Meetings with plants: Rose ‘Munstead Wood’

Bramble & Briar 188

A much coveted rose, ‘Munstead Wood’. Don’t care what the breeders say

Your roommate’s cheap-ass screw-top rosé

Berry tones. I’ve been staring at the flowers on Munstead Wood for way too long, trying to work out how to describe the colour. A deep red, velvety crimson seems to be the consensus. I’m not sure this is quite right, but then I’ve not been able to come up with anything better, so who am I to complain? I wouldn’t call it red, though. It doesn’t help that the hues shift according to the time of day, the age of the bloom, and just where abouts in the flower you happen to be looking at any moment. Shades of raspberry, cherry and plum all seem to be going on – one day the flowers are deep, dark and sophisticated, the next they’re brighter, and more fun. I’m sticking with berry tones.

And then there’s the scent. Probably my favourite rose scent – fruity, slightly spicy. Not actually super rosy, which I don’t mind at all.

As to the form of the bloom, its a flounce, a ruffle, or a ruche. A spiral pleated affair, a bao bun of a thing, pinched up in the centre and twisted round, with just a hint of the bright yellow stamens peaking out at the very centre. A clown’s button pom-pom, only one that doesn’t squirt water in your eye when you lean in to sniff.

I’m slightly smug about my Munstead Wood. No… not slightly. Immensely. Immensely smug in having a rose in my garden which is spoken of so highly by those who know it, and yet is so hard to get hold of. To the extent that the breeder who brought it to market in 2007 and then withdrew it fifteen years later thinks I’m bonkers for even trying to grow it. You’ll note from their website that they’ve conceded there’s still demand for it, and have begun to offer it for sale again, albeit in limited numbers. I can’t help but think this is canny marketing, a step away from the limited ledger model (you know who – I’ve finally left after returning just about every samey offering over the past year), but at least it’s not entirely impossible to get your mitts on one.

The thing about Munstead Wood is that it’s reputed to be vulnerable to pests and diseases, and not as free flowering as other roses you could plant. I have not found it so, and this is not the only garden in which I’ve tended it. This is purely my experience – maybe it just likes my part of Kent.

What to do if you’re craving a gorgeous rose on the purply-berry spectrum, and being driven bonkers by the waiting list? There’s always Night Owl, which I first encountered on one of Jo Thompson’s gardens (I think it was a gorgeously wild one at Hampton Court a few years ago, the one that was a partnership with Kate Bradbury). I know that Jo is also a Munstead Wood fan, but for this garden, I assume she wanted something with a little more height, and a little more ranginess – Night Owl climbs to about three metres, where Munstead Wood loiters closer to the ground, as a bush that might reach a third of that height. They share a certain spiciness to the scent, but the climber is more open, with a pale white throat.

Rose ‘Night Owl’ at Hampton Court. ironically, with more black spot than I’ve ever had on Munstead Wood

Plant both. Night Owl now, Munstead Wood when you can get a hold of it. You can never have too many roses, I think we’ve established this by now.

Maroon. It’s bloody maroon, of course it is.

A rose in the hand is worth… actually, I’m not sure what the hand to bush ratio is. Munstead Wood and gardener’s paw, for size