Sub Rosa
Under the Rose
Growing up in Hampshire, I learned about the Hampshire Rose in primary school. I remember trying to draw it and getting it wrong. There was a correct arrangement of petals and gaps that I could never quite master. Somewhere there was supposed to be a petal where I had drawn a gap and a gap where I had drawn a petal. I remember the frustration of it. Surely roses weren’t supposed to be symmetrical? I have forgotten most of the lesson now but the rose persisted.
I also remember visiting Winchester as a child in the mid 1970’s and standing before a huge, old round table. A really lumpy, old round table, constructed with deep dark wood and painted decoration on it. Looking back, I wonder if I saw it during the great investigation of 1976, when the famous Round Table was taken down from the wall of the Great Hall and placed horizontally in the centre of the room for the first time in centuries. It might have been a school trip or maybe my Dad read about it in the Portsmouth newspaper The News and decided we should go and see it. I can’t remember now.
Memory is sometimes like that. The facts loosen their grip but the feelings remain. Returning to the story as an adult, I discovered that the rose I struggled to draw was not simply the Hampshire Rose but a mixed up memory with the Tudor Rose. The red rose of Lancaster laid over the white rose of York, carrying two histories at once. At the centre of the Round Table in Winchester’s Great Hall, the same rose still sits where generations of Hampshire children have looked up at it and perhaps wondered why the petals refused to behave properly, and which rose was which.
One of the stories attached to the Hampshire Rose is that Hampshire men earned the right to bear it through service to King Henry V around the time of Agincourt. Historians treat this cautiously rather than as established fact, but I find myself hoping it is true. I think that every county deserves a good story.
I discovered another rose story during my explorations. The Romans used the phrase sub rosa - under the rose. Roses hung above banqueting halls and meeting places signified that conversations held under them would remain confidential. What was spoken under the rose stayed under the rose. Over time, roses appeared carved into ceilings and meeting chambers throughout Europe, quietly reminding those gathered beneath them to keep one another’s stories safe.
It struck me that many of the roses in my own life carried meanings that existed under the rose too, not as secrets, exactly, but as a kind of private language.
A rose called Birthday Girl, bought for me by my eldest daughter several years ago, has grown a habit of flowering just in time for my birthday each July. This year, a rose called Ethel, planted in memory of my husband’s aunt Ruth and carrying the affectionate nickname given to her by his late brother, chose my husband’s birthday for its first bloom by the front door.
My second daughter is named Rosie after my maiden aunt Rose, who never had children of her own. I will always remember the expression on her face as she cradled baby Rosie and whispered, “My baby. My baby.” Last year, I bought Rosie a rose of her own for her birthday. Darling Daughter. After my mother’s death, I bought Pamela’s Rose.
I remember making rose perfume with my grandmother from her fragrant rose garden and being unable to wait for it to infuse before lifting the lid to smell it. I have made rose petal jelly and Persian Love Cake scattered with sugared petals. I have dried rosebuds for tea and sent roses to my mother for birthdays and little potted roses for her windowsill.
Recently, I was talking to a gardener who told me how much he enjoys sitting among the plants and flowers given to him by friends, neighbours and family members, many of whom have since died. I understood right away what he meant. I’m hopefully going to share this experience by swapping cuttings.
I remember visiting botanical gardens with my grandparents from Kent, who were very keen gardeners. They often took a secret little tool and emerged, quietly victorious, with a couple of contraband cuttings. I had no idea what this was all about back then but now, aha! Why not share the love between gardens? Please don’t try this at home!
I think that gardens accumulate more than plants, they also accumulate relationships. A birthday in one corner, a friendship in another. Someone missed, another person celebrated. Someone remembered. A much loved place revisited, as my grandparents found ways to create.
Visitors see roses, the gardener sees stories. It might be that all gardens become a little sub rosa eventually. Not secret gardens, just gardens that know more stories than they tell. 🌹
Further reading
Richard Martin
Sub Rosa - Wikipedia, accessed 8/7/2026
