Tulips come in every colour now except blue - but they're working on it, writes Jane Powers
There are few people more annoying than a convert. But that, I am afraid, is what I have become in the past few years. Tulips: I used to hate them. Now I can't get enough of them. I can barely remember why I disliked them, but it had something to do with the regimented planting of canary-yellow and fire-engine-red Darwin Hybrids in public parks and front gardens.
The parade-ground formations blighted all tulips for me. But now, since I've come to know and respect the family, even those poker- straight, super-organised, primary-coloured conformists have garnered my affections: such brave-hearted troopers, standing so doughtily, no matter whether it hails, rains or shines. And, likewise, the fact that tulips are some of the most highly bred and artificial-looking plants alive now fills me with admiration for the breeders' art rather than with a wish for something simpler.
I love them all, from the delicate "species" tulips (those that are the same, or similar, to wild ones) to the madly overblown and hysterical Parrot tulips that come along at the end of spring, wearing crazed and crimped flusters of petals.
Few plant genera are so diverse. The flowers are in many sizes and shapes: dainty crocus-like miniatures; tall, calligraphic and Islamic-looking lily-flowered specimens; short and sturdy Kaufmanniana and Greigii kinds; fringed tulips that may have been cut with a pinking shears; and a host of other distinctive groups.
As for colour, we now have tulips in everything except blue (but they're working on it), including some fairly credible "blacks" (deep, deep wine, really), such as 'Queen of Night', 'Paul Scherer' and 'Black Hero'. The last of these is a double tulip, with a cluster of rounded petals, looking a little like a rose on a stick (a desirable, cartoony rose).
Single-coloured tulips are gorgeous, saturated swathes of silk, but it is the bicolours and multicoloured ones that are the real show-offs and divas. Their petals - sometimes flushed and suffused with different tones, sometimes flamed and feathered, sometimes exquisitely hand-painted - are hard to describe without lapsing into shameless purple prose. One of my favourites is the orange 'Prinses Irene', which is decorated with deep-ruby brush strokes. It was introduced in 1949, and has not been surpassed by any other similarly coloured tulip. It is a member of the Triumph group, which numbers hundreds of varieties, and which is the staple tulip of the cut-flower trade. The near-perfect, egg-shaped blooms on strong stems also mean that Triumphs are well able to tough out whatever weather unreliable April decides to throw at them in the garden.
Another handsome Triumph is 'Zurel', bred in recent times but with wine-coloured flames flashing across a white background that give it the look of one of the extravagant flowers that caused tulipmania in The Netherlands in the 17th century, when single bulbs were bought and sold for the same price as houses.
The showiest of all are the Parrots, so called because their buds resemble birds' bills. Their petals are frazzled and twisted and slashed, and although there are single-coloured varieties, such as the pleasingly funereal 'Black Parrot', the most dramatic are swirling concoctions of several colours, such as the green-white-and-red 'Estella Rijnveld' and the green-white-and-pink 'Green Wave'. Parrots, alas, are less rugged than most tulips, and if you grow them outdoors they need a very sheltered position - and even then they may drop their petals within a few days of opening. Nonetheless, it's worth having a pot or two, just to admire the precious flamboyance of them.
If there's one drawback with tulips, it's that most fail to reappear after the first year. But they're not expensive: usually less than 50c a bulb, so it's no financial hardship to create a display that can last several weeks (and it's cheaper and longer-lasting than a bunch of flowers from the florist).
Some tulips, however, do come back year after year. Most members of the Darwin Hybrid, Greigii, Kaufmanniana and Fosteriana groups will return to bloom another day. Species kinds, which are usually grown in rockeries or raised beds, also tend to perennialise, especially if they get a baking in summer.
You can plant tulips any time from now until November, and even into December. But buy them before all the good ones are snapped up by zealots and converts.
PLANT A SPRING-BULB CONTAINER
If all goes well, this pot will perform for half a year: the winter pansies will bloom until early spring, after which the crocuses will flower, followed by the miniature daffodils and, finally, the short tulips. Just in case any of them overlap in time, choose complementary colours.
You need a large container, about 35cm wide and deep. Put a layer of crocks, gravel or small chunks of polystyrene in the bottom for drainage. Add potting compost to within 20cm of the rim. Put in about 10 or 12 tulip bulbs of a Greigii (such as 'Lady Diana' or 'Red Riding Hood') or Kaufmanniana kind ('Shakespeare' or 'Giuseppe Verdi'). Add compost until only the the tips of the bulbs show. Add a layer of 10 or 12 miniature daffodils, such as Narcissus 'Tête à Tête' or 'February Gold'. Cover with compost as before, then add about 30 crocus corms of an early- flowering variety, such as 'Blue Pearl' or 'Cream Beauty'. Top up with compost and ease in a few winter-flowering pansies to cover the surface.
When the crocuses flower, cut off the pansies just below the compost. If you pull them up you may disturb the bulbs. When all the bulbs have finished flowering, you can move them to the garden, where they may bloom again next year.