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Lady Boothby

 I had a vaguely surreal conversation with my neighbours over the fence yesterday regarding Lady Boothby. Now, the dedicated gardeners amongst you (I’m looking at you, Mrs Duck!) will immediately know that Lady Boothby is a hardy, rampant climbing fuchsia. We have one living outside our back door, to the right-hand side. This is what Lady Boothby looks like:


This is NOT a photo of our actual Lady Boothby because I am writing this at a quarter past eight in the evening and outside it is dark and raining and therefore not conducive for good quality photo-taking. I took this photo from t’internet. But I can sure you, it is a fair likeness and our Lady Boothby is currently around 7 feet tall and smothered in flowers. 

I only discovered the fuchsia was called Lady Boothby yesterday because my neighbour, Gill, pointed at it as we were chatting over the fence and said, ‘Lady Boothby is looking well.’ Apparently, the cutting of our Lady Boothby came from her Lady Boothby. It was given to the previous owners of Damson Cottage who planted it outside the back door. When we moved in, Lady Boothby was tall and glorious and remained thus for around three years. Then, one year, she appeared to die, so I cut her back and thought, ‘At least I won’t have to wrestle my way through that bloomin’ fuchsia every time I want to go to the laundry.’ Yet over the last two years, Lady Boothby made a comeback - rising from the dead, as it were, and last year she grew to around five feet tall, and this year she has gone berserk and resumed her ‘thwacking Lady Malarkey in the face’ duties.

Gill’s husband, Don, then said, ‘Wasn’t she something to do with the House of Commons? Lady Boothby?’

‘That was Betty Boothroyd,’ said Gill. 

‘Who?’ said Don.

‘Betty Boothroyd. Speaker of the House of Commons,’ said Gill. ‘Nothing to do with Lady Boothby.’

‘Did you know she was a Tiller Girl?’ said I.

‘What? Lady Boothby?’ said Don.

‘Betty Boothroyd,’ said Gill and I in unison. 

‘And who was the fuchsia named after?’ said Don, and by this point Gill looked like she wanted to ding him around the ear.

I told Andy about Lady Boothby and he researched her. Apparently, she was the founder of the British Fuchsia Society’ and Lady Boothby, the fuchsia, was named after her, the woman. Some confusion occurred during the research process because Lady Dorothy MacMillan, wife of Harold MacMillan (the one time Prime Minister of this illustrious land) had a long term affair with Lord Robert Boothby M.P, therefore we did wonder if she was known, ironically, as Lady Boothby, you know, in the biting manner that the gutter press might assume. But I don’t think she had anything to do with fuchsias. Pure conjecture and on our part. Too busy with the rumpy-pumpy to be interested in gardening, I should think. 

And that immediately made me think of Dorothy Parker, one of my favourite wits, who, when asked to use the word ‘horticulture in a sentence, came up with, ‘You can lead a whore to culture, but you can’t make her think.’ 

 Which immediately made me think of Stan Laurel, who said, ‘You can lead a horse to water, but a pencil must be lead.’ 

I wonder if there is a National Segue Day? If not, there jolly well ought to be. 

Comments

Anonymous said…
I would agree, we need a National Segue Day! Splendid suggestion.
KJ
12 October 2023 at 03:48
Denise said…
I expect there’s a Segway Day (those weird upright ride on scooter things) but a Segue Day - well, something to work on, I think.
12 October 2023 at 10:09
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