'If the Chelsea Flower Show is the glitzy public face of British gardening, then the country’s amateur flower shows encapsulate its older, gentler side'

The Chelsea Flower Show may be the world’s most famous horticultural festival, with its impossibly perfect show gardens, Pimm’s-fuelled punters and high-end knick-knackery. However, far away from the cameras, the roving royals and the small-screen celebrities, serious plants-people all over the country are gathering in village halls, local schools and marquees for a very different kind of horticultural extravaganza. If Chelsea is the glitzy public face of British gardening, then the country’s amateur flower shows encapsulate its older, gentler, less commercial side.

There’s something deeply charming about their minutely specified categories (‘Three daffodils of different sizes’, ‘A posy for spring’…) and their handwritten award certificates (‘Best alpine trough’, ‘Best in show’…), not to mention the way they bring together young and old, high and low, united for a few brief hours by their love of flowers, whether big and blowsy or small and select. Flower shows have a long and characterful history. They developed out of so-called florists’ feasts, first held in 17th-century Norwich, which involved groups of well-heeled gentlemen (ladies were not invited) getting together to celebrate their shared fancy for flowers over a few rounds of drinks and some fine food.

Although we now think of florists as flower arrangers, the term originally applied to those who grew flowers for pleasure, particularly tulips, auriculas, hyacinths, anemones, ranunculus, carnations, polyanthus and pinks, which together became known as florists’ flowers. Oddly, the first florists’ feasts appear not to have featured any actual plants, but, by the early 18th century, that had changed and they had spread from Norfolk as far as Newcastle, Worcester, Canterbury and York. By this time, they seem to have settled into a fairly standard format. Held in pubs rather than private houses, they were advertised in advance and paid for by subscription. This covered the cost of a lunch and the prizes that were awarded at the end of the afternoon, which — at least in the early days — often took the form of silver spoons.

In her history of florists’ societies, Ruth Duthie records a notable feast that took place in April 1729 at The Dog in Richmond, London, attended by 130 paying guests. According to a newspaper report, ‘after Dinner several shew’d their Flowers (most of them Auriculas) and five ancient and judicious Gardiners were Judges to determine whose flowers excelled. A Gardiner of Barnes in Surrey was so well furnished with good Flowers, that the Judge in the affair, ordered him two Spoons and a Ladle’.

Given the British love of committees and minute-taking, it was only a matter of time before one-off gatherings such as these begat more permanent associations, such as the Ancient Society of York Florists, founded in 1768 and still going strong today, making it the world’s oldest horticultural association. These 18th-century clubs were still restricted to rather well-off men, but, as the Industrial Revolution gathered pace and Britain’s population grew, competitive flower and vegetable growing became an ever-more popular pursuit for people across the social spectrum.

Lancashire weavers and Yorkshire miners became renowned for their shows of auriculas, gooseberries and carnations from the 1820s on, although their prizes were generally counted in pennies rather than pounds. The top prize was often a copper kettle and, in 1860, one gooseberry grower was reported to have 30 hanging from the ceiling of his sitting room, which must have made it rather hazardous. The most venerable surviving public shows began to emerge at about the same time, with the oldest, Taunton Flower Show, Somerset, dating back to 1831 and the Wakefield Tulip Show, Yorkshire, to 1836.

The precursor of the Chelsea Flower Show, the RHS’s Great Spring Show, was first held in 1862, with other stalwarts such as the Shrewsbury Flower Show, Shropshire, and the Cornwall Garden Society Spring Show following in 1875 and 1897. A major driver of these and many other smaller shows was the introduction of new species and cultivars, which gathered pace right through the 19th century, often supplanting the older florists’ flowers.

Perhaps the most striking example, both figuratively and literally, was the dahlia. Native to Mexico and Guatemala, wild dahlias were first encountered by Spanish colonists in the late 1500s, but it wasn’t until the 1780s that they were brought to Europe and grown in the royal gardens in Madrid. Visiting in 1798, the immensely rich Marchioness of Bute sent a handful back to Kew Gardens, which flowered once before turning up their toes, most probably in protest at an English winter.

Another wealthy landowner, Lady Holland, visited Madrid in 1804 and had more success, despatching some dahlias not to her gardener, but to Serafino Buonaiuti, her Italian librarian at Holland House in London — an odd choice, perhaps, but evidently a wise one, for Buonaiuti got the dahlias to thrive. Their arrival caused a sensation and it wasn’t long before enterprising nurserymen developed ever-more exciting hybrids and cultivars. By the 1830s, Britain had gone dahlia mad and whole shows sprang up devoted to them, from Sheffield in South Yorkshire to the Isle of Wight. By the end of the Victorian age, there were about 10,000 cultivars to choose from — an exhibitor’s dream and a cataloguer’s nightmare.

Flower shows might seem timeless, nostalgic affairs, but dahlias remind us that gardens and gardening are subject to the vagaries of fashion and history just like anything else. The First World War swept away the last vestiges of late-Victorian and Edwardian opulence, together with untold thousands of jobbing gardeners, not to mention many of those enterprising nurserymen. The dahlia’s decline was as precipitous as its rise and, today, only three of those 10,000 Victorian varieties remain. Yet, despite such losses, of people and plants, flower shows somehow soldiered on and we have the dedication of both amateur and professional horticulturists to thank for their continued survival into the 21st century. All the same, their future is far from assured, with many smaller shows struggling.

John Freer, a long-standing judge and exhibitor at the Ancient Society of York Florists, laments that: ‘There are fewer and fewer exhibitors, with few young people showing or even having an interest in gardening. Very few shows make a profit and the better the show the more it has to offer in prize money, so the loss is larger.’ Rachel Waldock, who has many years’ experience as a horticultural show judge in Essex and Dorset, believes that: ‘Growing for showing is no longer what it was and, sadly, we no longer have the passionate dahlia, chrysanthemum and sweet-pea growers we had in the past. The public seem to love going to the large shows, but those are far more widely focused than they were, with the horticulture and handicraft marquees being much less of a draw than they used to be.’

Many small local shows have ceased altogether, including her own. ‘It was getting to the stage with us that the committee were the only exhibitors and the committee’s grand-children the only children’s entries,’ she says. ‘One only has to look at the age of committee members to see the problem — working folk have no time and retired folk are getting tired.’ By all means revel in the picture-perfect posies, clashing colours and slightly wonky displays, but spare a thought for all the hard-working enthusiasts, exhibitors, judges, growers, volunteers and committee members who keep our flower shows alive. Better still, join your local gardening society and become part of a great tradition. You might not win a copper kettle, but it’s the taking part that counts.

Christopher Stocks

How to win at your local show

The flower show has been a staple of British rural life since the mid 19th century, usually in late summer, but also, in many instances, in the spring, catching the rising tide of growers’ natural enthusiasm. The rows of neatly presented flowers, fruits and vegetables, laid out as if by magic on the endless benches in the village hall, speak to some of mysterious powers, guarded techniques, unattainable standards, but, in fact, there is no secret to any of it. All that is required is an interest in gardening, a bit of homework and a willingness to get up early on the morning of the show. It’s a simple enough exercise in observation, selection and presentation and, once you’ve started, you’ll want to keep going. If, as is sometimes overheard, you’ve got better at home, then why not put it on the bench? It could be your name on that card.

• The first thing to do is read the schedule. If all else fails, read the instructions. Five white potatoes means what it says. The evidence that you didn’t follow them is in the dreaded letters N.A.S.: Not According to Schedule.

• It’s a good idea to join the visiting public after the cards have been awarded and examine what you see on the bench. It is usually obvious why particular entries have won. If it isn’t, ask the judge, or the winners, and they’ll happily tell you why. There is always a reason and there is no favouritism.

• Even better, volunteer as a steward. You’ll be the judge’s runner, listening as the decision is made, hearing why, and turning the cards over to reveal the victors. You can’t help but be much better informed.

• Despite what you may have heard, size is a minor factor. Uniformity is much more important: those potatoes should all be a similar size and shape, clean, but not scrubbed, and free from obvious excrescences. Line your French-bean pods up so that they are all the same length and all curve the same way. Remember, too, that the judge can snap your beans to check for freshness, and turn your beetroot over to seek out flaws.

• Flowers, again, should look similar. Take the trouble to make the cut stems the same length and to turn the faces the same way. Sweet peas look best as a fan; daffodils should be free from frost damage; remove pollen beetles with a flick of the wrist. Give some thought to the vase: plain, neat, clean. Remember, the flowers are the star.

• On the morning of the show, get up early and get on with it. Everything else can wait. If you’re showing five potatoes, dig up 30, pick out the likely ones and put them in a washing-up bowl. Rinse them gently with finger and thumb and look them over carefully. Bit by bit, whittle them down to a reasonably matching set, with a couple of reserves just in case. Wrap them loosely in damp cloth and lay them in a trug. Treat other root vegetables the same.

• Get to the show when the door opens and quietly bag the best space on the bench. Set your exhibits out neatly, but without fuss. Some look best in a container: shallots in a saucer of sand with the tops folded over and tied will win the heart of any judge.

• Fruits should be handled as little as possible. A simple wipe over will do. Anything with a bloom, such as grapes or damsons, should only be handled by the twiggy bits. Your thumbprint will lose you points. Again, think about containers and put those damsons on folded tissue paper in a simple shallow bowl.

• With flowers, don’t worry that some exhibits are obviously outstanding, presumably the work of some practised master. Theirs is the standard to emulate, but the list of winners always features many names. The work of such champions is often shown at its best in the basket of mixed vegetables. Watch and learn.

• Encourage children to enter. Some of the best exhibits are of vegetables joined together to form fabulous beasts or a tray garden of miniature shoots in gravel around a mirror pond. Remember that children have that vital skill called imagination.

• Always remember that, when the public walks in, all they will see are the exhibits and the names of the winners, first, second and third. If yours didn’t win, no one will know.

• Only think, when you get home again, you’ll have flowers, fruit and vegetables, all of singular beauty, in abundance on your dining table. What could be more worthwhile, you think, as next year’s campaign of inevitable victory begins to form in your mind.

Steven Desmond

For information on Taunton Flower Show, August 7–8, visit their website.

This feature originally appeared in the March 18, 2026, issue of Country Life. Click here for more information on how to subscribe.