Snowdrops’ delicate blooms brighten up the garden in the depths of winter and have become a hit with collectors the world over by Sally Gregson.

Vita Sackville-West knew a thing or two about winter plants. Sissinghurst must have been a jewel box at this time of year, with sparkling cyclamen coum, winter iris and, of course, snowdrops.

Gardener, if you listen, listen well:
Plant for your winter pleasure, when the months
Dishearten; plant to find a fragile note
Touched from the brittle violin of frost
The Garden, Vita Sackville-West

Little could she have imagined just how popular snowdrops in particular would become in the 21st century. Their subtle differences are lauded and admired by increasing numbers of galanthophiles.
We gardeners all sympathise. Those late autumn daisies, nerines and ‘Kaffir’ lilies have long been thrashed into pulp by the high winds and heavy frosts. We need life. And colour. And pleasure.
Many groups of enthusiasts band together and board coaches to follow their passion – named snowdrops in the gardens of collectors.

Up and down the country there are increasingly many displays of snowdrops. The markings on their petals subtle and precise.
Some species, such as Galanthus elwesii begin flowering well in advance of their peers. It has large, broad grey-green leaves to about 30cm and is native to the Taurus mountains of Turkey.
It is becoming endangered in the wild, due in part to over-collection, but it is possible to buy bulbs from a cultivated source.
Most snowdrops dislike drying out, but these in particular are more tolerant of summer droughts because of their naturally dry habitat.

Named cultivars of snowdrops, as is now commonly known, are much sought after. They exchange hands for the price of a case of fine wine, an antique vase, a small fortune. And the proud new owners take them home in triumph. They have bought a step in the march of time – a taste of a beautiful spring.