Clematis

Nelly Moser is the clematis I think of when I think of cottage gardens. She's been climbing up English walls and over doorways since 1897, and she's still one of the most recognisable climbers in the country. Those big, flat, eight-petalled flowers in pale mauve-pink with a distinctive darker bar down the centre of each petal — once you know her, you see her everywhere.

She flowers twice — first in late May on the previous year's growth, and then again in late summer on the new shoots. That double act means she's earning her place for months. The first flush is the showier one — those big, plate-sized flowers appearing against the fresh green foliage with an enthusiasm that's almost childlike.

I have mine growing over an old garden arch, and in late May when she's in full flower, walking through the arch feels like being welcomed. She frames things. She softens hard edges. She turns a plain wall into something worth photographing. That's what the best climbers do — they give architecture a personality.

The flowers fade in strong sun, which is why she actually prefers a north or east-facing position. Most plants want full sun. Nelly wants the shade. I respect a flower that knows what it needs and isn't apologetic about it.

She's not a cut flower in the traditional sense — the stems are short and the flowers are fleeting once picked. But float a few heads in water for a dinner party, or tuck one behind your ear for an afternoon in the garden, and she's generous enough to spare a few. Just don't tell the arch.