Alys Fowler: elderberries

‘Elderberries are an essential meal for birds, too.’ Photograph: Alamy

The slow, graceful fall of elderflowers to berries is the last march of summer. By the time they are dropping, summer is closing up for another year. They blush purple, then eventually darken to a purple black that signifies that summer is finally over. There may well be warm days to come, with perfect golden light that seduces with lingering summer kisses, but the nights tell us otherwise.

Elderberries are rich in vitamin C and antioxidants; the juice makes a wonderful winter tonic if gently heated with a hefty amount of sugar. Don’t over-boil or none of the good stuff will be left (but don’t drink it raw, either: it will make you nauseous). You can also use the berries for wine and jam. They are an essential meal for birds, too; starlings and blackbirds, in particular, seem fond of them. Although the flowers and fruit are edible, the other parts are poisonous, and the leaves smell particularly foul when crushed.

The common elder (Sambucus nigra), is in the family adoxaceae. The whole family used to be clumped in with the honeysuckle family, but boffins have decided elder needs its own gang. This tree is an opportunist, turning up anywhere the berries are dropped by birds. It tends to become increasingly scraggy in shape with age, and most people view it as a weedy species that’s not suitable for the garden. However, in the mid-18th century it was a much prized hedge shrub, planted in double rows and elaborately pruned into a diamond pattern. Its fast-growing nature makes it ideal for such things. For those who like a little creative weaving, perhaps this practice could be reinstated? It would at least be prettier than bright orange fence panels.

Perhaps even that is not enough of a hard sell to persuade most to put an elder in their garden, but there are a number of pretty ones. S. nigra f. porphyrophylla ‘Gerda’ (also known as ‘Black Beauty’) was bred in the 1980s. It has rich, dark purple foliage and brilliant pink flowers that make a wonderful elderflower cordial or champagne. In 2003, the breeders upped their game and produced S. ‘Eva’, often sold as ‘Black Lace’, a cut-leaved form that has deeply dissected leaves and creamy pink flowers.

With both of these, the best foliage colour comes when they are grown in full sun. Too much shade, and the plant will start to revert to greenish-bronze foliage. If dark-coloured foliage isn’t your thing, then S. nigra f. laciniata has the same fern-like foliage as ‘Eva’, but with green leaves and white flowers.

Finally, one for those who have limited space: S. ‘Black Tower’ is a dark-leaved form with an upright habit. If you don’t want it to tower too much, cut it back to its base in spring, and it will reflush with new growth.

Gardens: primula and proper

The ditch which runs from a spring in the fields above us forms a wet crease between two of our fields. The land drains steeply into it from both sides and in places you can easily lose your wellies. The farmer before us did little with it other than spray out the brambles, which in our time here have seized their moment. This winter we made the big move to clear the length of it to reveal what lies underneath. Peeling back the undergrowth unearthed a series of cascades. They drop and gurgle from one level to the next and where the land falls more gently, the ditch runs in rubbly shallows. You couldn’t have animated it more beautifully.

 The elegant Primula elatior ‘Victoriana Gold Lace’. Photograph: John Richmond/Alamy

For a short while the water was visible, but it is closing over with the vegetation that was waiting in the wings. A giant primitive horsetail is already celebrating and so too is the deadly water dropwort that looks so much like watercress. We have ragged robin, campion, meadowsweet and angelica to look forward to, but the first plants to reveal

They have obviously been more than happy under the cage of the brambles, but this spring they have revelled in the light. They’re one of my favourite plants and since we have been here I have been dividing them to see if I can set off a number of colonies. They are easy plants if they have damp at the root and shade in the summer. In the garden they might be among summer perennials or beneath deciduous shrubs.

The primrose crosses readily – the parent may well be a cowslip or, in more gardened areas, a polyanthus. Many polyanthus have been bred to extremes with size of flower and strength of colour, but there are selections that retain an elegance. ‘Gold Lace’ is one of my favourites, with an almost black base and a piping of gold lining. The ‘Cowichan’ strain are like jewels, with dark coppery foliage and flowers that range from deep royal blue to ruby-red and burgundy. They were bred by Barnhaven, a wonderful primula nursery which is no longer in existence, but you can still seek them via Plant Finder.

 The elegant Primula elatior ‘Victoriana Gold Lace’. Photograph: John Richmond/Alamy

As child I had a Barnhaven catalogue, which in retrospect was written in thoroughly purple prose. The words had me lost in an exotic world where the plants were painted vividly in every detail. I will desist from such descriptions now, other than to say that as the primroses and polyanthus fade, the exotic bog primulas from Asia come into their own. Primula florindae, the giant Himalayan cowslip, is the most dramatic, rising to be more than 2ft tall in early summer. The candelabra primula, so named for its ascending whirls of flower, which open in sequence up the length of silver-dusted stems, are perhaps at their sensational best when planted en masse in a damp position. I am using rust orange ‘Inverewe’ and magenta Primula pulverulenta this year at the Chelsea Flower Show.

The bog primulas like the same ground as marsh marigold and are happiest in the damp marginal areas of a pond. They will self seed if competition is not too strong.