Tulip
Queen of Night
“The tulip that turns people into tulip people. Grow her in a deep pot by your front door and watch the neighbours slow down.”
— ROSIE
Rosie's Take
I have a theory that everyone has a tulip moment — the point where they stop thinking of tulips as those stiff, basic flowers in a petrol station bucket and realise they're actually extraordinary. For me, that moment was Queen of Night.
She's the darkest tulip you'll find — a deep, velvety maroon that reads almost black in low light and reveals the most beautiful plum and burgundy tones when the sun catches her. She looks like she belongs in a Dutch Golden Age painting, which, given that she's a product of centuries of obsessive Dutch tulip breeding, makes perfect sense.
I grow these in deep, wide pots on my doorstep every spring and the effect against weathered stone is something else. They're also spectacular mixed with something lighter — I love them with white ranunculus or the palest pink parrot tulips. That contrast makes both flowers look better.
As a cut flower, they have that wonderful tulip quality of continuing to grow and move in the vase. They'll lean towards the light, the stems will curve, and after a few days they open right up into these loose, open stars that are just as lovely as the bud stage. Tulips in a vase are never boring because they're never still.
The name gets me every time. Queen of Night. There's something theatrical about it, and the flower absolutely delivers on the promise.
Where to Buy
If you want to try tulip for yourself, here's where I'd point you:
“Flower Station carry Queen of Night through tulip season and their bunches are always generous. I buy them by the armful in April.”
Order This Flower →“Bloom & Wild do a dark tulip letterbox bunch in spring that's a lovely way to send someone something dramatic through the post.”
Order This Flower →✿ From the folklore cabinet
Tulips famously caused financial mania in 17th-century Holland — single bulbs selling for more than a house. Queen of Night didn't exist then, but her dark ancestors were the most coveted of all. The broken, streaked tulips that drove the craze were actually caused by a virus. I love that — centuries of obsession, and it was a beautiful accident.
