At the edge of the track that runs through my garden are several clumps of Trillium chloropetalum. They were given to me as young plants 20 years ago by my friend Richard Lee, who worked at RHS Rosemoor until his untimely death. On every visit to the garden he would proudly show me their progress, through their long infancy and adolescence until their first flowering, sometimes a full seven years after he had sown the seed. Those plants are now distributed throughout shady areas at Rosemoor, making a sensational show. Though on a much more modest scale, the plants in my own garden exert the same magic allure.
There is something of the reptile about T. chloropetalum. At first glimpse, the flowers look a little dangerous and foreboding. The three horizontal bracts are darkly mottled, like a lizard's back, and the three central upright petals of deep crimson push forward, retract and push forward again, like the heads of hooded cobras, back to back, guarding the flower's inner sexual secrets. This magnificent show appears in the spring and the flower heads stay in good shape for months. Most years, the bracts make an impact long after the petals have disintegrated, replaced by a seed head that swells inside its black coating until it bursts at the seams, exposing the large, pale seeds within.
Each year (providing it has been found the right home), its performance will be bigger and better. Some people are fascinated by flowers the colour of dried blood or as black as coal. There are gothic gardeners who go for the blackest hellebores and the black lily turf, Ophiopogon planiscapus 'Nigrescens'. This is all very well when viewing at close quarters, where their rich depth of colour can be enjoyed, but unless background and underplanting are carefully planned, dark leaves and flowers can look like black holes.
T. grandiflorum avoids such a fate by having white flowers. 'Wake robin', as it is known in its native home of north America, is pure white. Just one flower would be enough to thrill the average gardener – its single form is simple, elegant – but there is a double form with a mass of pure white petals that has become a holy grail for plant collectors. It has a flurry of petals and is as close as a trillium can be to attention-seeking.
All trilliums are very desirable plants. Some, such as T. rivale, are exquisite miniatures that need careful inspection to make sure of their continued good health. In the hurly-burly of the garden, they may succumb, overtaken by more boisterous individuals. It is a good idea to find them a special corner all to themselves, or in company with other treasures that enjoy the same conditions. There is even a yellow-flowered trillium, or at least one with greenish-yellow flowers. T. luteum has its own special charm, with limey-green petals protruding from glaucous bracts splashed in deep sea-green.
Trillium care
Once trilliums are established, they often lead long and happy lives. Try to emulate the conditions they experience in their native climes. They will do best where there is a good depth of soil rich in humus. Before planting, excavate a decent hole and incorporate as much leaf-mould or homemade compost as you can. Water well and mulch with leaf mould or composted bark. Each spring, top up the mulch after working a little organic fertiliser around the edge of the plant.
Grow trilliums in a shady corner, preferably where conditions are not too dry. Good neighbours include hellebores and low-growing pulmonarias. Galium odoratum or woodruff makes ideal ground cover, and its sparkling, dainty white flowers are the perfect complement to dark-flowered trilliums. Ferns are ideal partners, too. Polystichum setiferum, the soft shield fern, looks wonderful as its new growth of finely cut fronds emerges. It will hide the demise of the trilliums when they go underground in late summer to gather strength for the following spring's spectacular performance.