Under-plant the weeping birch with bold swathes of white snowdrops (the more the merrier) and it will make a dazzling white-on-white, wintry display, which will look even more magical if the ground is covered with a dusting of snow.

Ideally suited for woodlands where the soil is reasonably rich and doesn’t get too dry, you can also try this winning combination in a more formal garden setting where there is ample room for the tree to spread.

You could bump it up and extend the seasonal display further by mixing in some Helleborus × hybridus Harvington white, Cyclamen hederifolium var. hederifolium f. albiflorum or white flowering crocus too. In summer create a carpet of shade-tolerant foliage under the birch with something that has an attractive leaf with just a touch of white. Athyrium filix-femina or Hosta 'Francee' (fortunei) would be ideal.

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It was one of the first trees to grow after the last ice age and it is still considered a pioneer of the plant world today, as it is so quick to appear in newly cleared ground. Because of this, it has long been regarded a symbol of fertility and rebirth. It has been used to adorn churches during Whitsuntide, make maypoles for people to dance around, and sprigs have been given to newlyweds after wedding ceremonies. Its sap can been used to make wine, and its wood burns readily and smells wonderful when it does, so is often used for smoking hams and herrings.

Why I like it:

It is one of our most beautiful native trees, and in mid winter when the white, papery bark seems to glow in the low light, it can look very serene and a little ethereal. The early spring catkins are attractive too. When the leaves are out, they shimmy tantalisingly on the slender branches in the slightest breeze, and the canopy is not so dense as to become overpowering and oppressive.

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Lifting the spirits at the tail end of winter. It has been hailed as a symbol of hope since biblical times, when legend has it that an angel turned some of the snowflakes on the ground into snowdrops to show Adam and Eve that the winter was coming to an end. It is unclear when they first came to our shores. They are frequently found in large numbers in old monasteries, which has led some to believe that the monks brought them over from Italy in the 15th Century, and they were first recorded in Gerard’s Herbal in 1597. It is also said that the soldiers fighting in the Crimean War found them so beautiful, they dug up the bulbs and brought them home to plant in their own gardens.

Why I like it:

I always feel that the nodding white flowers, which often have to push up through a crusty layer of snow, are one of the first signs of spring, so seeing them always makes me happy. Of course they look their most impressive when naturalised in great swathes through grass or open woodland, but they will still look lovely in a more modest setting like a tiny patio or window box. Planting them in the green like this (ie potted up and actively growing) will guarantee a better success rate too, as the bulbs tend to dry out quite quickly once they are lifted and you often get some that die off.

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Forming naturalistic drifts through a woodland floor of filling gaps at the front of the border. It looks its best in late winter and early spring so it also makes a great planting companion to less glamorous deciduous shrubs that are looking pretty dowdy right now. Try under-planting it with spring flowering bulbs, which will push their way up through the handsome, evergreen foliage to add even more oomph to the seasonal display.

Why I like it:

This is a tough, low maintenance plant that doesn’t need much attention, but will still put on a great show. It is a more unusual form, and I think the flowers are enchanting - although their colour can be slightly variable as the plants are propagated by seed. Despite being toxic, they have been used for centuries in all sorts of herbal remedies and even some magic potions. I would certainly not advise eating them though as it has been said that a hellebore may have caused the demise of Alexander the Great.

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Since it was first spotted growing in a Gloucestershire hedgerow by an eagle eyed enthusiast in the 1860’s, this sport of our native hazel has been delighting gardeners, who value it for its weird and wacky stems. When in leaf it looks a little like a tangled and untidy mess, so make sure you mix it into a shrub border with other plants that can steal the limelight throughout summer. In winter however when the last of the leaves have fallen, the devilishly twisted and contorted branches will create oodles of architectural interest. The stems also look good when added to cut flower arrangements, especially when the late winter catkins dangle from the branches like golden icicles.

Why I like it:

When this unassuming shrub reveals its skeleton of twisted stems in autumn it is just like Cinderella finally going to the ball. It looks particularly good immediately after rain, when beads of water collect like casually strew diamonds along its branches, or as it is backlit by a slowly sinking sun. Under-plant with some of the early spring bulbs such as snowdrops or crocus, or a dark coloured hellebore like the one above, which will contrast well with the golden catkins.

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If you live in the south, or have a very sheltered garden with soil that doesn’t hold too much water, you can plant these trees straight into the ground outside, which is where they will be happiest. If on the other hand you live in a colder part of the country, then pop it into a really large pot filled with ericaceous compost and you will have something really unusual for your unheated conservatory or greenhouse.

Why I like it:

They remind me of the place I grew up. There, they would grow in profusion and fill the countryside with great dollops of colour in late winter. Their puffy yellow flowers form in great, scented clusters that look like miniature pompoms dripping from the branches, and they create a truly spectacular show. Here, where evergreen trees seem to be few and far between, I think they are valuable not only for their flowers, but also for their feathery grey-green foliage that doesn’t disappear in autumn.

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An exquisite Camellia that has beautifully formed, formal flowers. Each blush pink petal has a darker edge so the flowers have a picotee effect, which is very beautiful. It is well suited to woodland planting schemes, and as long as it is growing in acidic soil with reliable moisture, it is pretty low maintenance. Camellias make wonderful plants for pots and containers and even this tall growing variety will be happy cooped up in a very large pot if it is kept well fed and watered.

Why I like it:

When they were first brought to the UK from the Far East a couple of hundred years ago, Camellias were considered rare and exotic beauties. These days, they have become a garden staple, and sit very near the top of the ‘must-have’ list. Their dark, evergreen silhouette provides structure and interest throughout the year and they are quite tolerant of shade - in fact they prefer not to be touched by the first rays of the morning sun. Best of all though, they provide some very beautiful flowers, which illuminate the darker months of the year. Brilliant!