never seen any of the progeny as attractive as the species. 

 As to the so-called scented hybrids raised in Europe and America, 

 I think the less said about them the better. Unfortunately, 

 G. tristis has an unscented form which turns up occasionally 

 and is definitely not worth cultivating ; but the scented G. 

 tristis I consider a first-class cut flower although the florists 

 here at the Cape hardly know it. I think this is due to the 

 strange regulations passed by our Provincial Administration, 

 which aim at protecting the wild flowers by preventing the 

 picking of them in the veld and succeed in penalizing the 

 growers who would prevent their extinction. 



But to return to the Gladiolus species and their scent. The 

 rare G. viperatus or green kalkoentjie has the best scent of all. 

 Visitors asked to smell it always say " What does it remind 

 you of?" a question I find difficult to answer. It reminds me 

 of miles and miles of a long, straight road and the rain beating 

 down, and the old car pounding on and on through pools of 

 water on the road, and water pouring through the hood and 

 one bloom at the back of the car cheering us on with its wonder- 

 ful fragrance, and then at Hopefield a grand welcome and dry 

 clothes and a much-needed supper. Sometimes the collector's 

 memories of plants, people and places are strangely interwoven. 



The bulb plot is full of thrills these days. There are beds 

 the length of the orchard, and the plum trees are now in bloom, 

 their white blossoms making a delicate background for the 

 brilliant colours of the bulb flowers at their feet, blue babianas 

 and geissorhizas, freesias, homerias and lapeyrousias in every 

 colour. 



We planted all these treasures in February, when the sun 

 beat down day after day and the sand was so hot that it burnt 

 our feet and there was no colour in the fading leaves of the 

 plum trees. Day after day and week after week we toiled. 

 They remained dormant in the ground until the first rains 

 came in April, and as the winter advanced the green shoots 

 appeared. They grew well in the many weeks of deluging 

 winter rain with brilliant sunny days between. There was no 

 frost to quell them and as soon as the first spring days gladdened 

 our hearts the lachenalias began to show colour, and now for 



