(1974)  Page(s) 34.  
 
February.  The hedge is made of American Pillar, a rose which, together with Dorothy Perkins, should be forever abolished from our gardens. I know this attack on two popular roses will infuriate many people; but if one writes gardening articles one must have the courage of one's opinion. I hate, hate, hate American Pillar and her sweetly pink companion Perkins. What would I have planted instead?...

(1968)  Page(s) 34.  
 
February. The hedge is made of American Pillar, a rose which, together with Dorothy Perkins, should be forever abolished from our gardens. I know this attack on two popular roses will infuriate many people; but if one writes gardening articles one must have the courage of one's opinion. I hate, hate, hate American Pillar and her sweetly pink companion Perkins. What would I have planted instead?...

(1962)  Page(s) 103.  
 
June
Drunk on roses, I look around and wonder which to recommend. Among the climbers, I do not believe that I have ever mentioned Lawrence Johnston, a splendid yellow, better than the very best butter, and so vigorous as to cover 12 feet of wall within two seasons. It does not seem to be nearly so well known as it ought to be, even under its old name Hidcote Yellow, although it dates back to 1923 and received an Award of Merit from the R.H.S. in 1948. The bud, of a beautifully pointed shape, opens into a loose, nearly-single flower which does not lose its colour up to the very moment when it drops. Eventually it will attain a height of 30 feet, but if you cannot afford the space for so rampant a grower, you have a sister seedling in La Rêve, indistinguishable as to flower and leaf, but more restrained in growth.

(1968)  Page(s) 167.  
 
'Felicite et Perpetue'.... 'Francois Juranville' and 'Leontine Gervais', both pink-and-buff, hang prettily, if less vigorous of growth.

(1968)  Page(s) 144.  
 
'Souvenir du Docteur Jamain' is an old hybrid perpetual which I am rather proud of having rescued from extinction. I found him growing against the office wall of an old nursery. No one knew what he was; no one seemed to care; no one knew his name; no one had troubled to propagate him. Could I dig him up, I asked? Well, if you like to risk it, they said, shrugging their shoulders; it's a very old plant, with a woody stiff root. I risked it; 'Docteur Jamain' survived his removal; and now has a flourishing progeny in my garden and also on the market of certain rosarians to whom I gave him. 'Docteur Jamain' is a deep red, not very large flowers, but so sweetly and sentimentally scented. Some writers would call it nostalgically scented, meaning everything that burying one's nose into the heart of a rose meant in one's childhood, or in one's adolescence when one first discovered poetry, or the first time one fell in love.  I think 'Docteur Jamain' should not be planted in too sunny a place.  He burns.  A south-west aspect suits him better than full south.