I was browsing through the Telegraph on-line, and saw that one of their journalists had been putting garden centres to the test. His final visit was to a specialist nursery where, he commented, staff were scarce. He might find the clue to their scarcity in his opening sentence, that with Easter on the horizon, even the most dormant gardener wakes from hibernation. True. At my firm turnover is literally ten-fold higher than it was a couple of months ago, and this is normal. Customers want to buy plants when there is a pleasant tang of spring in the air, not when the thermometer creeps up to a daytime maximum of three degrees. Most businesses would struggle to flex their staffing levels that quickly, let alone ones that require their staff to actually know something. And we have to know a lot.
The plant centre where I work offers approximately 6,000 species and varieties, some popular garden stalwarts and some rare and difficult to find, according to our website. For all of these we are expected to know what kind of plant they are, whether a tree, shrub, herbaceous, climber or whatever. We need to know their current Latin name, any previous Latin names they have gone by in the past forty years (many gardeners still don't believe in Brachyglottis) and their common name or names. We need to know whether we have them at the moment, or if not whether we are likely to get them and when. We need to know where in the plant centre they will be if we do have them. A lot of evergreens and more tender plants are moved outdoors in the summer and put under cover in the winter, and some species that will grow to make full sized forest trees arrive with us as 30cm whips in tiny pots, so locations are never straightforward and vary seasonally.
Then we need to know, for every plant, how tall and wide it will grow, how quickly, and its habit of growth, whether upright, spreading or weeping. We need to know if it is evergreen or deciduous, and what colour the foliage is, and if it is deciduous what the autumn colour is like. We need to know if it flowers, and if so when, and what colour, and for how long, and how large the flowers are, and whether they are scented, and if they are attractive to insects. We need to know whether it fruits, and if so what colour the fruits, and whether they are poisonous to children and dogs, and whether it needs another plant to pollinate it. We need to know which ones have interesting bark. We need to know whether every plant requires sun or shade or will take either, if it needs acid or alkaline soil, whether it needs moisture or sharp drainage, if it will tolerate waterlogging and drying out, if it can withstand wind or needs shelter, what winter minimum temperature it is likely to survive, and whether it will grow by the sea. We need to know whether you prune it or cut it back, and if so how and when. We need to know if it is likely to do well long term in a pot. We need to know which plants have prickles or irritant sap or toxic foliage. We need to know whether it might be proof against honey fungus, or rabbits or deer. We need to know whether you can take cuttings or divide it, and if so how and when.
As well as being fountains of knowledge on any plant a customer asks for or about, we need to be able to do the trick in reverse, to suggest a plant for any situation, to cope with a particular site while providing required attributes, such as colour at specified times whether a long season or for a July wedding next year, or rapid screening. We have to be able to identify pests and diseases and cultivation problems from bad photographs and sad samples given to us in plastic bags, and suggest a treatment or cure. We have to give crash courses in garden design to bewildered novices who have bought a new-build property with a completely empty garden. We have to advise on lawn care, and are expected to carry a sowing timetable for the more common vegetables in our heads.
Most of our customers, it should be stressed, are very nice, but sometimes we have to be diplomats. We find ourselves being sympathetic to the bereaved, who want a special plant for their loved one, be it partner or pet, or standing by politely while couples conduct matrimonials in front of us. Some customers appear terribly lonely and want to chat, which can be difficult when we're busy. Some ring up asking for us to look for plants for them when they are fairly obviously drunk. A very few think that it is absolutely fine to be rude to people working in a shop. And some are time wasters, or journalists conducting research. I have every sympathy with the well spoken young woman at Roger Platt's nursery who told the Telegraph journalist that grass really wasn't her bag and he should consult a lawn expert. If her employer doesn't even sell lawn products why should she be expected to give lawn advice, at her busiest time of year?
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