At this moment, I happily recognised an obsession that had been creeping up on me for some time. I suppose there must be one or two people in the world who chose not to like tulips, but such an aberration is scarcely credible.
Every gardener, I believe, should grow a flower just for the sheer pleasure it gives them. A secret indulgence; something that lifts the spirits and brings joy. These days, when I grow flowers or plants, my priority is to think about the bees, butterflies, birds and other beasties that I share my garden with. (Or, perhaps, I should put it the other way round – they share their territory with me). Most of my garden is now given over to growing vegetables, thanks to the influence of Tayport Community Garden. But there is one bulb, the tulip, that I adore purely for its beauty and zesty colours. In many ways it’s quite a useless flower: you can’t eat it; I’ve never seen a butterfly near it; they are quite demanding to grow, needing new bulbs most years; it doesn’t have a scent and yet, the tulip is a beautiful flower which makes the transition from spring to glorious summer.
The tulip must be one of the most recognisable of flowers and is a member of the lily family. It has a long and fascinating history of cultivation travelling originally from Central Asia to Europe. The wild tulip, (Tulipa sylvestris), grows in mountainous, temperate climates and is a bright yellow. It was cultivated in Turkish gardens as early as 1055 and is incorporated in their art of hand painted tiles, even today. The story behind the derivation of the word, tulip, is perhaps lost in translation. The most consistent story I found was that it originated with the Persian word for turban, and that tulips were worn on turbans!
One of the most amazing periods in connection with tulips was in The Netherlands, between 1634 – 1637 when tulip bulbs were exchanged for vast sums of money. The most prized flowers were in fact as a result of a virus infecting the plant and causing highly unusual petal colours: “the colour is white, with carmine on the blue base, and with unbroken flame right to the top”. This tulip mania saw the most expensive plants, Semper augustus and Viceroy, sell for the equivalent of an Amsterdam town house. And in art, some of the most beautiful still life paintings from the Dutch 17th Century, are of tulips.
As an avid reader, I’ll finish this blog with a couple of recommendations and whether you are a tulip fan or not, I think you’ll enjoy the following books: Tulip Fever by Deborah Moggach (2000); Tulipmania by A Goldgar (2008) and the one I’ve taken the opening and closing quotes from; The Tulip by Anna Pavord (1999).
I gazed at them in respectful – no, more than that – in reverent silence. I could find nothing suitable to say. This was the first time I had seen tulips growing in the wild. I knew how Galahad must have felt when he finally caught up with the Grail.
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