KEY POINTS:
When the first buds of the Lilium regale pop it is always a special moment. This is made stronger by the powerful addition of perfume - smell being the sense with perhaps the most direct connection to memory. Dad used to grow an oak barrel full of them when we were kids.
I can see them now pushing up through the leaf mould and remember charting their ascent quite clearly.
Once they had broken ground, there would be a frill of coppery growth like a sea anemone and the excitement of parting the foliage to count the embryonic buds.
The buds swelled fast but imperceptibly, because they were under regular scrutiny, until one day, just as they did in my garden a month ago, they peeled open.
A wine-coloured reverse gave few clues of the pearly-white interior, the throat infused with gold. The anthers, a hot orange, dust the interior of the flower with freckles of pollen in rain. And the smell - well, there are few things quite as delicious on warm summer air.
When I got the bug more seriously, aged about 10, I blew my pocket money one autumn on quite a large order of several different lilies and these first plants paved the way for my ongoing love affair. The descriptions in the catalogue were not much more than a few sentences each, but they furnished my imagination with images of dappled glades hung with the delicate flowers.
I bought three L. canadense only, but everything about them was a delight. The plump, pale-orange bulbs had just a few scales each and were so very different from the heavy, burgundy bulbs of the L. regale.
The whirls of foliage forming tiers up the wiry stems, the way that flowers hovered like a mobile delicately balanced at the very tip of the plant - I pined for damp ground in which to introduce the North American L. pardalinum var. giganteum and winced at the thought of Native Americans eating the bulbs as they once did.
I saw it towering way over head height in the bog garden at Wakehurst Place in the southeast of England - the country garden of the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew - its fiery red colouring and leopard-spotted throat.
I played with the hybrids, too. The rich gold L. "Shuksan" introduced me to a love of spotting. L. "Citronella" proved to be trustworthy and long-lived in my yellow border. I had it in quite a large group around the Ligularia "The Rocket". L. "Enchantment" was far less naturalistic in feel, so it was put into pots so that its soft orange, upturned flowers could lighten up the back door. I liked the hybrids as long as they had some grace in them and, after a while, became less enchanted with "Enchantment".
The wine-red L. "Pink Perfection" and "African Queen" kept the relay going, coming into flower just after the L. regale were tipping over their prime.
The L. speciosum followed on, a sugary pink with L. auratum marking the end of the summer holidays.
The spectacular Golden-Rayed Lily of Japan did well for us. It was extensively collected in the 19th century from the slopes of extinct volcanoes, where it grew in volcanic ash, and consequently it liked our free-draining ground. It is a great pity that this lily has now been replaced by poor impersonations bred as floristry hybrids, and one day I hope to seek it out in the wild again in Japan to complete the circle.
It is not just my rose-tinted memory of those first experiences, but lilies were easier before the scarlet lily beetle made itself the menace it is today. I hate spraying, so I have to restrict myself to growing only as many lilies as I can pick to keep them free of the beetles and the revolting leaf-eating grubs.
The beetles appear in several waves from early spring to late summer. They freefall to the ground if you disturb them, and lie on their backs, their black undersides making them all but invisible against the soil.
You need to keep on top of the adults, for a fortnight's holiday is all it takes, once you have the grubs feeding, to find stems stripped of foliage on your return. This may only weaken the lilies in the first year, but repeated attacks will be their end.
Other than that, the main enemy of the lily is slugs, which can attack certain species in the winter when the bulbs lie dormant, so plant the bulbs in the autumn in a layer of sharp grit as a protection. The grit also helps with drainage, as nearly all lilies like moisture, but they like it to pass through rather than to lie wet.
A heavy soil should be lightened with leaf mould, a sandy soil improved in its water-holding abilities with the same or compost. I have not met a lily yet that likes farmyard manure.
They are mostly woodlanders by nature, and you are best to emulate those conditions. Cool and moist at the root, with heads in the light. The Madonna lily, L. candidum, is one of the few exceptions, preferring shallow planting, limestone soil and plenty of sunshine.
Pot culture is ideal for many lilies, as it allows you to control their environment, but many are quite happy naturalised in the ground. L. pardalinum is a good example, and an exception among lilies for its ability to tolerate damper conditions. L. martagon is also easy and will self-seed happily if it likes you. The first time I saw this beautiful, soft-pink Turk's Cap in a garden was among astrantia. The first time I saw it in the wild was in a nut wood in the Pyrenees, growing in exactly the same combination.
With lilies I have learned to be happy when they like you and to give in to defeat when they don't, because there are so many to try. The soft-tangerine L. henryi has been a star in my garden over the years. Happy in the ground and producing so many flowers it needs support, it blooms mid-season when many from the first wave are over.
This year I have a few bulbs of L. nepalense. I first saw these growing well in the Edinburgh Botanic Gardens, where the cool climate and rain suit well. It may not do well with me in the south of England, but at least this year it will have the rain it needs to thrive. One lime-green flower only per stem, but one that is quite unlike any other with its dark maroon throat. The excitement at the thought of succeeding with it is every bit as good as it was more than 30 years ago with that first bulb order.
- Observer
