Somewhere there is a garden where the sun shines all day and where the rain falls at night only after the gardener is happily tucked up in bed. I know this place exists, because why else would so many plants come with the advice `plant in well-drained but moist soil in full sun"? Until we find this Arcadian patch, much more useful to gardeners would be a class of vegetation that came with the instruction: "plant in impoverished and dry soil in murky shade". Such plants would be ideal under thirsty trees that hoover water up from the ground and screen the soil under their canopy from both sunlight and quenching rain. And they would be especially welcome now modern gardens have shrunk to pea-sized handkerchiefs over-shadowed by neighbouring houses and bordered by parched dividing walls.
Nature though, has other ideas, and so far has not seen the need to create a garden-worthy plant that actually seeks out this kind of inhospitable habitat. But clever, resourceful gardeners have been moulding nature to their wills for centuries, and - with a bit of extra care - we can persuade a number of beautiful plants to take up residence in the dark, arid wasteland.
Don't get too excited though, because those that agree to grow in dry shade are not the big, noisy performers such as blowsy roses, lively annuals or cloudy, romantic border perennials. No, they are quieter characters, with interesting foliage and muted, reserved flowers such as wood spurge, ivy and periwinkle. About the biggest blast of colour you'll see from this lot are the sugary pink bells of the bergenia - and these in combination with their large leathery leaves give the plant that slightly uncertain look of someone wearing wellingtons with their best nightie.
Many of the plants which grow in shade are woodlanders. In a true woods the ground is covered in a thick, decades-old blanket of rotting leaves, a wonderfully moisture-retentive mulch. But in a domestic patch, fallen leaves are assiduously removed by the gardener or blown away by the wind, and the exposed soil dries out and becomes lifeless. Whatever the reason for your waterless, light-challenged earth, you must rejuvenate it by digging in loads of organic matter: garden compost, leaf mould (if you're lucky enough to have it) or proprietary soil conditioner. Not only will this allow the soil to hold more water, it will also feed the little creatures - from tiny bacteria to fat worms - who live and work in it. These energetic fellows, as they endlessly chomp through and turn over bits and pieces of decaying matter, hold the key to a happy, living soil.
So, having "amended" the soil, as the experts say, it's time to think about planting. Restraint should be the motto for the shady garden: keep it simple and restful, with only a few varieties of plant. My own one-tree woodland (actually, half a tree, since one of its twin trunks recently suffered from die-back) is far too busy and annoys me every time I try to rest my eyes on it.
If the area is under a deciduous tree (one which sheds its leaves in winter), or if it is not in deep, spooky shadow, you can carpet the ground in spring with low-growing gems: acid-yellow winter aconites, virginal snowdrops and Pre-Raphaelite wood anemones. Even if the spot is bathed in gloom, you might want to try these anyway: every garden has a mind of its own - as do many plants, seemingly - and often the only way to see if a plant will thrive in an "iffy" situation is to give it a chance.
If these fail, the autumn-flowering tuber, Cyclamen hederifolium, seems not to mind the deepest and driest shade. It has two seasons of interest: in autumn it launches a flotilla of little white or pink folded-back petals, and follows these with a ground-hugging crop of silvered and marbled, pointed leaves, like deluxe ivy (hederifolium means ivy-leaved) which last through spring.
Common ivy, Hedera helix (sometimes known as English ivy), makes sterling evergreen ground cover: there are around 200 cultivars to choose from (although your local garden centre might sell only "Goldheart" and one or two others). And Irish ivy H. hibernica, also evergreen, and with broader leaves, comes in a number of varieties. More carpeting greenery is found in the periwinkles (Vinca), which have occasional, five-petalled bluish or purple flowers starrily decorating its long, trailing stems.
Another evergreen plant which grows in the most intimidating sites is a variation of wood spurge, engagingly called Mrs Robb's Bonnet, but more widely known as the near-unpronounceable Euphorbia amygdaloides var. robbiae. About 18
24 inches tall, and with glossy, dark-green leaves all round the stem, it produces peculiar, lime-green, cupped flowers in early spring that last for weeks and weeks. This, along with the frothy-flowered lady's mantle (Alchemilla mollis), inhabits the parched earth under some of my evergreen shrubs.
The Japanese anemones bloom on tall, wiry stems from summer until late autumn and are well able for dry shade. The whiteflowered "Honorine Jobert" is good for brightening a dark corner. So also is Iris foetidissima "Variegata", grown for its stiff white-and-green striped leaves, rather than for its infrequent, dirty mauve flowers.
And lastly, a tribe of fashionplants that I hope will reign forever are the bamboos. Those which will grow in the tenebrous desert (given a good, fertile, manure-laden headstart) are Sasa veitchii and various members of the Pleioblastus and Fargesia genera. True, some are invasive, but perhaps that's not a bad thing for the lazy. A bamboo-dominated zone is preferable to one overrun with that evergreen, ever present, unkillable duo - spotted laurel and Euonymus "Emerald 'n' Gold".