ORCHARDS--APPLES--CIDER--PERRY.
"Lo! sweetened with the summer light,
The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow
Drops in a silent autumn night."
--_The Lotus-Eaters_.
A curious old punning Latin line, illustrating various meanings of the
word _malus_, an apple, seems appropriate, as a commencement, to
writing about apples; it is I think very little known, and too good to
be forgotten. _Malo, malo, malo, malo_; it is translated thus:
"_Malo_, I would rather be,
_Malo_, in an apple-tree,
_Malo_, than a bad boy,
_Malo_, in adversity."
The fruit was an important item on the Aldington Manor Farm, and when
later I bought an adjoining farm of seventy acres with orcharding, and
had planted nine acres of plum trees, my total fruit area amounted to
about thirty acres. There was a saying in the neighbourhood which
pleased me greatly, that "it was always harvest at Aldington"; it was
not so much intended to signify that there was always something coming
in, as to convey an impression of the constant activity and employment
of labour that continued throughout the seasons without intermission,
though it was true that with the diversity of my crops and stock,
there was a more or less continuous return. I had a shock when an old
friend in a neighbouring village spoke of me as a "pomologist," the
title seemed much too distinguished, and personally I have never
claimed the right to anything better than the rather pretty old title
of "orchardist."
The position of an orchard is of the utmost importance; shelter is
necessary, but it must be above the ordinary spring frost level of the
district. I should say that no orchard should be less than 150 feet
above sea-level, to be fairly safe, and 200 feet would in nearly any
ordinary spring be quite secure against frost. The climate has a
remarkable effect upon the colour of apples, and colour is one of the
most valuable of market properties, for the ordinary town buyer is a
poor judge of the merits of apples and prefers colour and size to most
other considerations. Here in the south of England seven miles from
the sea, in a dry and sunny climate, all apples develop a much more
brilliant colour than in the moist climate of the Vale of Evesham.
I fear that very few planters of fruit trees think of following the
routine which Virgil describes in his second _Georgic_, as practised
by the careful orchardist, when transplanting. Dryden's translation is
as follows:
"Some peasants, not t' omit the nicest care,
Of the same soil their nursery prepare
With that of their plantation; lest the tree,
Translated should not with the soil agree.
Beside, to plant it as it was, they mark
The heav'ns four quarters on the tender bark,
And to the north or south restore the side,
Which at their birth did heat or cold abide:
So strong is custom; such effects can use
In tender souls of pliant plants produce."
Virgil was born in the year 70 B.C., and died, age 51, in 19 B.C., so
that over nineteen centuries have elapsed since these words were
written; as he was an excellent farmer, he would not have mentioned
the practice unless he considered the advice sound. It is quite
possible that the vertical cracking of the bark on one side of a young
transplanted tree may be due to a change from the cool north aspect to
the heat of the south. At any rate the experiment is well worth
trying, and nurserymen would not find it much trouble to run a chalk
line down the south side of each tree, when lifting them, as a guide
for the purchaser.
As showing how conservative is the popular demand for apples, Cox's
Orange Pippin, which is absolutely unapproached for flavour, and is
perfectly sound and eatable from early in November till Easter if
carefully picked at the right moment and properly stored, was
cultivated thirty or forty years before the British public discovered
its extraordinary qualities! I find it described as one of the best
dessert apples in Dr. Hogg's _Fruit Manual_, and my copy is the third
edition published in 1866, so it must have been well known to him some
years previously, though we never heard much about it until after the
twentieth century came in. Though the colour, when well grown, is
highly attractive to the connoisseur, the ordinary buyer did not
readily take to it as it is rather small. In 1917 Cox's Orange Pippin,
however, really came into its own; I myself, here in the New Forest,
grew over 3,000 pounds on about 120 trees planted in 1906, each branch
pruned as a _cordon_, and very thinly dispersed, and the trees
restricted to a height of about 14 feet. The apples were mostly sold
in Covent Garden at 6d. a pound, clear of railway carriage and
salesmen's commission. In 1918, a year of great scarcity, these apples
were selling in the London shops up to 3s. 6d. apiece! Now that its
reputation is fully established, it is likely to be many years before
it becomes relatively low in price, as the foreign apples of this kind
cannot compare in flavour with those grown in our own orchards. I
appreciate the man whose attention was wholly given to some
particularly dainty dish, and, being bored at the table by a
persistent talker, gently said, "Hush! and let me _listen_ to the
flavour."
As an early market apple there is none more popular than the Worcester
Pearmain, first grown in the early eighties by Messrs. R. Smith and
Co., of Worcester, and said to be a cross between King of the Pippins
and the old Quarrenden (nearly always called Quarantine). It is a most
attractive fruit--brilliant in colour, medium size, with pleasant
brisk flavour--and is an early and regular bearer. I recognized its
possibilities as soon as I saw it, and getting all the grafts I could
collect, and they were very scarce at the time, I had the branches of
some of my old worthless trees cut off, and set my old grafter to
convert them into Worcester Pearmains; they soon came into bearing and
produced abundant and profitable crops.
This apple is not much use for keeping beyond a month or so, as it
soon loses its crisp texture and distinctive flavour, and it is its
earliness and colour that makes it so popular in its season. Its
regularity as a bearer is due to its early maturity; it can be picked
in August, which allows plenty of time, in favourable weather, for
next year's fruit buds to develop before winter; whereas with the late
sorts these buds have very little chance to mature while the current
year's fruit is ripening, with the result that a blank season nearly
always follows an abundant yield. The Worcester Pearmain is so highly
decorative, with its large pale pink and white blossoms in spring and
its glowing red fruit in autumn, that it would be worth growing for
these qualities alone in the amateur's garden, and in any case it is
an apple that nobody should be without.
An old apple, not sufficiently known, is the Rosemary Russet; it has
the distinctive russet-bronze colouring, always indicative of flavour,
with a rosy flush on the sunny side, and Dr. Hogg describes it further
as, "flesh yellow, crisp, tender, very juicy, sugary and highly
aromatic--a first-rate dessert apple, in use from December to
February." In my opinion it comes next, though _longo intervallo_, to
Cox's Orange Pippin, but it wants good land to make the best of it. It
may with confidence be produced as a rarity across the walnuts and the
wine to the connossieur in apples.
In Covent Garden Market King Pippins are known as "Kings"; Cox's
Orange Pippins as "C.O.P.'s"; Cellinis as "Selinas"; Kerry pippins as
"Careys"; _Court pendu plat_ as "Corpendus"; and the pear, _Joséphine
de Malines_ as "Joseph on the palings"! The Wellington is sold as
"Wellington," but in the markets of the large northern towns it is
known as "Normanton Wonder."
In Worcestershire St. Swithin's Day, July 15, is called
"apple-christening day," when a good rain often gives a great impetus
to their growth, and a little later great quantities of small apples
may be seen under the trees; this is Nature's method of limiting the
crop to reasonable proportions, the weak ones falling off and the
fittest surviving. The inexperienced grower may be somewhat alarmed by
this apparent destruction of his prospects, but the older hand knows
better, and my bailiff always said: "When I sees plenty of apples
under the trees about midsummer, I knows there'll be plenty to pick
towards Michaelmas."
The Blenheim Orange was the leading apple at Aldington; some kind
person had, sixty or seventy years before my time, planted a number of
trees which had thrived wonderfully on that rich land. The Blenheim is
a nice dessert apple and a splendid "cooker"; the trees take many
years to come into bearing, and then they make up for lost time.
Nature is never in a hurry to produce her best results. As a market
apple the Blenheim has a great reputation; if an Evesham fruit dealer
was asked if he could do with any apples, his first question was
always: "Be 'em Blemmins?"
"September blow soft till the fruit's in the loft," is the prayer of
all apple growers; it is pitiful to see, after a roaring gale, the
ground strewn with beautiful fruit, bruised and broken, useless to
keep, and only suitable for carting away to the all-devouring
cider-mill, though, even for that purpose, the sweet Blenheim does not
produce nearly so good a drink as sourer accredited cider varieties.
Many of the gardening papers will name apples if sent by readers for
identification; I was told of an enquirer who sent twelve apples from
the same tree, and received eleven different names and one "unknown"!
Apples off the same tree do differ wonderfully, but I can scarcely
credit this story.
It was the custom formerly at Aldington to sell the fruit on the trees
by auction for the buyer to pick and market, growers as a rule being
too busy with corn-harvest to attend to the gathering. A considerable
sum was thereby often sacrificed, as the buyer allows an ample margin
for risks, and is not willing to give more than about half of what he
expects to receive ultimately. I discontinued the auction sales early
in my farming, preferring to take the risks myself, and having plenty
of labour available. It is instructive too to know how individual
trees are bearing, and the sorts which produce the best returns.
Except for the choicest fruit, I consider London the worst market, and
I could do better, as a rule, by sending my consignments to
Manchester, Liverpool, Sheffield, and Glasgow; the latter especially
for large coarse stuff. London is more critical, pays well for the
very best, but requires apples to be carefully graded, and the grades
separately packed; London is, moreover, naturally well supplied by the
southern counties.
At the auctions the competition was generally keen, there being much
rivalry between the buyers; and it was good for the sellers when
political parties were opposed to each other, for in those days
Evesham was inclined to be rather violent in such matters. I remember
a lively contest between Conservatives and Radicals, when my largest
orchard--about six acres--was sold to the champion of the former for
£210, and the Radical exclaimed, as the lot was knocked down, for
everybody to hear: "He offered me £10 before the sale to stand out,
now that £10 is in Mr. S.'s pocket!"
A few strong gales in the winter are supposed to benefit apple-trees,
acting as a kind of root pruning; but sometimes, when they are getting
old, they come down bodily with a crash, partly uprooted, though even
then they may be resuscitated for a time. We had a powerful set of
pulley tackle by which, when made fast to a neighbouring tree, they
could be restored to the perpendicular, after enlarging the hole left
by the roots, making the ground firm again round the tree, and placing
a strong sloping prop to take the weight on the weak side; good yields
would then often continue for some years.
When the pickers had gathered the crop, by an ancient custom all the
village children were allowed to invade the orchards for the purpose
of getting for themselves any apples overlooked. This practice is
called "scragging," but it is a custom that would perhaps be better
honoured in the breach than in the observance, for hob nails do not
agree with the tender bark of young trees. Like gleaning, or
"leasing," as it is called, it is nevertheless a pleasant old custom,
and seems to give the children huge delight.
Mistletoe did not find my apple-trees congenial, there was only one
piece on all my fruit land, and it was regarded as something of a
curiosity. But in other parts of the neighbourhood it flourished
abundantly, though I noticed that it was most frequent where the land
was poorer and the trees not so luxuriant. It was also to be seen on
tall black poplars, and I have a piece--planted purposely--on a
hawthorn in my garden here. It grows in parts of the Forest,
especially on the white-beams in Sloden, in curiously small detached
pieces like lichen. The white-beam was a favourite tree of the Romans
for the wood-work of agricultural implements, being tough and strong.
Mistletoe is quite easy to propagate by rubbing the glutinous berries
and their seeds on the under side of a small branch at the angle where
it joins a limb. There it will often flourish unless snapped up by a
wandering missel-thrush. It is very slow in growth, but, when it
attains a fair size, is strikingly pretty in winter when the tree is
otherwise bare, for its peculiar shade of faded green, with its white
and glistening berries, makes an unusual effect--quite different from
that of any other green thing. It is rare on the oak, and, possibly
for that reason, the Druids regarded the oak upon which it grew as
sacred.
The transition from apples to cider is a natural one, and cider is a
great institution in Worcestershire. On all the larger farms, and in
every village, an ancient cider-mill can be found. It consists of a
circular block of masonry, perhaps ten feet in diameter, the outer
circumference of which is a continuous stone trough, about 18 inches
across, and 15 inches deep, called "the chase," in which a huge
grindstone, weighing about 15 cwt., revolves slowly, actuated by a
horse walking round the chase in an unending circle. The apples are
introduced in small quantities into the chase, and crushed into pulp
by the grindstone. The pulp is then removed and placed between hair
cloths, piled upon each other, until a stack is erected beneath a
powerful press, worked by a lever, on the principle of a capstan. As
the pressure increases, the liquor runs into a vessel below, from
whence it is carried in buckets, and poured into barrels in the
cellar. Fermentation begins almost immediately, by which the sugar is
converted in carbonic acid gas and alcohol; the gas escapes and the
spirit remains in the liquor.
Such is the simplest method of cider-making, and it produces a drink
thoroughly appreciated by the men, for we made annually 1,500 to 2,000
gallons, and there was very little left when next year's cider-making
began. Where cider is made for sale, much greater care is necessary;
only the soundest fruit is used, and the vinous fermentation is
allowed to begin in open vessels before the pulp is pressed. When the
extracted liquor is placed in the barrels every effort is made to
prevent the acetic fermentation, which produces vinegar, and spoils
the cider for discriminating palates. The stone mill has been
superseded to some extent by the steam "scratter"; but the cider is
not considered so good, as the kernels are left uncrushed, an
important omission, as they add largely to the flavour of the finished
product. After a hot dry summer, cider is unusually strong, because
the sugar in the apples is much more fully developed. It is recognized
that these hot summers produce what are known as vintage years for
cider, just as, on the Continent, they produce vintage wines.
Jarge, of whom I have written, was the presiding genius in the
cider-mill, and his duties began as soon as hop-picking was over. All
traces of the downward inclination of the corners of his mouth, caused
by the delinquencies of recalcitrant hoppers, quite disappeared as
soon as his new duties commenced, and it was a pleasure to see his
jovial face beaming over a job which seemed to have no drawbacks. A
really Bacchanalian presence is the only one that should be tolerated
in a cider-maker; the lean and hungry character is quite out of place
amidst the fragrance of the crushed apples, and the generous liquor
running from the press.
The cider-maker is always allowed a liberal quantity of last year's
produce, on the principle of "thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he
treadeth out the corn"--a principle that should always be recognized
in the labourer's hire, and one which is too often forgotten by the
public in its estimate of the necessities of the farmer himself. It is
usual for the man in possession, so to speak, of the cider-mill, to
mix, for his own consumption, some of the new unfermented liquor with
the old cider, which, after twelve months, is apt to be excessively
sour; but the quantity of the former must not be in too large a
proportion, as it has a powerful medicinal effect.
"Wouldst thou thy vats with generous juice should froth?
Respect thy orchats: think not that the trees
Spontaneous will produce a wholesome draught,
Let art correct thy breed."
So sang Philips in his _Cyder_ in the distant days of 1706, but the
advice is as sound as ever, for good cider can only be produced from
the right kinds of apples. The names of new sorts are legion, but some
of the old varieties are still considered to be very valuable. Among
these, the Foxwhelp has been a favourite for 200 years, and others in
great esteem are Skyrme's Kernal, Forest Styre, Hagloe Crab, Dymock
Red, Bromley, Cowarne Red, and Styre Wilding. It requires about twenty
"pots" (a local measure each weighing 64 pounds) to make a hogshead of
cider; a hogshead is roughly 100 gallons, and in Worcestershire is
hardly recognizable under the name of "oxsheard"--I have never seen
the word in print, but the local pronunciation is faithfully
represented by my spelling. Another local appellation which puzzled me
for some years was "crab varges," which I eventually discovered to
mean "verjuice," a terribly sour liquid, made in the same way as cider
from crab apples. It was considered a wonderfully stimulating specific
for sprains and strains, holding the same pre-eminent position as an
embrocation, as did "goose-grace" (goose-grease) as an ointment or
emollient. This substance is the melted fat of a goose, and was said
to be so powerful that, if applied to the back of the hand, it could
shortly be recognized on the palm!
The value of alcohol as a food is generally denied in these days by
sedentary people, but very few who have seen its judicious use in
agricultural work will be inclined to agree; it is possible that
though it may be a carbo-hydrate very quickly consumed in the body, it
acts as an aid to digestion, and produces more nourishment from a
given quantity of food, than would be assimilated in its absence. The
giving out of the men's allowances is, however, a troublesome matter
and demands a firm and masterful bailiff or foreman, for "much" is
inclined to want "more," and the line should, of course, be drawn far
short of excess. It was related of an old lady farmer in the
neighbourhood, who always distributed her men's cider with her own
hands, that in her anxiety to be on the safe side after a season when
the cider was unusually strong, she mixed a proportion of water with
the beverage, before the arrival of the recipients. One of the men,
however, having discovered the dilution, arrived after the first day
with two jars. Asked the reason for the second jar, he answered that
he should prefer to have his cider and the water _separate_.
My bailiff always said that sixpennyworth of cider would do more work
than a shilling in cash. He was undoubtedly correct, and, moreover,
the quantity worth sixpence in the farm cider store would cost a
shilling or more at the public-house, to supply an equivalent in
alcohol, and valuable time would be lost in fetching it. It is the
alcohol that commends it to the agricultural labourer more than any
consideration of thirst, and no one can see its effect without the
conviction that the men find it not only stimulating, but supporting.
A friend of mine, however, found so much satisfaction in a deep
draught of cider when he felt really "dry," that he said he would give
"a crown" any day for a "good thirst!"
Excess in drink was rare at Aldington, and it was very exceptional for
a man to be seen in what were called his "crooked stockings."
Fortunately, we had no public-house in the village, and if the men had
a moderate allowance during a hard day's work, there was not much
temptation to tramp a mile and back at night to the nearest licensed
premises in order to sit and swill in the tap-room. I had one man who
lived near a place of the sort, and he occasionally took what my
bailiff called, "Saints' days," and did not appear for work. I notice
that this sort of day is now called by the more suitable name of
"alcoholiday."
Well-fermented cider contains from 5 to 10 gallons of alcohol, and
perry about 7 gallons, to every 100 gallons of the liquor, which
compares with claret 13 to 17, sherry 15 to 20, and port 24 to 26 per
cent, of alcohol. I found the truth of the proverb _in vino veritas_;
after a quite small allowance of cider on the farm the open-hearted
man would become lively, the reserved man taciturn, the crabbed man
argumentative; but the work went with a will and a spirit that were
not so noticeable when no "tots" were going round.
An old gentleman in the neighbourhood used to tell with much enjoyment
the following story of his younger days. "I found myself," he said,
"gradually increasing my allowance of whisky and water, as I sat alone
of an evening, and I said to myself: 'Now look here, H.W., you began
with one glass, very soon you got on to two, and now you're taking
three. I'll tell you what it is, H.W., you shan't have another drop of
whisky for a month';" "and," he added, "H.W. did it, too!"
Shortly before I came to Aldington the men were suddenly seized with
what seemed an unaccountable epidemic; their symptoms were all
similar, and a doctor soon diagnosed the complaint as lead-poisoning.
Nobody could suggest its origin until the cider was suspected, and, on
enquiry, it was elicited that the previous year the stones of the
cider-mill chase, which had become loosened by long use, were repaired
with melted lead poured in between the joints. The malic acid of the
apples had dissolved the lead, and it remained in solution in the
cider. To the disgust of the men, the doctor advised removing the
bungs from the barrels and letting the cider run off into the drains,
but nobody had the heart to comply, for there was the whole year's
stock, and it meant a wait of twelve months before it could be
replaced. After some months the men got impatient, and told the master
they were prepared to take the risk. They began with great caution,
and finding no bad result, they gradually increased the dose, still
without harm, until the normal allowance was safely reached. It is
probable that the barrel which caused the symptoms was the first made
after the repairs, and contained an extra quantity of the lead, and
although the remainder was more or less contaminated, the poison was
in such small amount as to be harmless.
There were many old apple-trees about the hedges and in odd corners,
which went by the name of "the roundabouts," and the fruit was
annually collected and brought to the cider-mill. Some of these were
immense trees, and not very desirable round arable land, owing to
their shade, but they were lovely when in bloom, for standing
separately, they seemed to develop richer colours than when close
together in an orchard.
The story of Shakespeare's carouse, and his night passed under a
crab-tree near Bidford, about six miles from Aldington, is well known.
It is stated, but not without contradiction, that he excused himself
by explaining that he had been drinking with:
Piping Pebworth, dancing Marston,
Haunted Hillborough, hungry Grafton,
Dudging Exhall, papist Wixford,
Beggarly Broom, and drunken Bidford.
A carousal at all these places would have been a heavy day's work, and
I have often thought that if the lines can really be attributed to
him, he might have meant that he had met people from all the villages
at one of the Whitsuntide merry-makings annually held in the
neighbourhood, and passed a jovial time in their company.
Perry is made in much the same way as cider, and when due care has
been taken in its manufacture, it is a most delicious and wholesome
drink. When bottled and kept to mature it pours out with a beautiful
creaming head, and is far superior to ordinary champagne. Both cider
and perry should be drunk out of a china or earthenware mug, whence
they taste much richer than from glass; but my men always used in the
field a small horn cup or "tot," holding about quarter of a pint. I
have a very interesting old cider cup, of Fulham or Lambeth
earthenware I think, holding about a quart, with three handles, each
of which is a greyhound with body bent to form the loop for the hand.
It was intended for the use of three persons sitting together at a
small three-cornered oak table, specimens of which are still, though
rarely, met with at furniture sales in farm-houses or cottages; the
cup was placed in the middle, and each person could take a pull by
using his particular handle with the adjacent place for his lips,
without passing the cup round or using the same drinking space as
another.
There are numerous kinds of perry pears, but certain sorts have a
great reputation, such as Moorcroft, Barland, Malvern Hills, Longdon,
Red Horse, Mother Huff Cap, and Chate Boy (cheat boy), a particularly
astringent pear; these are all small, and require quickly grinding
when gathered. In the New Forest there is a perry pear similar to the
Chate Boy, called Choke Dog, which in its natural state, is quite as
rough on the palate as the former, but it differs in colour and is not
the same sort. I had a splendid specimen of the Chate Boy pear-tree at
an outlying set of buildings, said to be the father of all the trees
of that kind in the neighbourhood, and it was a landmark for miles, as
it stood on high ground. It was fitted with a ladder reaching to the
middle of the tree, where seats were arranged on a platform for eight
or nine people; but it was unfortunately blown down on the night of
the great gale of October 14, 1877, when twelve other trees on the
farm were likewise overthrown.
Cider and perry drinkers were said to be more or less immune from many
human ailments, including rheumatic affections, though one would
expect the acetic acid they contain, unless very carefully made, would
have an opposite effect. Certainly my men suffered neither from gout
nor rheumatism, and there was a tradition that in 1832, when the
cholera was rife in the country, the plague was stayed as soon as the
cider districts were approached.
These noble old pear-trees are a great feature of the Vale of Evesham,
especially in the more calcareous parts where the lias limestone is
not far from the surface; they are exquisite in spring in clouds of
pure white blossoms long before the apples are in bloom; in the autumn
the foliage presents every tint of crimson, green and gold all softly
subdued, and in winter, when the framework of the tree can be seen, it
is noticeable how far the massive limbs extend, carrying their girth
almost to the summit, in a way that not even the oak can excel. The
timber is short in the grain, and wears smooth in the long wood
ploughs, and is very suitable for carving quite small and elaborate
patterns for such articles as picture frames; but it is somewhat
liable to the attack of the woodworm.