Daffodil — Close-up of nodding double heads
Close-up of nodding double heads
spring

Daffodil

Thalia

Seasonspring
ScentFresh, sweet, faintly citrus
Vase life7-14 days
Colour

Forget the yellow trumpets. A jar of Thalia on the kitchen table is spring at its most refined, for the price of a coffee.

— ROSIE

Rosie's Take

I know daffodils don't need my help. They're already everybody's favourite spring flower, the first bright thing after months of grey, the flower children draw with a yellow circle and triangles. But Thalia is a daffodil for people who think they've outgrown daffodils.

She's not yellow. That's the first thing that throws people. Thalia is pure white — a soft, ivory-tinged white with two or three nodding heads per stem, each one turned slightly, like they're caught mid-conversation. There's an elegance to her that most daffodils don't have. She looks like she wandered in from a Merchant Ivory film.

The scent is subtle but lovely — fresher and sweeter than the standard King Alfred types, with something almost citrusy underneath. Not overpowering. Just enough to make you lean in.

I plant mine in loose drifts under the silver birch, and in April they catch the light in a way that makes the whole corner of the garden look lit from within. They naturalise beautifully — each year there are more, which is exactly the kind of slow, compounding reward I love in a garden.

As a cut flower, Thalia is underrated. A dozen stems in a plain glass jar — nothing else, no filler, no fuss — is one of the most quietly elegant things you can put on a table. She lasts well, too. A good week if you keep the water fresh and the stems clean.

From the folklore cabinet

Thalia was one of the three Graces in Greek mythology — the goddess of festivity and rich banquets. I think of that every spring when these appear in clusters, like they're throwing a quiet party in the garden that everyone's invited to.