PRIMROSE WARBURG I am hot on the trail of Primrose Warburg and the hunt is getting interesting. Thank goodness it is winter and I don’t have to interrupt my pursuit of this fascinating and illusive subject to mow the grass or weed the garden.
In the United States we don’t often name our sons Giles or Cyril or Clive. We don’t often name our daughters Marigold or Primrose or Hilda. In fact, without “Masterpiece Theater” and Hollywood’s continuing hunger for the plummy accents of British actors, we probably wouldn’t even know that those names existed.
But they do exist, and for some reason Primrose Warburg’s parents chose a flowery name for their daughter, who was born in England in 1920. The scant biographical references that I have turned up on Primrose Warburg do not mention her maiden name or why her parents selected such a distinctive first name. The choice was fortuitous, though, as Primrose grew up to be a noted plant collector. Her namesake plant, Galanthus ‘Primrose Warburg’, a hybrid snowdrop with yellow markings, piqued my interest recently. I ordered it from a boutique nursery that specializes in snowdrops, but before ‘Primrose Warburg’, the plant, makes its New Jersey garden debut, I want to know as much as I can about Primrose Warburg, the human being.
Primrose came of age just before World War II, and sometime between nineteen thirty-eight and nineteen fifty she probably met her husband, a botanist named Edmund Frederic Warburg, who was twelve years older. Professor Warburg taught botany at Oxford and was Curator of its Druce Herbarium, beginning in nineteen forty-eight. He was also the co-author of a standard reference book, The Flora of the British Isles, published in nineteen fifty-two.
Somewhere along the way, Mrs. Warburg fell in love with the genus Galanthus or snowdrops. She collected numerous species and cultivars and also cultivated friendships with other English “galanthophiles.” Among those friends, with whom she also traded plants, were Carolyn and Henry Elwes. Mr. Elwes, is a great-grandson of another Henry Elwes, who was one of the first large-scale galanthus collectors. The Elwes family estate, Colesbourne Park, is now home to about 160 snowdrop cultivars, and is, according to the English magazine Country Life, “England’s greatest snowdrop garden.” It is safe to say that some of the snowdrops now thriving at Colesbourne Park are descendants of specimens the Elwes’ received from Primrose Warburg.
Mrs. Warburg loved her galanthus, but apparently had a reputation for brusqueness with other human beings. At least one source noted her bickering collegial relationship with Richard Nutt, another celebrated galanthophile. It is possible that she got along somewhat better with her fellow trustees of the Oxford Botanic Garden. Primrose Warburg was also fond of hellebores and crocuses, and in 1974 organized the Crocus Group, an offshoot of the British Iris Society. She apparently ran the Crocus Group single handedly for twenty-one years, which would indicate that when she died in 1996, her Wellington garden boots were still on–if only metaphorically.
At the time of her death, Mrs. Warburg’s garden at South Hayes, Yarnells Hill, Oxford was maintained by the Oxford Botanic Garden. One of the garden’s employees, John Grimshaw, became the horticultural executor of the Warburg collection, supervising its distribution to botanical gardens as well as other galanthophiles. Part of her collection is now at The National Botanic Garden of Wales. Grimshaw, who has written extensively on snowdrops, is now Gardens Advisor at Colesbourne Park, bringing him back into contact with Primrose Warburg’s galanthus legacy.
I intend to find out more about the entire genus Galanthus when I read the book, Genus Galanthus: A Botanical Magazine Monograph by Aaron P. Davis, Royal Botanic Kew Gardens Staff and Christabel King (Timber Press, 1992) According to Hitch Lyman, snowdrop grower and proprietor of The Temple Nursery, Mrs. Warburg called her namesake snowdrop “Yellowtop”. A picture of the flower shows a large yellow ovary atop the white wing-like petals. The smaller inner petals also have yellow markings. The total effect is so appealing that I felt compelled to pay a rather large price for just one plant. Fortunately, snowdrops seem to like my site and soil, so I am fairly sure that my one plant will increase over time, thereby justifying my investment. Gardens resonate on many different levels. Learning the story of a particular plant’s namesake adds to that resonance. The ‘Primrose Warburg’ snowdrop will look even more beautiful to me because I know the story of Primrose Warburg the plant collector.
‘Primrose Warburg’ is only sold by one American nursery, as far as I know, and the stock is extremely limited. If you are interested in uncommon snowdrops, write to Mr. Lyman at The Temple Nursery, Box 591, Trumansburg, NY 14886. The nursery issues a printed catalog, which is available for $3.00, but has no website and accepts only checks in payment for orders. All orders are dug and shipped “in the green”, while plants are in flower. Shipping usually occurs during the first two weeks in April.