A thin copse of beech and pine shelters the narrow lane from the east winds. With a cut field to the left, there’s nothing remarkable about this country road west of Newcastle. Round a bend though, and there, seen over a stone wall, is an uplifting view like the first glimpse of the sea when I was a child. It’s the circus dazzle of row upon row of dahlias, multicoloured, vivid, extravagant, and something I come to feast on every year.
The family-run plant nursery of Halls of Heddon has been here since 1921 when William Hall, returning injured from the first world war, was advised by his doctor to work outdoors. Renting an overgrown two-acre garden near Hadrian’s Wall, and with the help of his brother, he cleared the derelict land. Establishing a nursery, he sold the vegetables and produce in local villages by pony and trap.
By the 1930s, the list of flowers included more than a hundred varieties each of dahlias and chrysanthemums. Today’s field display is an exuberance of some 15,000 plants, on show from mid-August until they are blackened by the first frosts. Originating in the hills of Mexico and eaten by the Aztecs as a root vegetable, the kaleidoscopic range of dahlia cultivars is derived from crossing just two or three species.
To begin with, I just drink it all in, revelling in the impact of colour: velvet red, orange rust, candy pink, clear white, peach, yellow. Then I notice where the insects are, the difference between the huge starburst mopheads and the simpler single varieties. It’s among these less-modified flowers that there are bumblebees, honeybees, flies and small tortoiseshells.
Hybridisation has increased blooms at the expense of reproductive flower parts. Extra rows of petals replaced stamens and nectaries or made nectar and pollen inaccessible. Yet the open daisy-rayed varieties are busy with foraging insects; these are the ones that I grow in my own garden.
A pert robin perches on a plant label, watching over its shoulder as I take its photograph. Blackbirds scavenge between foliage-thick rows, and an angle shades moth rests on a leaf. I leave with retinas bathed in colour and a clear illustration that simple flower shapes benefit wildlife.
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