The snowdrops are in full flower their seemingly delicate bells nodding in the vigorous wind that is the last gasp of the third great storm to batter the garden. Only seemingly because they are as tough as tempered steel as they shoot up through frozen soil.

Snowdrops aren’t true natives for these great survivors broke out of our gardens centuries ago and now they are ‘naturalised’ appearing in fat clumps beneath roadside hedges and drifting down grassy banks.

In my garden I look through the great arch that leads to the orchard and snowdrops lie like drifts of snow. To give them their Latin name, these are Galanthus nivalis with great clumps of the double G. nivalis ‘flora pleno’ mingled in. I do love these doubles for their inner tunic is so crammed with petals that they stick out like tutus on a ballerina. In the very centre of the arch there is an imposing drift that stands head and shoulders above the rest and these are either ‘S. Arnott’ or ‘Brenda Troyle’ for I have both and they have mixed and mingled all along this side of the hedge until I cannot tell one from the other.

What I need is a true Galanthophile to come along, look solemnly at me and then examine these lovely cultivars of G. plicatus, which is bigger in all its parts, and tell me what is what. This, the largest of the snowdrops, was brought back by soldiers returning from the Crimean War but it is dedicated breeders who have crossed plicatus with nivalis to produce both Sam Arnott and Brenda. You see, I dearly love snowdrops but I can hardly call myself a Galanthophile, which translates as ‘a lover of snowdrops’ because that is a person who will examine each flower minutely noticing subtle differences in form that I fail to see.

Not all differences are so subtle and some are so enchanting that they would turn anyone into a Galanthophile in an instant. Pictured here is one of the most delightful of its tribe, the tribe being G. elwesii and the tribal member being ‘Grumpy’. How I would love to own this little snowdrop with its big eyes and downturned mouth but to own this little gem you must have deep pockets as, indeed you must for the most desirable cultivars. The late and much missed Sydney Thomas gave me a little pot containing some precious bulbs of the snowdrop ‘Merlin’ with its totally green tunic beneath large white petals. It was a princely gift and one that I treasure because of its association.

Should you, too, fall in love with ‘Grumpy’ you will find your pocket lighter by £25 for a single bulb. Welcome to the world of Galanthophilia but you can buy G. nivalis ‘in the green’ which simply means in growth, right now. This is the time of year too to split any clumps replanting in little groups of three or more and sooner than you can imagine you too, will possess a great drift of these charming little flowers.