Scone Scoffing

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Lia and Juliet's supper club, National Garden Scheme, National Trust, Tea and Scone Week, Tuberous Sclerosis Association

I was asked recently by the charity Tuberous Sclerosis if I would write a blog post to promote their Tea and Scones week which runs from 12th to 18th May. The charity raises funds and awareness into this rare genetic condition which can cause epilepsy, learning disabilities, autism and renal problems. There is currently no cure for the condition and so they hope to raise money for medical research by encouraging people to indulge in a spot of baking. It was only when I came to sit down and write the post that I started to wonder how I could relate scones to gardening. Then I thought about all the gardens I have visited over the years and some of those which stick in the head most are often those where I can remember whether their baking was up to scratch too. I don’t know what that says about me, that I’m a little obsessed by food perhaps, or that I’ll forgive any gardening fashion faux pas if you’ve sated my appetite with something sweet.

Whether it’s a National Trust garden, a lavishly designed private space or somewhere on a more modest scale the gardening year wouldn’t be quite the same without a visit to one or more of these for inspiration. A sunny afternoon spent noseying around someone else’s garden revelling in their peonies or questioning their taste in garden ornaments is as quintessentially British as it gets. But the day isn’t truly complete unless there’s the opportunity at some point for tea and cake.

For any garden which opens to the public the refreshments on offer are a vital source of extra income whether it’s to raise revenue to maintain the garden or in the case of the NGS to make more money for charity. The National Gardens Scheme have facilitated the public access to thousands of gardens across Britain since it started in 1927. Not only does it give gardeners the opportunity to show off their creations it’s also the chance to taste some pretty impressive baking. This is not the time to turn up with some shop bought Mr Kipling’s.

I am partial to a slice of traditional Victoria sponge or the zesty hit of a lemon drizzle but I’m not sure you can beat the classic cream tea. A scone, some jam and a dollop of clotted cream is a simple but winning combination. Yet this simplicity belies the controversy which surrounds the humble scone. How you pronounce ‘scone’ for a start will reveal where you grew up. Say ‘scone’ so it rhymes with ‘gone’ and you’re most likely a northerner; pronounce it so it rhymes with ‘cone’ and you’re from the south. Where the demarcation line between the two is I don’t know; it would be interesting to find out though. Is there a town somewhere in Nottinghamshire or Bedfordshire where north becomes south? So often in Britain the simple pronunciation of a word can mark you out immediately as an outsider. We once lived in a suburb of Guildford called Burpham. To us, until we had been shown the error of our ways by the estate agent, it was ‘Burp – ham’, turns out the locals referred to it as ‘Burfam’. Now I live in Wales and there’s a long list of places I wouldn’t even know where to start when it comes to pronunciation. I wonder if other languages have this too?

Getting back to the scones, there is also the whole ‘which goes on first’ debate as to whether you smear your scone with jam first or the cream. For something that only consists of three ingredients it’s remarkable and some might say very British that it can stir up such a fuss. Much of this is due to the rivalry between Britain’s most south-westerly counties – Cornwall and Devon. A Cornish cream tea places the jam on first and a Devon cream tea is vice versa. I’m sure my late Cornish grandmother would be pleased to know I’m a jam first girl.

It’s easy to think that something like this was dreamt up by some PR person for the tourist board but I know something of the fiercely protected regional differences of the south-west. When members of my family moved, the not particularly great distance of 26 miles, from a small fishing village in Cornwall to the city of Plymouth at the start of the 20th century it was considered a move to a ‘foreign’ country as they had crossed the River Tamar into neighbouring Devon.

Scones are so simple to make, in fact they were the first recipe I was taught in home economics. A bit of self-raising flour, milk, sugar and butter. I prefer a plain scone and I always reduce the amount of sugar suggested in the recipe. In my opinion, the sweetness should come from the jam. I’m happy enough with the addition of a few sultanas but the pleasure of a scone is it’s simplicity. As for recipes, there are plenty to choose from. I tend to use a Mary Berry one but have used Delia and Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall too. I’d draw the line at the blueberry, coconut and lime scones I came across the other day. Several steps too far, I think.

Then we come to the jam. A cream tea generally comes with strawberry or raspberry both of which I love, but if I had the choice it would be blackcurrant every time. If you fancy something seasonal to try at your Tea and Scone event next week try this rhubarb and vanilla jam. I tasted it at Lia and Juliet’s Supper Club last year in the middle of some homemade jammy dodgers and it was delicious.

So why not get together with some friends to scoff some scones, chat about plants and raise a bit of money for charity. For more details about Tea and Scone Week visit tuberous-sclerosis.org.uk and if you’d like to share recipes and photos tweet @UKTSA and use #TeaandSCones.

Oh! And I’d love to hear your garden and cake stories. The best and the worst and the sweet treat you can’t resist.

On the plus side

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Geranium phaeum 'Lily Lovell', Lathyrus vernus, Lia and Juliet's supper club, painswick rococo gardens

Dicentra spectabilis alba

Writing my blog has shown me how much my mood is affected by the weather. It’s a fairly obvious observation that we feel happier when the sun shines and glum when it’s grey and wet but somehow seeing how I write over the course of the year, my choice of subject matter and how these reflect the weather outside has emphasised just how much it impacts on me. I had the pleasure of meeting the lovely Sejal again on Saturday night. A fellow attendee at Lia and Juliet’s supper club in Bristol she also reads my blog and it was interesting that my preoccupation with the weather and, in particular the amount of rain we get in Wales had been noted. Of course, my last post will have done nothing to change the perception that I am obsessed by the weather. So I thought I should try to redress the balance a little and write about the plus side to all the rain we’ve had in the last week or so. And I promise that’s the last time I mention the ‘r’ word, in THIS post at least.

The garden has become lush with leafy, green growth at last. I love this time of year when the plants fill out. The crab apple in full blossom, followed by its leafy canopy and the acer in the far corner of my garden screen the fence, neighbours’ out-buildings and houses. The garden starts to feel enclosed once again and I no longer feel like I’m on display to the whole world as I potter about. There’s a point where the change in the garden is quite sudden and it always takes me by surprise. One day I’ll be stood, looking out of the kitchen window and think ‘wow when did that all happen?’

Lathyrus vernus

A wander around brings a few squeals of excitement as plants I had completely forgotten about have reappeared like my Lathyrus vernus for instance. I first saw this at Painswick Rococo Garden in Gloucestershire flowering in late March and thought it was a lovely little plant. Last year I tracked one down but when it didn’t seem to be poking through the soil I feared I might have lost it. But fear not, it must have just been biding its time through the cold spring and it has emerged with its delicate purply-pink flowers.

There’s also been the discovery of a small patch of red campion by the side of my path. I’ll admit I do have a tendency to forget which plants I’ve bought and what I have put where. I do envy people who have an encyclopaedic knowledge of their plants, especially when their garden stretches to acres but it isn’t something I’m blessed with. I’m convinced, however that I have never purchased a campion plant so its appearance is an intriguing but welcome addition to the shady border.

There’s reacquainting myself with favourite plants. The pure white hearts of my white dicentra which would normally be going over by now dangle above the foliage of geraniums. The white and purple forms of viola cornuta which edge my paths and self-sown aquliegias that have popped up all over the place. I’m also eagerly anticipating the new plants added to my back border. I finally got around to removing some of the astrantia that had taken over but wanted to keep a soft, feeling, almost hedgerow-like and so have planted some foxgloves and wild carrot in there. They are still a while off flowering but should look good by mid-June.

The espalier apple is looking good and has timed its blossom opening perfectly with the crab apple so that pollination should be ensured, just as long as the bees can brave the cold. There are fewer forget-me-nots than I would like. Even though they self seed I would normally sow some extras in June or July for the following spring but I forgot last year. So I’m making a note to remind me when I come to sow my biennials in a month or so.

Geranium phaeum ‘Lily Lovell’

Geranium phaeum ‘Lily Lovell’ is just coming into flower. I love its rich purple colour which stands out so much more now that we have painted the fence. I love the contrast between the purple flowers and the bluey-green background. It doesn’t have a long flowering season but is out just long enough to grab any available light before the canopy of the crab apple casts its shade on this corner. It has been a bit on the chilly side recently to linger in the garden but if I shuffle the plants around in the greenhouse I can linger in there with a cup of tea and appreciate my spring garden at last.

The Wellywoman Awards 2012 – Part One

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Burgon and Ball, Daucus carota 'Black Knight', Derek Jarman, Dungeness Nature Reserve, felco secateurs, greenhouse, Lia and Juliet's supper club, tayberry

With winter approaching it’s a good time to look back and reflect on the year that has passed and, as the award season is starting, I thought I’d introduce the inaugural Wellywoman awards. Courtesy of Wellyman and his rediscovered model making skills I have the ‘Golden Wellies’ which I’ll award for those garden related greats of 2012 and, in homage to the Golden Raspberries that go to the year’s worst films, I bring you the ‘Golden Snail’ awards. It was going to be the ‘Golden Slugs’ but modelling a slug and making it actually distinguishable from, well, a blob of modelling clay proved a little difficult.

So it gives me great pleasure to announce, in no particular order, the recipients of the first ‘Golden Wellies’.

Daucus carota ‘Black Knight’

My flower of the year has to be Daucus carota ‘Black Knight’. In itself, it’s not the showiest of blooms and the tricky growing conditions this year meant it took a while to get going but once it did flower it just kept on going right into November. The plummy-pink coloured umbel flowers of this variety of carrot looked so good in arrangements and they lasted up to 2 weeks when cut.

This was the first proper year for my tayberry fruiting. Although I made the mistake of buying the thorn covered variety which has made it interesting and painful when training into some semblance of a structure, its fruits have more than made up for any scratches. A combined flavour of blackberry and raspberry and a long fruiting season have made this a great addition to the plot.

The humble pea gets my nod for an award. This is the first year I have grown them. I’ve always wondered what was the point when frozen peas are so good but nothing on the veg patch this year could beat the sweetness of freshly picked peas eaten raw. They are top on my list of crops to grow in 2013.

My favourite TV gardening programme of the year had to be Sarah Raven’s Bees, Butterflies and Blooms. The series followed Sarah as she tried to change perceptions about community planting schemes for the benefit of locals and wildlife. It was fascinating, informative and, at times, infuriating (it appears some would rather having plain old, boring grass than a beautiful flower studded meadow).

This was the year I discovered the delights of squashes. The plural there is really rather stretching it. I grew Uchiki kuri and the weather conspired to make this not the best of years to be trying to grow squash for the first time.  I didn’t, at one point, think I was going to get anything at all from the plants so I was delighted when I spotted two yellow fruit forming. It was a bit of a race against the lower temperatures and lack of sunshine to see whether they would actually ripen in time. In the end, one grew to a really significant size and turned a beautiful deep orange colour, the other ripened but didn’t grow very much. It was a squash version of Little and Large. Despite the low yield I’ve been bitten by the squash bug, so I’m hoping I can fit some more varieties into my planting plan for next year.

The tool of the year has to go to my Burgon and Ball flower snips. I was lucky enough to receive a pair this time last year to review on my blog but November wasn’t the best time of year to put them through their paces. I didn’t think anything could replace my Felco secateurs but I used my snips all year-long. They can cut through surprisingly thick stems and are lighter and smaller than my secateurs so I tended to favour them. The one problem is their green coloured handles. I’m not sure how much time I wasted this year hunting for them after I’d put them down somewhere. I think some coloured tape around the handles may be applied this winter.

Derek Jarman’s garden

Despite the weather I did get the chance to visit some beautiful gardens. After years of wanting to go to some of the iconic gardens of East Sussex and Kent we finally got around to visiting them. My favourite was Derek Jarman’s garden at Dungeness. The simplest and possibly least typical garden it had immense charm and was set in a stunningly bleak location. The plants that thrived here seemed all the more precious because they were growing in such a hostile environment. For me it showed that the need to grow is an innate response to our environment and that even when faced with such unlikely growing conditions the desire to create beauty using plants was too strong to resist.

The amazing food at Lia and Juliet’s Supper Club deserves one of my ‘Golden Wellies’. I was new to the concept of supper clubs when we went along in June but what really drew me to this one was the celebration of fruit and vegetables and seasonality. Keen allotmenteers, Lia and Juliet wanted to showcase the produce they grew and make it a real event. With tea-lights lining the path to the front door, fairy lighting in the back garden and a verandah for pre-dinner drinks the scene was set for a great night. Not only was the food great but so was the company. In fact we loved it so much we went back again in October.

Some golden wellies have to go to the newly installed greenhouse. It was a pain to build and was responsible for a fair degree of swearing and although it’s not really the time of year to start using it to its full potential, I love it. There are already several seed trays of hardy annuals in there, some salad leaves and herbs. Roll on spring.

And finally, my last ‘Golden Wellies’ of 2012 go to my fellow garden bloggers and tweeters. They are too many of you to mention individually but you’re great. You inform, inspire and amuse. I’m looking forward to reading about the highs and lows of 2013.

Read my next post to see who and what will receive a ‘Golden Snail’.