Cruel winter casts a deadly shadow

IN a bed beside the front yard is a shrub I’m rather fond of.

It’s a prostrate rosemary that flows down over tiers of railway sleepers in a cascade of dark green needles and, in season, pale blue flowers. Bees love it and so do I —- it’s not only decorative, it also adds an aromatic taste of the Mediterranean to roasts and casseroles.

It’s been there for decades but unfortunately it now appears to be defunct. Twelve months ago it died after heavy frosts but last summer it rallied and started to grow again. This winter it was blanketed in snow for several weeks and subjected to temperatures that went as low as minus 12 or 14. It now appears to be what is known in rhyming slang as ‘brown bread’. I’ll prune it right back and see if it grows again from the root, but I’m not hopeful.