The ancient Greeks were absolutely right to call dianthus the divine flower. While feasting my eyes on a bed with magnificently flowering iris, hemerocallis and a stunning Guinee rose, they’re drawn irresistibly to my little alpine Dianthus Star Gazer.

It was thought the upward-facing alpine pinks were looking towards the gods.

An alpine pink’s eye is always a different colour from the rest of the petals and it’s Star Gazer’s deep, near-black centre surrounded by soft, slightly frilly white petals that casts the spell.

Gardeners have been crossing dianthus for many centuries and most of the ones we grow today come from the Mediterranean species, Dianthus caryophyllus, the wild carnation, and Dianthus barbatus, Sweet William. Others are from the central European species, Dianthus plumarius.

Star Gazer is a gem, as is Evening Star. Its deep maroon eye blends subtly with surrounding pale electric-pink petals.

One of the many dianthus species, D deltoides is native to Scotland, growing in the east from Berwickshire to Moray. The plant favours open situations and neutral or alkaline soil. It’s a poor competitor, so you’ll get a special treat coming across its small bright pink flower while out walking. Sadly though, it’s unscented.

When selecting breeding stock, nurserymen have always worked on the special clove scent of many dianthus. And interestingly, the Arabic word for clove, quaranful, became corrupted in Scots to gillieflower, a word that was applied to all clove-scented flowers such as dianthus, wallflower and stocks.

For many centuries, dianthus plants have also been called pinks. In Scots, this originally meant something very small, just like our pinkie finger.

In dressmaking, pinking described the process of cutting small holes and patterns in an outer garment to reveal the colour of garments underneath. These cut-outs were often shaped like a dianthus petal. In time, a dianthus flower was also called pink.

Continuing my language lesson, in the 18th century pink started to be applied to the colour as well. Astonishingly, there had been no word for pink before then, it was often described as “red meddled [mixed] with white”.

When pink was becoming a colour, carnations were being painstakingly produced by battalions of garden labourers for the big hoose.

Nowadays, only commercial horticulturists and exhibitors are prepared to tackle perpetual-flowering and Malmaison carnations.

But lesser mortals in the 18th century were just as keen on dianthus, but not ones that were such a sweat to look after. Paisley weavers bred varieties like Paisley Gem and other old cultivars like Cockenzie Pink and Maybole are still on the go.

Modern, old-fashioned and alpine pinks, not to mention border carnations, now offer us an almost limitless choice of dianthus cultivars.

Although most are quite hardy, I certainly lost some last winter and, in any case, dianthus is a short-lived perennial. So, if like me, you’ve got your favourites, take cuttings now for next year. It’s easy.

Use a sharp knife to cut off the top 10cm of a non-flowering shoot; remove all the lower leaves, leaving a small tuft at the top.

Fill a clay pot with a mix of compost and coarse grit and insert the cuttings 2-3cm into the compost, round the edge of the pot.

Place the pot on a tray, water thoroughly, then let surplus drain away. Store in a cool, shady place. Keep the soil moist but not wet and after three to four weeks, very gently tug the cuttings. If they resist, the roots are large enough to transplant.

Also sow Sweet William seed, D barbatus, just now for next year’s show.

Plant of the week

STRAWBERRY EMILY

Dark red fruits and a

delicious tangy flavour.

The plants are erect and

bushy so the berries are

held well. Emily crops even

earlier than Honeoye.