Specialist Growers of Roses Ancient and Modern

Reflections on a Life in Roses by Trevor White Trevor & family budding in 2005 (son Henry, daughter Lois and nephew Sam Outing). I must have been around 20 when I took on a seasonal job with Peter Beales Roses at Intwood Nurseries in Swardeston, just outside Norwich. It was a five-mile cycle from my shared student house in the city - I remember the journey clearly because part of it was uphill, which was saying something for this neck of the woods. My first introduction to work was heeling in roses with a man who, unbeknownst to me at that time, would come to have great influence over my future life’s work: Andrew Doubleday. The first thing that struck me was his old school-tie appearance and Trilby hat - reminiscent of the clothes worn by my grandfather in an old black and white photo from his days gardening at Ham House. Despite this, the image I have in my mind of Andrew remains in true technicolour. As a life-long nurserymen, Andrew’s skills in the craft of roses were unmatched. But it was his passion, enthusiasm, respect, humour and generosity with his knowledge, that brought to life the true wonderment of roses. If I was in love with the rose before, I was now utterly bewitched. He soon put me to work alongside him, and as the saying goes, there were certainly ‘no flies on him’. After a hard day’s work, that slight Norfolk hill could well have been a Munro for all my legs knew. But despite the exhaustion I felt in my body, my head was buzzing in the knowledge that I had finally found my calling. Trevor and daughter Lois budding, 2005 That summer, while I was helping at the Harrogate show, Peter suggested I go take a look at the rose garden at the Castle Howard Estate. So, after the show I hopped in the work van and drove over. I found myself walking around this stunning garden – the scent utterly sublime – and I can clearly remember being struck by the beauty and intense perfume of the exquisite Cerise Bouquet. After a rather hectic day, the wonderful fragrance filled me with this feeling of absolute tranquillity. I walked on in something of a trance – pausing to take in and admire each rose I came across: the charm of an Adam Messerich; the beautiful soft petals and delicate hues of Honorine de Brabant... It suddenly dawned on me that the roses were getting harder and harder to see. The light had faded. The gardens were empty. And, to my alarm, the gates were locked. Thankfully, a group of gardeners finishing their shift discovered me frantically trying to find another way out. After a bit of explaining, they were very understanding and escorted me off the Estate. My relief that I didn’t need to spend the night on a garden bench was palpable. Vanessa stacking the roses and cleaning [...]