If you’ve ever visited a flower show you’ll know something of the magic of the Floral Marquee. Thousands of pristine plants displayed at their prime: perfection in every petal. That sense of wonder as you first walk in and pause for a moment to take in the quiet, thrilling cacophony of colour and scent, uncertain where to turn first. The sense of history and of secrets smuggled down the generations. It’s the holy of holies of horticulture. 



I am now a veteran of precisely three floral marquee displays (two at Southport and one at Tatton). I’ve been there on the first day, surrounded by bleak skeletons of metal frames and bare boards, and at the end when a hundred van doors are slammed shut and driven off into the dusk. I’ve fretted about plant condition and what to put next to what and whether the flowers will open in time for judging. I’ve felt hard done by and elated at medal results. I’ve stood behind the sales counter for five long days on the run, coped with a competing press of eager customers and stoically endured none at all.  But mostly I’ve watched and listened to the other exhibitors telling their stories; about decades of spending their summers on the road, of deep friendships made, of family pride and feuds, of medals and trophies proudly won and heartbreakingly denied. I’ve heard tales of flooded campsites, trailers bogged down in mud, of van breakdowns, precious display plants arriving damaged, of hip operations, heart attacks, strokes, love affairs, babes in arms at their very first show now grown up and building the displays themselves. I’ve also heard in subdued tones about the final hours of those (not so few) who succumb on the road to the punishing demands of the show circuit.  


After just three shows I already feel something akin to a member of the Magic Circle – it just doesn’t do to throw back the screens and reveal the lady about to be sawn in two, and I shall certainly not be breaking any personal confidences.  But I can shed a little light on the world behind the black fabrics and perfect displays. 

In my teens I belonged to an amateur drama group. We put on a pantomime every January which ran for 10 days, with two shows a day. I remember quite clearly the potent mix of exhilaration and exhaustion (along with the disapproval of school as I flunked another set of meaningless mock exams). What the audience saw was (usually) a couple of hours of seamless entertainment. But behind the scenes was a cramped maze of scenery and props, adults and children of all ages and sexes in various states of undress, pot bellies and varicose veins, tan lines and cellulite, costumes hanging from curtain rails, make-up smears, half drunk cups of tea and curling, part-nibbled sandwiches, safety pins and velcro. And I loved it, I absolutely loved being in that behind-the-scenes world, being part of the magic making. 

The Floral Marquee is not pantomime but it is certainly theatre, a performance pulled together for a week, then moved on, with no two shows exactly the same. There is always a different mix of actors and each act a little different from the one before. In the best possible way, it’s a touring horticultural variety show.  

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Most of the nurseries that exhibit at shows are not open to the public. They sell at shows and by mail order with very little income, if any, in the winter. So fitting in as many shows as possible in the summer season is vital. With practice and careful planning you can build a gold medal show display in a day and take it down in two hours. So a marquee display at a show which ends on a Sunday at 5pm will be dismantled and in the van by 7pm. And the cycle begins again. Sunday night: a late night drive back to the nursery and a welcome sleep in your own bed. Monday morning: unload the van and final selection of the display and sale plants for the next show. Monday night: drive to the new show site and set up the caravan or tent in the exhibitor camp site. Tuesday morning: early to the showground to build the display ready for judging on Wednesday. And so it goes on, all summer, easing a little from August as the schedule thins out. I know of nurseries that once covered 60 shows a year and think nothing of 20 now. 


Some work alone, driving long distances then unloading the van and building their display quietly and efficiently, with everything carefully worked out to keep the costs and heavy lifting down and the medal score up. Most work in pairs – husband and wife/partner teams are common as you might imagine given the long weeks away. A few of the larger nurseries pull in staff, but that’s the exception. 



As to the commercial viability of it all, well, on the evidence of what I’ve seen so far, there are easier ways to earn less than average incomes. Everyone is thinking about ways to boost their income, from the multiple Gold medal winning chrysanthemum grower selling tulip bulbs in an outdoor stall, to talk of flower essence oils, bee-keeping, mail order, opening the garden, closing the garden, opening the nursery to the public, closing to the public. The one thing everyone has in common is the pull of the circuit, of the difficulty of actually stopping a way of life which has become akin to a circadian rhythm. 

What advice do they have to offer a newcomer like me? Some compliments, some tips, some very helpful shortcuts. But more than one has simply said don’t get caught up, don’t drive yourself too hard, it will get under your skin and wear you out. I hear them clearly and I watch tough women heaving laden trolleys through long grass in the rain and men who might perhaps be long past retirement age straining sinews to lug heavy pots up onto the staging. And I feel my own joints and tendons warning me that I’m no youngster either. 

But then, when it’s all done and you find yourself in possession of a gold medal, as I was at Southport last week, and you overhear the murmuring approval of visitors the old thrill of performance tugs at you. That adrenalin rush as the curtain goes up, the lights dazzle, the critics sharpen their pencils and the audience applauds. I think I can manage to do a few more….  


August 20, 2012  
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