture. When they finish flowering, they can be planted in a more permanent position.
Plant the bulbs at least two times their depth, and deeper if the soil is dry. Any shallower and they run the risk of drying out, or being pulled out by mistake. Deadhead as soon as the flowers fade, making sure to snap away the developing seed capsule underneath. The experts advise leaving the foliage at least six weeks before cutting it back, as it feeds the bulb. But why cut it back at all, unless your daffs are planted in a lawn that needs mowing? If the leaves are a problem, such as at the front of a border, grow smaller varieties.
Every time I write about daffodils, I can’t resist quoting poetry, so I got that out of the way at the beginning. The other thing I can’t resist – although I’ve tried hard for the last 1,000 words – is the plea aimed at certain overly compulsive, tidy gardeners. Here it is: please stop braiding and folding (and securing with elastic bands) your daffodil leaves. They need sunlight on all their parts to rebuild the bulbs. And also, they’re nicer as nature intended.
DAFFODIL DATES
TODAY 10.30am-12.30pm:meet the gardeners at the restored Victorian kitchen garden in the Phoenix Park, Dublin 7 (next to the Visitor Centre).
MARCH 9-15 9am-5pm:Daffodil Week at Delta Sensory gardens in Carlow town, with more than 10,000 daffodils; admission €5; 059-9143527, www.deltacentre.org,
www.carlowtourism.com.
There will be displays of exhibition daffodils at these two horticultural shows:
APRIL 4 2-5pm:South County Dublin Horticultural Society Spring Show, Kill o' the Grange School, Kill Lane, Deansgrange, Co Dublin; admission €3.
APRIL 5 2-5pm:Malahide Horticultural Society Spring Show, St Andrew's Parish Centre, Church Road, Malahide, Co Dublin; admission €2.