(This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on 15th September 2017, & the Malton Gazette & Herald on 13th September 2017)
It is so often the way that things we loved as children, our parents didn’t so much, such as the litters of kittens in our garden shed and the battles with grounded swifts that I mentioned last week. And in Dad’s column of 11th September 1976, he talks of another battle with a persistent garden invader.
He’d been in the pub talking to ‘Auld George’, a local village character: “If there’s owt that niggles me it’s them convulsions,” said Auld George, “I can’t shift ‘em…they grow and git tangled up with ivverything. They’ve gitten amang t’currant bushes, shinned up t’walls and spouting, and managed ti git fastened ti ivvery thing that’s still growing. And ti cap it all, they allus comes ageean when ivverything else has bin howed oot.”
For those in need of translation, he was talking about the bane of many a gardener’s life, the notorious convolvulus, or bindweed. There are many different species and at this time of year, it is possibly one of the prettiest flowers that can be spotted in the countryside among the hedgerows, with its white or pink trumpet-shaped flowers, and yet it is one of the most deadly to other, weaker plants. If left unchecked, it can completely submerge whatever it attaches itself to.
That said, it was such a good plant to play with as a child. We used to see who could unwind the longest unbroken piece, which if you were really careful, could stretch to a few metres. It was also perfect for making crowns for any regal or fairy ‘Let’s Pretend’ games. But despite the pleasure that we gained from it, it was actually the wicked stepmother of plants. For homeowners who took the time, dedication and care to create beautiful garden displays, the benignly pretty exterior of the bindweed hid a ruthless, murderous character.
I think I’m safe in claiming that many a swearword has been uttered in the pursuit of a bindweed-free garden. It is one of the most difficult weeds to get rid of as its roots can stretch many feet down into the earth and yet when you try to pull them up, they easily break, and the remaining roots continue on their relentless journey. Not only that, but the plant produces adventitious roots which stretch horizontally underground to emerge far away from its parent, stealthily creeping up a poor unsuspecting rose bush, apple tree or even an innocent gazebo. It has no shame or sympathy and will simply overwhelm whatever lies in its track unless brought under control.
Obviously tackling such a horticultural pest requires expert horticultural knowledge, so on your behalf, I consulted the Royal Horticultural Society (well, their website anyway!) and they say this pesky plant is very difficult to eradicate without resorting to chemicals – unless you manage to dig your whole garden clear of all roots, and then make sure you have deep solid barriers going into the ground along all your boundary fences to stop them infiltrating from your traitorous bindweed-friendly neighbours. Easy peasy then! Seriously though, if you are struggling with this leafy leviathan, then do go to the RHS website (rhs.org.uk) as it has a comprehensive list of both chemical and non-chemical ways to tackle the problem (you might need to hit the gym before you tackle the non-chemical method though!).
By the way, did you notice the new word I used? Did you know what ‘adventitious’ meant? I didn’t when I read it in Dad’s original column and, having looked it up, I found out that in botanical terms, it means a root appearing in an unexpected or unusual place (a bit like middle-aged hair growth then). Non-botanically it has a similar meaning to extrinsic, that is being associated with something by chance rather than as an integral part.
So there. And after almost 30 years as a writer myself, I’m still learning from my dad.