The myrtle is a lovely shrub. Shiny green leaves about an inch long and, just at this time almost covered on its 10-foot height with sweet-smelling, smallish, white flowers. All this offset by handsome cinnamon bark. Some authorities say it was probably first introduced to Britain from southern Europe by the Romans and re-introduced in the 16th century. When it came here, don't know. But it has always been associated with the goddess of love and often included in bridal bouquets. Sprigs of it are said to be planted by the bridesmaids but never by the bride. Was it bad luck, or too presumptuous for her?
It is not hardy, but, in this particular case, grows well and flowers well in the protection of a few bigger shrubs, including an arbutus. The books tell you that this is myrtus communis and that sometimes the flowers are followed by purple-black ovoid fruits. Nobody tells you if they are edible or poisonous. We'll work on the assumption that they should be classified with laurel fruits and avoided. The foliage itself, by the way, was mentioned somewhere as being fragrant, too, and when you crush a leaf in your hand you may get a fresh, perhaps lemony hint.
As to the wedding bouquet being planted, or a sprig of it, Dr Hessayon, the man who produces so many gardening books, tells us that a sprig from Queen Victoria's wedding bouquet planted in a royal house on the Isle of Wight has flourished and served down to the present-day royals. But nearer home: is it not a fact that when the Allens - Ivan and Myrtle - moved to their splendid Ballymaloe House, they brought with them a myrtle bush from their previous home? And that it stands and flourishes down there still? And did the original slip come from her bridal bouquet? Must ask again. This is a busy summertime.
And wise people, when they have to move house, do well to bring with them, by agreement, of course, favourite plants. Vines, for example. On one occasion a removal van had a vine, with all its roots, strung over the furniture in the interior. It lived and flourished, and still flourishes. Yes, a slip would have done - but what the hell?