We had a large garden. Both my older siblings, Gareth and Lynne, and I spent a lot of time in this garden, in the poly tunnel or in a greenhouse. By the time I was a toddler my father had a commercial greenhouse. This forty- by sixty-foot Hancock house was a central part of my childhood. Initially it was full of big blousy begonias and flowing fuchsias but the groundsman at my dad’s school (both our parents were teachers) happened to give him a Streptocarpus Constant Nymph – the large ‘original’ blue hybrid that many people had in the seventies – and this serendipitous gift led to the whole greenhouse being taken over by these plants. Originally, when I was very young, the cellar in our house (which had a stream running through it) was where the original ‘propagating and growing room’ was. I also remember packing plants for mail order in the large south-facing wooden structured conservatory.

At this time, the John Innes Institute, now best known for developing their four compost formulae, had been working on a breeding programme of Streptocarpus hybrids. This was led by a lovely man called Gavin Brown. This programme produced some wonderful plants including one of my favourites, Streptocarpus Tina, a variety which is still going strong. Gavin and Winifred (Win) Brown became close friends of my parents and they would come and stay each year. This always involved wonderful day trips, visiting gardens and eating al fresco in sunny Snowdonia. These picnics always included Mrs Brown’s shortbread. We still have the recipe. Gavin Brown, an unsung hero of horticulture, did a lot of work on fruit breeding at the J.I. Institute, but to me as a child, his crowning glory was that he managed to cross a pear tree and an apple tree. This was just remarkable.

The long school break meant that holidays consisted of the whole family going to flower shows. For many years, this included the Royal Welsh Agricultural Show, Shrewsbury Flower Show and Southport Flower Show. Each show required much preparation, the same dog-eared checklist ticked off each time (black cloth, tick; drawing pins, tick; nursery signs, tick; black pots, tick; brown paper bags, tick) and plants carefully packed into tomato boxes. These was placed into the back of a local light removals van hired for each show delivery and we then trundled off to the show in our ancient converted ambulance.

On arrival at the show, there was always the same routine: check stand was right size (‘oh no, it’s 35 foot and we only have enough plants for a 30 foot display’), the backdrop was correct height and enough compost had been delivered for our display (it never had). As the hard work was about to start, I would run off to the nearest playground. These days, children under the age of 16 aren’t allowed onto showgrounds during set-up. Back then, as a six-year-old, I used to wander off on my own to the far end of the showground – navigating fork lifts, tractors, artic lorries and other big machinery – without incident. We ran free during the shows too. This meant visiting the fairground and watching what was happening in the main ring. I remember sitting for hours watching the children’s entertainment: this usually involved the Wombles and guests like Rod Hull (with Emu of course), and Worzel Gummidge. I do understand health and safety, but I sometimes wonder these days how essential a hi-vis vest is when putting up a display of plants.  

As I got older, I became the ‘expert’ in creating water features. This meant I got the stream and pond looking right, made sure there were no leaks and basically played with water. This could take a full day of titivating. My brother built a mean stump and my sister was in charge of colour combinations.

Fashions change. Municipal-style bedding was all the rage in the ‘70’s. I recall the outdoor gardens either being a blaze of colour or consisting of giant pieces of granite. Inside the floral marquee (with a proper old fashioned flammable wooden structure) there were some huge displays. The Bells brothers always had 40-foot displays of perfect cut flowers – the Bells were some of the nicest larger-than-life characters on the show scene, always joking, always laughing. The Owen Bros (I never could understand how brothers was shortened to bros) of Worcester always put on two displays. I loved spending times with the Owens. I used to ‘help’. This involved standing at their sales table, being made to feel helpful and important, until the wonderful and patient Mrs Owen gave me a shiny fifty pence piece to go away and buy ice cream.

I also used to help Joyce who grew cacti, sausage dogs and bunnies. I remember her having baby bunnies in nappies under her sales table. The BBC came with their giant TV cameras to film that one. My payments from Joyce were slightly strange shaped succulents. I kept a bent eonium for many years.  

Perhaps more nostalgic flower show thoughts some other time…