This is the story of a plant obsession that started with a snowdrop. The snowdrop in question, ‘Lady Elphinstone’, is known more formally as Galanthus nivalis f. pleniflorus. Like all snowdrops, ‘Lady Elphinstone’ is a small plant that bears pendulous flowers with three elongated outer petals and several shorter inner petals. ‘Lady Elphinstone’ has a special allure because the inner petals are doubled, and the markings on those doubled petals are yellow instead of the usual green. The average person probably doesn’t notice snowdrop markings, but I can tell you that if you lie down on your stomach and get nose to nose with a blooming snowdrop, you will see all kinds of things.
Galanthus nivalis, the common snowdrop’s species name, comes from two Latin words. “Galanthus” means white and “nivalis” means snowy or growing in the snow. The creators of Nivea® lotion were probably thinking of that when they perfected a concoction designed to give women snowy, white skin.
Several years ago I saw a picture of ‘Lady Elphinstone’ in a book and fell in love with the flower’s lush form and beautiful yellow markings. . I tried to find an American source for either bulbs or plants, but never succeeded. I consoled myself by dividing my clumps of ordinary snowdrops, but, like any true garden fanatic, I still pined for the unattainable ‘Lady Elphinstone.’
Then, not long ago, I read a magazine article that mentioned a small nursery that specializes in snowdrops. I contacted Temple Nursery in Trumansburg, New York, and the proprietor, Hitch Lyman, sent me his catalogue. There, on the first page, was ‘Lady Elphinstone’. The price was high, the annual window of plant availability was narrow and the limit was one plant, but I ordered immediately. Now I await the triumphant arrival of this aristocratic Galanthus.
A garden should be fertilized with history and provenance, and I needed to know ‘Lady Elphinstone’s background. I did research–lots of it–and found that the story is as illusive as the plant itself. The Elphinstones are an aristocratic Scottish clan, dating back to 1510. The landscape of English and Scottish history is littered with them, and England’s National Portrait Gallery has portraits of at least twelve different distinguished Elphinstones. In the twentieth century, Lady Mary Bowes Lyon, aunt of England’s Queen Elizabeth, married an Elphinstone, giving the family a connection to the English royals. Lady Mary was interested in botany, publishing a book called Flowers and Their Families in 1946. Though she apparently had nothing to do with snowdrops, she had her own floral namesake–a Scottish-bred, apricot-flowered hybrid tea rose, ‘Lady Elphinstone’, introduced in 1921.
After sifting through a large amount of Elphinstone lore, I finally found a notation about a Sir Graeme Elphinstone, who reportedly discovered the showy little snowdrop in 1890 while walking on the grounds of his Cheshire estate, Heawood Hall. Sir Graeme named the unusual plant in honor of his wife, whose first name remains a historical mystery. The snowdrop was so interesting and different that he gave it to a noted Scottish plantsman and snowdrop enthusiast, Samuel Arnott. Arnott (1852-1930) was fabled for passing choice snowdrop varieties on to influential gardening friends, and that is probably how ‘Lady Elphinstone’ found its way into circulation.
Even in the British Isles, availability is limited. When I visited the Royal Horticulture Society’s website, I found less than a dozen nurseries listed as suppliers of the yellow-marked variety, and not all of them actually carry it among their current offerings.
I suspect that ‘Lady Elphinstone’ does not grow readily from bulbs and is slow to increase. According to some sources, the yellow markings occasionally revert to green, making the plant indistinguishable from the more common green-marked, double-flowered ‘Flore Pleno’.
So why go to all the trouble and expense of acquiring this semi-obscure snowdrop? Because I am a plant collector and I an especially fond of yellow flowers. Why spend hours slaving over a hot computer and trolling through reference volumes to discover the plant’s origins? As a historian I love to dig into the past. As a suburbanite I need to know all the gossip about the individuals I invite into my garden. After all, the presence of a genuine Scottish aristocrat might do wonders for local property values.
Hitch Lyman, of the Temple Nursery, digs and ships his snowdrops during the first week of April each year. To obtain a copy of The Temple Nursery’s catalog, send $3.00 to the Temple Nursery,
Box 591, Trumansburg, New York 14886