Learning the language of flowers

There is even ‘a language of flowers’, or, more accurately, many languages of flowers, which have slowly been standardised over the past 100 years.

Back in Elizabethan times, shyly handing a fern to your beloved might have been either inviting them to secret tryst or telling them their hopes were too damp ever to blaze your fires of love. These days it’s slightly easier, though there’s still an element of risk unless you are both working from the same floral dictionary.

These days it is pretty much a given that red roses mean passionate love, especially if they’re long stemmed and beribboned. To be honest, I find the single, almost-black red Papa Meiland - one of the most delicious fragrances ever - that Bryan presents me from the first to bloom each year far more romantic that a bunch from the florist, but not everyone has a climbing Papa Meiland arching over the wood shed. (Note to all who don’t: plant one now, or any time of year you will water it and tie it up as it grows. I’d plant a dozen of them if the wallabies didn’t love them as much as I do.

Pink roses denote friendship, or an innocent love, though I suspect the more deeply flesh-coloured ones like the fragrant Wife of Bath might just possibly have other connotations for anyone who doesn’t know the ‘correct’ language of flowers. White roses mean innocence, plain and simple, or mourning or sympathy. Yellow roses can mean jealousy, or deep friendship, which might be confusing if you don’t already know how the giver feels about you.

Camellias pretty much borrow their means from roses: red ones for passionate love, a yellow camellia means ‘longing’. Lavender means ‘faithful love’; sunflower is ‘passionate love’ but can also mean ‘respect', which is rather nice.

And other blooms? Rosemary is for remembrance, but with connotations of loss. Lilies are mourning, or purity, or both - either way, not for St Valentine’s Day. Lily of the Valley means a sisterly or brotherly love and forget me nots mean just that. Sweet pea means ‘goodbye’ so it is useful that it’s out of season for St Valentine’s Day. Zinnias means loyalty, so you may give them wherever appropriate.

Oddly, some lists say cactus stand for ‘lust’. I can’t think of anything less lust-inducing that a cactus. Well, actually I can, but not ones to put in a family newspaper. And orchids say ‘sex sex sex sex’ … but only if you are a floriographer, an expert in flower language. I have been given several orchids with absolutely no subtext whatsoever: lovely luxurious potted plants that will bloom year after year if you put them in a semi-shaded spot outside when they finish flowering, and make sure they are kept moist.

And this is where I admit I have never celebrated St Valentine’s Day, though when I was 14 one member of our gang of girls did get an anonymous Valentine’s Day card, and we were all properly envious. But a gift of flowers? The trick is to make them meaningful. Give what you love to the people you love. Even better, give what they love, and give with love.

The annual rose Bryan gives me, picked with the device we usually use for harvesting high-up avocadoes, the wild gladioli picked and offered by a grandson, the bunch of sweet peas a friend gave me this spring because she remembered that four years ago I said I adored them but could never grow them … every one is treasured, every one a memory. And none of them need a dictionary of flower meanings to interpret.