Among Thorns

In our old house we had a Pyracantha on the back of the house. 'pur' - fire; 'acantha' - thorn. Yes, the crimson berries looked spectacular (on fire) in the autumn. The bees loved the flowers; the birds loved the protective shield for their nests. But it's the 'akantha' bit I remember - I still bear the scars. It grew over a substantial part of the back of the house; it looked great from the garden, forming an attractive framing of the back door. In the summer, it grew vigorously; its shoots grew across the doorway; it tried to take your eyes out; and your children's eyes; and your mother-in-law's eyes. Pruning it was an annual task. Whenever I see Christian paintings of the crown of thorns drawing blood from Christ's forehead, I think of Pyracantha

So now we have a 'no thorns' rule - we don't plant anything with spines, prickles or thorns. Once is enough. Gooseberries were removed and planted in land outside the garden wall. In the same brewery-owned space, just over the wall, I have planted a Berberis that I bought by mistake. And we still have some pre-existing roses that have survived all our building upheavals and all my malign neglect (do roses never die?!) Despite my malice, they even produce some lovely flowers most years

This rose is the final exception - a gift from a good friend, it has found its happy place in the rough ground at the front of the house beside the drive, so not technically in the garden. It appears entirely happy with this off-hand treatment and looks vigorous, smells lovely and even poses sweetly for blip

Did you see that an Italian lorry-driver was delayed for 55 hours at the Sevington border-check facility, for Brexit bio-security checks on garden plants? I don't know if it was Pyracantha; more likely roses. There is no café on site, and he was not supplied with any food. I did see that his name was Soprano. Brave decision