A drop of good cheer

Indeed, once the snowdrops had forced their way to the surface, they put on a show that was a fitting rude gesture to the weeks of snow and ice.

Now it's the turn of the daffodils and the tulips, but anyone who still can't forget the image of those carpets of snowdrops could be forgiven for wanting to thank the little flower for its fortitude.

So, plant a few before they do fade from the memory.

Strange though it may seem, Galanthus can be planted now because they will fare far better than the wrinkled little dry bulbs offered for sale later in the year for autumn planting.

Those sad apologies for a splendid spring flower take time to acclimatise whereas bulbs planted now – in the green – which is a way of saying when they have finished flowering but are still heavy with foliage, will carry on as though nothing has happened to disturb them.

For that reason, many gardeners wait until the last flower has bloomed, then they dash out, lift and divide clumps, and replant them. It's a cheap, simple way of propagation, ensuring an increased display of flowers next year.

Snowdrops like shady spots, under trees, in grass, but they are capable of growing and thriving just about anywhere – and they will even tolerate alkaline soils.

There are scores of varieties, many derived from the common snowdrop,

G nivalis, ranging in size from the truly miniature to the tall-growing forms which, on a good day, and if they are standing to attention, may make the six-inch mark.

Like all bulbs, they are self-cannibalising, feeding on their own foliage to replenish their food reserves for next season, so leave the leaves alone until they have yellowed.

Cut them down early and you are likely to have a poorer showing next year.