I planted this rose to climb up a pergola between to Sombreuil planted on either end. William Morris dutifully climbed up, shooting up large, rather stiff and heavily armed canes. From these may branches emerged and lovely coppery pink flowers came in flushes throughout the season. The flowers lasted a long time, but did not clean well and had to be deadheaded to avoid looking at brown mummies. The blooms were scentless, but very charming as they nodded down from their rather weak necks.

You will not the past tense in my description. That is because William Morris, like it's parent Abraham Darby, proved a martyr to rust. The plant simply became a giant rusty mess and had to be removed. The thorns put up a fight as it headed to the compost bin, but I was not sorry to see it go. Since it's removal, other roses in the garden have not suffered from rust as much. William Morris was a sort of "Typhoid Mary" for rust, apparently. Therefore, despite it's other good points and the charm of it's flowers, I cannot recommend it to anyone by my worst enemy.