| | 朋友寄給我的資料!!
一邊翻譯一邊查HMF 才把文章讀完.TEA ROSE的世界真是叫人目眩神馳.
尤其其中幾款HMF裡的照片真的超級吸引人
'Devoniensis'巨大的主幹真的超美!
http://www.helpmefind.com/plant/pics.php?l=2.1520&nr=57452
希望我將來也能弄出真的像一棵樹的樹玫瑰!!!
Fragrant Tea
By William Grant
There was a time when rose connoisseurs grew Tea roses. Not Hybrid
Teas, which are everywhere these days, but the distinctive, different from
most other kinds, what once were called the Tea-Scented China roses.
I used ‘connoisseurs’ on purpose, as when the Teas were introduced to
England in the late 18th century only those who had greenhouses and
conservatories were able to grow a full range of them. Some were very shy of
cold weather, and most cannot stand a persistent, hard frost. They do well in
southern parts of the England or in sheltered areas.
Now that there is renewed interest in them – a wonderful book written
by six ladies from South Australia has just been published – a new generation
of rosarians may want to introduce them to their gardens. In warmer areas, of
course.
Years ago when I ordered my first ones from Peter Beales in the UK (I
could not find any U.S. nursery that had the ones I wanted), I quickly found
they loved my climate (central coast California), and they have thrived ever
since.
However, if I had believed the famed hybridizer Jack Harkness in 1978
(I admired him in spite of his focus on Hybrid Teas), I should never have
attempted to grow them.
First, he offers his readers this quote from his grandfather John: ‘If the
Rose be the queen of flowers, the Tea-scented Rose may be regarded the
queen of queens, for undoubtedly the “Teas”, as they are familiarly called, are
in refinement and delicate beauty superior to their robust and more highly
coloured relatives’.
As soon as that is out of his mouth, he states, ‘The Teas which
survived for my eyes to see had little in the way of growth or flowers to compel
one to take up a spade and go planting’. Then he parades a long litany of their
failings, and says, ‘I have no heart to record their swan song’.
By 1845 there were nearly 300 varieties catalogued, and the high point
of Tea hybridization was still ahead. Looking at all the ones I have
photographed and listed, I would say the highest point of their popularity was
just before the WWI. The remarks of T.W. Sanders in 1899 in his Cultivated
Roses mirrors the high regard the Teas had at that time: ‘Exquisite in the
delicacy, variety, and superb loveliness of the tints of their beautiful blooms;
unspeakably delicious in their fragrance; invaluable for the freedom with which
they flower, and for the long duration of their flowering period, they are
unquestionably the finest class of roses we have in cultivation at the present
day’.
The Teas are still with us – some of us, some of them, in some places.
And nurseryman Peter Beales still offers them – there are 57 listed in his
latest catalogue, both shrub and climbing forms. Much of his sales are for
overseas customers.
What has always set them apart is their different, mixed fragrance; I
have always said they smell like tea, something I drink every day. A recent
article in the Daily Telegraph confirms this. ‘A French team has now traced the
DNA change that gives the blossoms of some roses the scent of a newly
opened packet of tea’. Another difference is a set of colours that most other
kinds do not have. The colour spectrum includes white and cream, pink, red,
yellow, buff and apricot, deep pink or copper. In addition, they have a wide
variety of flower forms: cupped, globular, imbricated, quartered, confused
central knot, and many with irregular petal arrangements.
Some gardeners do not like their nodding heads. There are lowgrowing
shrubs and spectacular climbers; at least in my garden they never,
never stop blooming.
In Western Australia, where they thrive, the six authors spent ten years
investigating them, growing them, and evaluating both the good and the weak.
They are fondly called the Tea Bags: Lynne Chapman, Noelene Drage, Di
Durston, Jenny Jones, Hillary Merrifield, and Billy West. *
‘Descriptions are first-hand and not just a repetition of what has been
said before’, they say in their introduction. That is a telling remark because
there has been enormous confusion over the years about their identification.
In fact the ladies have a section called ‘Fellow Travellers and Impostors’.
The Teas’ greatest attribute is their reblooming nature. My ‘Madame de
Tartas’ (1859 - semi-globular form, soft rose-pink and carmine, 40-50 petals)
is full of flowers as I write this during the summer. It will be blooming at
Christmas. May I say that the Hybrid Teas simply do not match them in repeat
bloom regardless of what the catalogues or Harkness says.
Harkness does list the early and best ones, all of which are still
available. ‘Adam’ from 1833, introduced by a man by that name of Rheims,
attracted a lot of attention when it appeared. The ladies do not think the one
grown in Australia today is the original rose! And I thought the one I had
matched the description perfectly.
Billy West states that ‘Information widely accepted as factual because it
came from impeccable sources turned out to be myth. We were faced with the
decision to ignore the evidence our research was turning up and paper over
the cracks, or to keep searching for answers and hope to find our way through
these Chinese whispers’.
Such things add to the mystery and romance of rose history. If you
could eavesdrop at rose meetings and especially at international conferences
you would be struck how much disagreement is expressed, but no one for a
moment is really disturbed by this. During every trip to Australia I hear the
same argument: ‘Archiduc Joseph’ (1892) is exactly the same as ‘Monsieur
Tillier’ (1891), both from France. I grow the latter and have given up
participating in the debate.
‘Devoniensis’ (1841) has two forms, the shrub and the climbing sport.
The latter, fully open on a warm day, produces hundreds of very fragrant,
plump, urn-shaped ivory blooms, with an occasional pink blush in the centre.
In the garden of my friends in Adelaide the perfume is strong three metres
away.
‘Alexander Hill Gray’ (1911) was named for a real rose enthusiast who
moved from Scotland to Bath so he could grow Teas. It has a deep yellow
center with the outer petals turning white in hot weather. It has few prickles,
and its new growth is brightly red. I saw it first in Bermuda, where there is a
marvelous collection of the Teas, some of them called ‘mystery roses’ by
Peter Harkness, the brother of Jack.
‘General Schablikine’ (1879) does very well in my friend Odile
Masquelier’s garden in Lyon and in the beautiful garden at Ninfa below Rome.
(My grandfather once said that if I ever travelled I should see Naples before I
died. I would revise that suggestion and replace it with Ninfa, one of the most
magical gardens in the world.) It was known as an exhibition Tea for its strong
canes, the full dark pink, shallow, silky blooms, which can cover the vigorous
bush.
Jack Harkness actually recommends the climbing form of ‘Lady
Hillingdon’ (1917) because it survives frosty weather. The golden petals open
to a nodding, large flower with a strong tea fragrance. At a meeting of the
Heritage Roses Australia in Sydney years ago, an elderly gentlemen, when he
saw the slide of it on the screen, said, in a loud voice, something that shocked
a lot of the audience.
He said he had heard the remark in England, but I have been unable to
find any hard evidence. The quote has made the rounds for years.
Supposedly Lady Hillingdon wrote or said that when women marry and worry
about the wedding night, they should simply ‘close their eyes and think of
England’. My friend’s story was much more explicit – thus creating a stir at an
otherwise solemn meeting of rosarians. And as one critic said, ‘The origins are
lost in the mist of English erotic history’.
One of the largest cemeteries in the world, Rookwood, is in Sydney,
where more than a million people are buried. I have found many plants of
‘Lady Hillingdon’ among the ocean of tombstones. Most of them were planted
a half century ago by relatives of the departed.
One of my favourites, which has climbed up ten feet in a madrone tree,
is ‘Souvenir de Madame Léonie Viennot’ (1897), a vigorous climber with
gorgeous, new red-brown foliage. It is one of the first to bloom in our late
winter and produces large, blowsy pink/yellow/pale apricot flowers.
There are always dissenting views of the same rose not doubt caused
by different soil, climate, and care. A favourite of many is ‘Catherine Mermet’,
pale pink, large globular blooms. One writer says it is ‘practically useless in
the open garden’ while another remarks ‘a glorious flower’.
‘Hume’s Blush Tea-Scented China’ was named for Lady Amelia Hume.
It was introduced to England in 1808 from the Fan Tee Nurseries in Canton. I
would risk stating that most of the Teas are named for women, especially the
long list which starts with Madame. The rules of the game in naming roses
require as short a title as possible. It would no longer be acceptable to offer a
rose with the name ‘Mme La Princesse de Bessaraba de Brancovan’ (1890).
One of the more interesting stories about Teas is concerned with ‘Mrs.
B. R. Cant’ (1901), a lovely, reliable, deep rose, fragrant shrub (a rare
climbing form also). Benjamin Revett Cant had a most successful nursery in
the 1880s and 1890s in Colchester. His nephew, Frank Cant, opened his own
nursery and a rivalry lasted for years among the relatives, who finally made up
in 1967 and combined forces for Cants of Colchester, which is still thriving.
Alas, Benjamin died before his most famous rose was released to the world.
While visiting a recently burned out home in nearby Santa Cruz, I saw
the remains of a small tower on which a rose had been growing. I took
cuttings (when no one was looking) and was able to root them. Later I learned
I had a beautiful, vigourous, fragrant yellow Tea rose which actually does best
in hot weather –‘Etoile de Lyon’ (1881).
‘Noella Nabonnand’ is a spectacularly beautiful climber with velvety,
crimson red, fragrant blooms. I mention it here because the Nabonnand name
is so closely associated with Teas. A family firm lasted for years on the Riviera
and produced a very long list of roses, many of them Teas and Noisettes that
are still available today.
While walking in the large rose garden at Tete d’Or in Lyon a few years
back I noted a small, undistinguished bush marked ‘Sombreuil’, with a plate
marked 1850 and the hybridizer’s name, Robert. My rose by that name
spreads itself all over the railings on my deck. I began a search for the ‘real’
rose which has still raged (I mean raged) as there are two look-alikes offered
by American nurseries. Tete d’Or has recently taken cuttings of their rose and
new plants are now in the garden. I can hardly wait to see them.
One final example of the wide variety of colours, shapes, and origins of
these roses: ‘Tipsy Imperial Concubine’ brought from China by the eminent
rosarian, Hazel LeRougetel, after her visit there in 1981. It has a lovely, large
pink, fragrant blossom, which is quite recurrent. No one hearing that title can
fail to wonder why it received its name.
With global warming on the increase, it may not be too long before one
can grow these remarkable roses where they have never thrived before.
(Ed. Note: This article first appeared in the Fall, 2008 issue of Hortus;
the spelling and punctuation conform to the English style and have not been
changed. The author is the renowned author, photographer, raconteur, and
rosarian Bill Grant who has been retired for 27 years, grows mostly climbers
on a half-acre of land and grows Australian companion plants to bloom in
winter as counterpoints to the roses. He regards growing up in Los Angeles in
the 1930’s as a blessing when even his mother’s Hybrid Teas were free of all
diseases.)
*Tea Roses: Old Roses for Warm Gardens. By Lynne Chapman, Noelene
Drage, Di Durston, Jenny Jones, Hillary Merrifield, & Billy West. (Australia:
Rosenberg Publishing Pty Ltd, 2008). Available from Ashdown Roses
(www.ashdownroses.com).
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