Leon Kluge: The Pride of Franschhoek

This story begins with a blushing bride and her bodyguard. 

In 1914, Professor Harold Pearson attended a local flower show in Franschhoek. Under these unassuming circumstances, he stumbled upon a flower that contemporary botanists thought to be extinct Serurria florida, the blushing bride. 

By Mia McCarthy

The scientific record shows that Serruria florida was officially catalogued by Carl Peter Thunberg, a Swedish mentee of Carl Linnaeus, in the Franschhoek Mountains in 1773. The delicate protea promptly disappeared from scientific annals for over a century before its (disputed) rediscovery by Pearson. 

Though Pearson may not have been the first to observe the skaamblom since its purported extinction, he was the first to collect the handful of seeds that would go on to germinate thousands of plants grown at the Kirstenbosch Gardens, not to mention the millions of blushing brides that have since circulated in the commercial cut-flower industry. Dedicated security guards were posted outside the Kirstenbosch glasshouse where these precious seeds ripened and bloomed into the source of almost every cultivated specimen available in the world. 

Ironically, even though the blushing bride — also known as the pride of Franschhoek — is a regular fixture in bridal bouquets and grocery-store-variety floral arrangements, only about thirty Serurria flora plants remain in their natural habitat. This, maintains award-winning landscaper and Franschhoek local Leon Kluge, is why botanical gardens are so important: they are the living libraries of our national botanical identity.  

“It’s very Dr. Seussy blomme that we have over here,” remarks Kluge with a chuckle, describing the distinctly zany shapes and textures unique to proteas and increasingly sought after in the global horticultural market. South Africa is one of the few countries in the world represented by a floral emblem that is endemic to the region, he points out. England has the rose, but the rose is native to China. Holland has the tulip, but the tulip is native to Turkey.

Rather sadly, our national botanical signature is under threat of being erased and appropriated by countries like Australia. Although Australia is home to distant Proteaceae cousins like banksias and waratahs, the local cut flower market is ravenous for true proteas, which belong wholly to South Africa.  

“It’s our fynbos, and they’re producing so much more of it in their countries for the cut flower industry and the pot plant industry than us here, which is — for me — very painful to see,” mourns Kluge. “That’s also a big reason why we take it to the world stage,” he says, referring to the RHS Chelsea Flower Show where his team has won top awards for three years running. “We introduce new proteas every year on stage for people to come and see, and hopefully buy from the farmers that we have.”  

To be clear, Kluge has nothing against appreciating exogenous plants. “I’m not against exotics at all,” he assures me. “I love all plants, to be fair, and my garden has something of everything.” Still, South African farmers deserve the proper credit and market share for their hard-earned blooms. Plus, from a conservation perspective, it’s concerning that there are sometimes more indigenous plants to be found in international cut flower markets than in their natural habitat, or even in local botanical gardens.

“Botanical gardens, for me, are not just a place to go and have a wonderful time,” says Kluge, whose father and grandfather both served as curators of the Lowveld National Botanical Garden and the Harold Porter National Botanical Garden, respectively. “A botanical garden is like the library of botanical knowledge — not just botanical knowledge in books or on paper, but also as live specimens.” 

Though South African botanical gardens are often the beloved scene of family picnics and nuptial photographs, they are also rich with rare treasures. The Durban Botanic Gardens house the loneliest plant in the world, Wood’s Cycad, the only known male specimen of its kind since its discovery in 1908. The Arderne Gardens in Cape Town boast a Moreton Bay Fig and an Aleppo Pine of Champion Tree status. Until recently, the glasshouses at Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens were the hallowed sanctuaries of the world’s most extensive Erica and Protea collections; now, the South African National Biodiversity Institute (Sanbi) is under intense public scrutiny after local naturalist James Deacon raised the alarm about chronic mismanagement that, if left unaddressed, could lead to the preventable extinction of multiple species.

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Kirstenbosch remains a significant attraction for locals and tourists alike, but the beguiling face of the garden masks a confluence of internal failures and external pressures that threaten its conservational duties. Rare plants lie unlabelled and rotting in unattended trays, the public seed room is closed, and Kirstenbosch no longer produces its Index Seminum, the catalogue used to exchange seeds with other botanical gardens across the world — a far cry from the presidential treatment once awarded to the Serruria florida seeds all the way back in 1914. 

These developments, while tragic, highlight the significant role of the public in the preservation of our botanical heritage. Specialised expertise is essential, but conservation is practised by everyone from amateur gardeners to seasoned botanists. This is partly why Kluge creates accessible, short-form educational videos on local flower species on social media: he aims to encourage South Africans to notice the precious world around us. 

“We have so many incredible plants in SA, so many, but there’s something called green blindness — it’s where you drive and see all the green and it looks really pretty, and you take little photos and say, ‘Oh wow, don’t we live in a nice place?’. But it could be canola, it could be grapes, or it could just be grasses. There’s no deep-rooted interest in what is underneath, and what real special things we have here,” says Kluge, describing how agricultural diversity can be mistaken for biodiversity by casual drivers-by. His solution? Shine a spotlight on individual plants.

“Give it a bit of personality,” he says. “Give the plant its own little diva-ness. And also talk about the plant and its relationship with other plants, animals, or humans for that matter. And suddenly, people look closer at that plant and say, ‘Oh, that’s very interesting. I never thought about that.’” 

By describing the individual profile of local plants and demonstrating how precarious our world-renowned biodiversity really is, Kluge hopes to encourage locals to defend our unique habitats. If SANBI is no longer in a position to appoint bodyguards to its seeds, then the public must rise as determined guardians of our local flora. 

Kluge’s hikes to meadows and marshes are not just for educational purposes. This is also where he finds creative inspiration for the public and private gardens he has designed across the world. “I look at how flowers work together texturally,” he says. “Some plants hug each other; they’re nice, peaceful friends or neighbours in the landscape.” 

Taking his cues from the symbiosis he observes in nature, Kluge designs layered gardens and floral displays that appeal to a growing international appreciation for harmony between people and plants. Gardens once represented control over wilderness; now, demand is soaring for gardens that attract pollinators, shelter local fauna, and even help “rewild” sections of public parks and farms.

You can also visit some of the gardens he has had a hand in designing at Hazendal Wine Estate, Klein Constantia Manor House, Angala Boutique Hotel, and all Singita Lodges.