The Complete Guide to the Meaning and Story of Black Tulips

The black tulip is one of the flower colors of the tulip, a plant in the lily family. It was cultivated by 3 students from Singapore Polytechnic in early February 2005, and is commonly known as the “Night Queen.” It is one of the rare tulip varieties, and this flower color is still rarely seen on the market. Below, let us take a look together at what the flower language of the black tulip is!

The Flower Language of the Black Tulip

Because the black tulip is purple-black, it has a rather mysterious feel, and represents mystery, eeriness, and death. Flower language: unique leadership power, mystery, nobility, chivalric spirit (or melancholy love, beautiful yet sorrowful love).

The Origin of the Black Tulip

The black tulip originates from the northern and southern coasts of the Mediterranean, Central Asia, Iran, Turkey, and eastward to Northeast China.

The Story of the Black Tulip

In the last winter of the German occupation, the weather in the Netherlands was unusually cold, food was scarce, and the people, suffering from hunger and cold, began to eat small animals and other things they would not normally think of putting in their mouths. Someone discovered that tulip bulbs could be eaten, just like potatoes or onions.

For centuries, my mother——the Van der Voort family——had been famous for its superb skill in cultivating tulips, and many people in the village depended on their family for a living. The “Van der Voort” tulip bulbs they cultivated were exported overseas in large quantities. The family's reputation was known far and wide. But the war destroyed all of this.

In that hungry winter, my grandfather Arnoldis contributed all the bulbs to the hungriest people in the village. All of them, except for a few incomparable bulbs. For many years, my grandfather had worked hard trying to cultivate a black tulip. Before him, no flower grower had ever succeeded, and he had come very close to success. He guarded those few tulip bulbs like treasures to keep them from being stolen to fill someone's stomach, even by family members. Because eating them would only fill a family's tooth gaps, yet would destroy his chance to make a comeback after the war and revive the whole village.

One day, the underground radio announced that the war was over. People were overjoyed. But harder trials came. The German army, which had occupied our country for five years, began to retreat battalion by battalion. As they retreated, some soldiers, while fleeing in panic toward Germany, looted and plundered along the way. Everywhere one looked, there was devastation. The Dutch still lived in dire suffering.

My grandfather looked at his pale, weak children and thought that perhaps it was time to give his precious bulbs to the children to eat, since that would still be better than having them fall into the hands of the plundering German soldiers. After hours of painful deliberation, he picked up a shovel and walked into the garden. There he saw my mother. At that time, my mother was only seven years old, her face flushed and her expression agitated: “Papa, Papa, I have to tell you something.” Over her shoulder, my grandfather saw a group of drunken, looting soldiers walking in the direction of their home. He told my mother to go back inside and began desperately digging up his tulip bulbs. Again and again, his shovel came up empty. It was too late; someone had already stolen them. Frantic with shock and rage, my grandfather rushed into the street and shouted himself hoarse: “They stole my tulip bulbs!” My mother ran up crying and shouting to stop him. Before she could reach him, a German soldier raised his gun and opened fire on him. Although Germany had already signed the surrender agreement, the curfew was still in effect. My grandfather's action violated the curfew.

My grandfather survived the ordeal and slowly recovered his health. At last he was able to leave his sickbed, but he only stood by the window, gazing at his garden without saying a word. Strangely, my mother also began to become quiet and withdrawn, even though before the war she had been such a lively and cheerful child.

Until one day, my grandfather noticed that something was quietly sprouting beneath the broken bricks and tiles. He pointed out the tender green new leaves to my mother. My mother was stunned for a long while, then suddenly burst into hysterical loud sobbing. In broken sobs, she told my grandfather that those were his black tulip bulbs. My grandfather held my mother tightly in his arms and listened in astonishment to her story.