The Flowers and Gardens of Madeira

by Florence Du Cane

The orange-groves have vanished, destroyed by disease, which gradually spread from Funchal throughout the island, up to the higher land. The lack of enterprise common to all Southern races being a marked feature among the Portuguese, no combined effort was ever made to check its devastating progress.

The garden has no definite boundary, no unsightly garden fence, which is the stumbling-block of so many gardens. One can wander down through the pine woods, or up the hill, where, looking west, the whole bay and town of Funchal lies spread out like a map before you, or, looking east, the distant islands seem to provide a never-ending variety to the view. Sometimes the islands look dark against the sky, which means storms ahead; or sometimes they are wrapt in a soft haze, which means a promise of fine weather; or the setting sun may have caught and kissed them with her last departing rays, and made them blush a rosy-pink, and one is tempted to linger and watch the light gradually fade; but it is time to turn homewards, as in these Southern latitudes twilight is all too short, and darkness descends quickly over the land.

CHAPTER VII

CAMACHA AND THE MOUNT

The road past Palheiro leads, through pine woods and long stretches of yellow broom and golden gorse, to the little mountain village of Camacha. Probably the village has become noted for its flowers from the fact that many English people, in the days when travelling was not so easy, used to make this place their summer-quarters, instead of returning to England, as they mostly do in these days of quick travelling.

WISTARIA, QUINTA DA LEVADA

One garden I can recall which, though now neglected, still shows how it was once well cared for. Though the turf is no longer mown, and the box hedges have lost some of their trimness, the beds are still full of what were once treasured plants. The rose-garden no longer sees the knife of the pruner, but the trees grow and flower at their own sweet will, in careless disorder. It is a very lovely disorder, but it is always sad to see a garden once tended with the greatest care fall into other hands, who know nothing of the art of gardening. In spring the garden was full of jonquils and narcissi, and later on sparaxis and ixias. Near the house great bushes of Romneya coulteri were covered with their delicate white poppy-like flowers in summer. The plant seemed to have become thoroughly established, and threw up suckers in all directions, even through the paths of hard-beaten earth. From the grounds there are lovely views of the sea; and probably the garden looks its best when the agapanthus sends up its flowers in hundreds, and the hydrangea bushes are laden with their bright blue blossoms—as blue as the sky above or the sea below; or, again, in October, when the belladonna lilies are flowering in their thousands.

I think the love of gardening must have spread from these English gardens to the native cottage gardens. The English probably encouraged the cottagers to cultivate their plants, as from these little gardens come all the flowers which are to be bought in Funchal. A few flower-sellers will trudge seven long weary miles down to the town, nearly every day of the week, with a heavy basket of flowers on their heads, which they have collected from many a cottage garden. Naturally these flowers are not of the best, and it is very much to be regretted that some enterprising person does not start a shop or garden where cut flowers and plants could be bought. Many a time have I been asked where, in this land of flowers, good cut flowers can be procured, and the answer has had to be “Nowhere.” Would-be purchasers have to satisfy themselves with the contents of these baskets which are brought to the hotel and villa doors, and their contents are far from satisfactory. Beyond arum lilies, violets, and irises, a few indifferent daffodils and poor roses, there is little to be got. The women will complain that they have not a large sale for flowers, and it is in vain that I have told them that the real reason of it is that their flowers are so poor. Nosegays of a mixture of a dozen flowers, in as many colours, naturally find no market; but good flowers, I feel sure, would have a large and ready sale at reasonable prices.