It may yet be possible to do this – and most certainly there will never be that sprig of yew up here. At long last ALL the land is fenced, and the tens of marauding sheep belonging to the big estate, and shepherded by one of my neighbours, have at last een sut out. Not only is the big field for my sheep and ponies and them alone, my garden is no longer nipped off all the time.
All three of the container grown roses (presents from a generous friend) are still alive, though one got rather cut back. Both the bare root roses I bought in the sale for Peter Beals (and if you want old fashioned roses, they are the real biz) are doing well (the containers frightened off the sheep) and even nine of the ten bargain basement roses I bought labelless are in leaf. There is hope for the tenth, though not certainty. The ten are an excitement. I know what my Kiftsgate will look like ( a mass if tiny white blooms) and so on – but I have no notion what roses will eventually spring from the thorny stems only now tentatively pushing out leaves.