Flora Fawning

LONDON — Gardening, to the British--and I was born one--ranks somewhere between a national pastime and an obsession. And so the Chelsea Flower Show each May (this year May 20 to 23) is greatly anticipated throughout the land. It may not be surprising, then, that when tickets go on sale in January, they generally sell out within weeks.

Luscious displays are created for the annual four-day event by merchants who sell anything and everything for the garden, as well as landowners and landscapers working for weeks, sometimes years, in advance. Nothing is left to chance. Display participants are selected by the Royal Horticultural Society, the event’s sponsor. No fee is involved but one suspects that the selection process is not devoid of politics because getting off the waiting list can take years. Also selected by the Royal Horticultural Society are the many vendors whose booths line the perimeter of the grounds of Christopher Wren’s Royal Hospital: site, since 1913, of London’s annual rite of spring. And they are as much a part of the event as are their displays since the vendors bring with them the opportunity to take home some of the gardening inspiration that so infuses this, one of the largest horticultural events in the world.

But the Chelsea Flower Show also is a social event, the beginning of Britain’s summer season. This has nothing to do with the weather, of course, since summer in Britain can mean anything from claustrophobically humid 80s to rain-sodden 50s. But after the mid-May flower show there’s the racing season at Ascot, tennis championships at Wimbledon and, finally, rowing along the River Thames at the Henley Royal Regatta: one long series of strawberries and cream washed down with Champagne by men in boaters and blazers and women in floral dresses and floppy hats.

It was with that image in mind that I went to the Chelsea Flower Show last May. Not for the opening gala preview; that’s when royalty attends. Nor the first or second days; those times are reserved for members of the Royal Horticultural Society. But on the third day, when the general public is let in on timed tickets.

It was cold, it rained, my shoes got covered in mud and it was hard to see anything through umbrella gridlock. That was outside the massive tent where model gardens, garden furniture, tools and paraphernalia are displayed and sold.

Inside, under a marquee so large it is in “The Guinness Book of Records,” were an additional 3 1/2 acres of displays visited by about 170,000 spectators over the length of the show. Navigating took patience.

For the gardening industry in general and the Royal Horticultural Society specifically, the Chelsea Flower Show is big business. About 700 vendors spend roughly $37 million creating their displays. Stands rent for roughly $4,000 to $9,000, and revenues, per vendor, can be as high as $300,000, according to the Times of London. Garden tools and tours are sold here, as are birdbaths, botanical paintings, what the English call conservatories (glass-enclosed rooms used for sitting or dining), as well as seeds, bulbs, plants and advice. The Royal Horticultural Society, which spends $3.7 million to set the show up, makes a profit in the $6 million range, according to the Times. There is some comfort in knowing, however, that the RHS is a charity and that profits from the Chelsea Flower Show are used to preserve and promote the nation’s horticultural heritage through education and scientific study. Proceeds are also used to fund more than 20 other flower shows across the country.

Once inside, and seasonally adjusted, I passed 3 1/2 hours before I checked my watch to see what time it was. I had become completely engrossed. To call the range of plants I saw there vast and overwhelming would not be an exaggeration. Display after display--from flower arrangements to vegetable patches to cottage and wildflower gardens--was impressive: a new hybrid rose, a bed of fuchsia larger than most living rooms and containing perhaps 100 different varieties, flower beds designed for their aroma (where one could lie back on a sofa made of herbs and smell the thyme), gardens designed to attract birds or butterflies, lupines taller than humans and plants that until now were familiar only from 19th century paintings. The ghost of Capability Brown, England’s most famous landscaper, lives among these leaves. For the English, no piece of land is too small to be cultivated. (And by U.S. standards many English gardens are very small, indeed.) The flower show is a reminder of that.

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Mindful of the dwindling dollar and soaring pound sterling, plus the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s strict laws governing what can and cannot be brought legally into the United States, where I now live, I approached the Chelsea Flower Show’s many vendors with curiosity rather than purpose. Yes, it would be nice to add a conservatory to my home in Washington, and I am sure that the hybrids on offer were better and far more exotic than anything my local nursery had ever seen, let alone sold, but such purchases were, under the circumstances, easy to avoid.

I did succumb to more than one temptation. For a friend, I bought a set of coasters from the National Trust’s booth. Margaret’s enthusiasm for the gift made the 15-minute wait at the cash register worthwhile. I probably would have purchased more at the store run by the National Trust, which preserves Great Britain’s stately homes and gardens, had I been able to move from one area to another. But crowds blocked every passageway and lines were so long and my patience so short, that I took the path of least resistance.

Then I found something so clever one wonders why it took so long to invent: a sturdy green plastic bag, about 18 inches long and 4 inches across, with eight small coin-size holes along the front. “Fill the bag with soil,” said the vendor in a patter filled with jokes--his avocation was clearly music hall rather than gardening--”stick plants in the holes, hang the bag from a hook, preferably outdoors, [titters from the crowd] where it would get some sun, and there you are.” Simple enough, thought I. Wrongly.

And so it was that after I got home I presented my neighbor who had watched our house while we were away with just such a plastic bag, excuse me, hanging basket. Debbie is a wonderful friend and a superb neighbor, but when it comes to the practicalities of gardening she is all thumbs, none of which is green. Not that I am an expert, but under the circumstances I felt obligated to supervise.

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First we filled the bag with potting soil, then added impatiens and lobelia seedlings. “Water,” said Debbie, “the bag needs water.” And so we hosed down our handiwork only to trail brown liquid from one end of her porch to the other. It took several days and several tries (the addition of moss to the bag’s interior proved to be the big breakthrough) to get our hanging bags to work--no leaks, no plant deaths--but when we did, we were pleased with the results. Admittedly the bags and their contents did not always look perfect, but, then, nature, is not perfect either. Those bags were the equivalent of 80 cents a piece and I brought home five. Now I wish I had bought the vendor’s entire supply.

Two friends had tipped me off to the pleasures available at the show’s closing. And they were right: It is a sight not to be missed. During the show, orders are welcome, but plants may not be sold until the show is officially closed. That happens on Friday around 5 p.m., at which time exhibitors sell everything they can, not wanting to have to cart the (by now) drooping flora back to their nurseries. So it is a common sight to see well-dressed matrons and flat-hatted gents walking the half mile or so to the Sloane Square tube stop bearing plants. I saw a slightly stooped man with a lupin protruding from the front of his tweed jacket, just below the waist. A bright orange Fritillaria hung from his back pocket. “When Birnam Wood comes to Dunsinane,” sniffed an actor friend, referring to the forest scene in Act 5 of Shakespeare’s “Macbeth” and the inherent impossibility of some situations.

An interest in botany did not come to Chelsea recently. Plants have been grown in the Chelsea Physic Garden since its founding in 1673 (it is the second-oldest botanical garden in England, after the one in Oxford) by the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries, which wanted a collection of medicinal plants for educational and scientific study. It is on four acres covered with about 7,000 plants including herbs, fruits and vegetables.

The land it occupies was originally the gift of Sir Hans Sloane. One of the greatest horticulturists of the day, Philip Miller, was put in charge of it, and he made the Physic Garden the envy of his contemporaries. The first cedar trees in England were planted here as were cotton plants from the South Seas that went on to create an industry in the colony of Georgia in 1700s. Explorers returning to England donated such other finds as tea from China, quinine from South America and rubber from what was then Malaya.

These herbs, shrubs and flowers, planted to a strict plan but tumbling over the paths, are interspersed with England’s first rock garden and ancient trees. In the middle stands a statue of Sir Hans Sloane, the royal physician whose collection of artifacts formed the basis of the British Museum.

From April to October, it is open to the public on Wednesdays from 2 to 5 p.m., and Sundays from 2 to 6 p.m.; during the Chelsea Flower Show, the public may enter daily. (Admission is $6.50.)

There’s a buzz in Chelsea, a great part of London, a great city all year round. It always brings out the walker in me and I don’t care if sensible shoes ruin my outfit. I love covering the urban landscape: looking at parks, gardens, architecture, people, shop windows, and Chelsea--even beyond the flower show--is a good place for that. If you think of Sloane Square--about a 10-minute walk from the Royal Hospital grounds--as square one and stroll east toward Belgravia, you will find row upon row of gorgeous townhouses, redolent of the TV series “Upstairs, Downstairs.”

To the south, down by the Thames, is Cheyne Walk, where artists Whistler and Turner once lived. Their houses, and those of many other famous residents, are marked by blue plaques. Current residents of Chelsea include singer/guitarist Eric Clapton and the lady known as Mrs. T., former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher.

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On the southeast side of Sloane Square is Holbein Place, which feeds into Pimlico Road, home to Anno Domini, a splendid antiques shop, Beatrice Bellini’s knit shop and a beautifully appointed building outside of which the sign says simply, “Lindley.” There, well-born salesladies with lockjaw accents greet you at the door and show great patience with those of us who eye the exquisitely turned wood objects while hoping to catch a glimpse of the owner’s mum, otherwise known as Princess Margaret.

After the flower show and so much browsing, a meal was in order, even though fast food was available at the show. Eating in and around Chelsea offers a smorgasbord of choices. Italian restaurants (Como Lorio, La Fontana) are plentiful in Chelsea, but if you are in the mood for pub food, try the Front Page. It is recommended in the “Good Pub Guide” and is hard to beat both in taste and price. Bring me the plowman’s lunch (bread, cheese and Bramston pickle) with a shandy (lemonade and beer), please.

Should people-watching (and eavesdropping) rank high on your list of things worth doing, then I heartily recommend Oriel next to the Royal Court Theatre, and next to the tube stop on Sloane Square. The food is good, the decibel level high and the passing parade of very tall, very beautiful women held my husband’s attention while the conversation at the next table between a stunning babe and a lecherous former politician, now a best-selling novelist, kept me on the edge of my seat.

For carryout food, we used Partridges, considered by the locals to be better than the Food Hall at Harrods. Whole chickens, costing less than those at Boston Market and tasting infinitely better, kept us happy on more than one occasion.

All in all, Chelsea is a great place to be, and when I think about it, I am reminded of the old cockney song, “Maybe it’s because I’m a Londoner that I love London so.” Yes, and the part of London I love best, especially when it is in bloom, is Chelsea.

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GUIDEBOOK

Chelsea Flower Showoffs

Getting there: American, British Air, Delta, Virgin Atlantic and United fly nonstop from LAX to London. Advance-purchase, round-trip fares start at $430.

Flower show tickets: Tickets to the Chelsea Flower Show, this year May 20 to 23, usually sell out months in advance; no tickets are sold at the door. There are several ways to buy tickets. Members of the Royal Horticultural Society get first dibs. To join the society (80 Vincent Square, London SW1P 2PE, England; telephone 011-44- 171-821-3000, fax 011-44-171- 828-2304, 24-hour information hotline 011-44-171-649-1885) costs about $60; membership renewal is about $45. After RHS-member orders have been filled, tickets are made available to the public. In the United States, ticket sales are handled by Keith Prowse Ticket Agency ([800] 669-8687) and Edwards & Edwards ([800] 223-6108), but their markup and handling charges add to the ticket cost. If purchased through Ticketmaster, ticket prices range from $13 to $45 for full days or portions thereof. I bought my ticket by calling Ticketmaster in London, tel. 011-44-171- 344-4343).

For more information: British Tourist Authority, 551 Fifth Ave., Suite 701, New York 10176-0799; tel. (800) 462-2748 or (212) 986-2200, fax (212) 986-1188.