Country diary: The Algerian iris is my madeleine | Susie White

Allendale, Northumberland: Honey-scented and fleeting, and with astonishing colours, this winter flower transports me to my childhoodMany of the plants in my garden hold memories, collapsing time as vividly as Proust's madeleine. The smell of a Cheddar pink is me in my parents' garden, lying on sun-warm grass at the edge of a border. The bitter almond of viburnum is midwinter days in the first garden I made. Pink-trumpeted daffodils, dark red hellebores, a silver-leaved cyclamen - all are gifts from people no longer alive that remind me of them every time I see them.The plant with the most direct link back to my childhood is flowering now against the south-facing wall of my house. There, nesting in an untidy sprawl of leaves, the mauve-blue of Algerian irises is so unexpected in winter. The colour of native bluebells, the fragile-looking flowers have purple lines and a central yellow band guiding down into white throats. Blooming since late December, they have continuously budded, opened and shrivelled, each lasting just a couple of days. Continue reading...