Visitor thinks it is time for Goulburn's roses to be recognised regionally

 I was very surprised  that Goulburn has not been recognised for its extravagant l rose gardens which are such a delight to the visitor  in beauty and in perfumes. 

PRUNING: Yvonne South, Jan Tester and Robyn Rawlinson were pruning roses for the 2017 Rose Festival in Victoria Park. Picture: David Cole.

PRUNING: Yvonne South, Jan Tester and Robyn Rawlinson were pruning roses for the 2017 Rose Festival in Victoria Park. Picture: David Cole.

Bowral has its tulips, Canberra its Floriade, and it is time that the gardeners of Goulburn receive recognition for their years of rose tending – a long  tradition from its English pioneers.

The roses seem to be at home with the native flora and flourish in the dry hot  climate  no doubt needing long hours of saturation and mulching. 

The bushes were absolutely laden with flowers. On some I could not see the branches or the leaves and they attracted so many bees that the bush seemed to buzz with life.

I do hope that no decision to eliminate the roses would be taken as it has been in many country towns, the reason being given is that they ‘take up too much time in care’.

We visited Goulburn on the November 30, and as we got off the train we were met by the fragrant scent of the station roses. 

So instead of taking a cab, we walked to our destination, smelling the roses in the rose gardens as we passed. 

Such a profusion of colour I have never seen.

We have roses in Sydney, but the bushes are sparse with flowers, which wilt quickly due to the high humidity. 

Roses of Goulbourn

Whoever wrote “I didn’t promise you a rose garden’, did not live in Goulbourn:

Where generations of rose petals have livened up the droughts,

Fragrant bushes tucked into dry prickly grasses

With shouts of colour wakening up the dawn.

Cascades of rainbows from garden to garden,

Whorls of velvety membranes, secreting hearts of nectar from curious bees,

Framing stately stone carved buildings that line Goulbourn’s streets

Recalling times of discreet grandeur and wealth.

The roses live on from a neglected history

On proud parade with grevillea, verbena and brush,

Bloom laden bushes among filigree iron,

Pedigree flowers from an English past.

On purple carpets of patterson’s curse

Shy blooms dance to a silent rhythm.

Honey suckle birds are confused by the splendour

Of such lavish memorials to nature’s diversity

As the heat of October parches the town

Rose bushes wake from their winter sleep.

A yearly testimonial to their committed devottees

And once again amaze us with gratitude and grace.