PLUMS--CHERRIES.
"A right down hearty one he be as'll make some of our maids look
alive.
And the worst time of year for such work too, when the May-Dukes
is in,
and the Hearts a-colouring!"
--Crusty John in _Alice Lorraine_.
The Vale of Evesham has the credit of being the birthplace of two most
valuable plums--the Damascene, and the Pershore, or Egg plum. These
both grow on their own stocks, so require no grafting, and can readily
be propagated by severing the suckers which spring up around them from
the roots of the tree. The Damascene, as its name implies, is a
species of Damson, but coarser than the real Damson or the Prune
Damson. They are not so popular on the London market as in the markets
of the north, especially in Manchester, where they command prices
little inferior to the better sorts, as they yield a brilliant red dye
suitable for dying printed cotton goods. When really ripe they are
excellent for cooking, and are not to be despised, even raw, on a
thirsty autumn day. In years of scarcity these have fetched 30s. and
over per "pot" of 72 pounds.
The Pershore is a very different plum, green when unripe, and
attaining a golden colour later; they are immense bearers and very
hardy, frequently saving the situation for the plum-growers when all
other kinds are destroyed by spring frosts. They are specially
valuable for bottling, and it is rumoured that in the hands of skilful
manufacturers they become "apricots" under certain conditions. As
"cookers," too, they are perhaps the most useful of plums, for they
can be used in a very green and hard state. It is a wonderful sight to
see them being despatched by tram at the Evesham stations, loaded
sometimes loose like coals in the trucks for the big preserving firms
in the north. The trees grow very irregularly and are difficult to
keep in shape by pruning, as they send forth suckers from all parts
when an attempt is made to keep them symmetrical. The only purpose for
which the fruit is of little use is for eating raw, they are not
unpleasant when just ripe, but that stage is soon passed and they
become woody and unpalatable.
I planted a thousand of these trees in a new orchard, and took great
pains with the pruning myself, for it was curious that in that land of
fruit at the time no professional pruner could be found. I sought the
advice of a market-gardener and plum-grower, who, in the early stage
of their growth, gave me an object-lesson, cutting back the young
shoots rather hard to induce them to throw out more at the point of
incision, so as to produce eventually a fuller head; while he
reiterated the instruction, "It is no use being afraid of 'em."
This young orchard adjoined the Great Western Railway, and one day
when pruning there I saw a remarkable sight, and I have never found
any one with a similar experience. The telegraph wires were magnified
into stout ropes by a coating of white rime, and I could see a
distinct series of waves approximating to the dots and dashes of the
Morse code running along them. The movement would run for a time up
towards London, cease for a moment, and then run downwards towards
Evesham, and so on almost continuously. I thought it might be caused
by the passage of electricity, but I cannot get a satisfactory
explanation. No trains were passing, there was no wind, the rime was
not thawing or falling off, and apparently there was nothing to
agitate either poles or wires.
This orchard was not a lucky one; it was too low, having only one flat
meadow between it and the brook, and therefore very liable to spring
frosts. I have seen the trees well past the blossoming stage, with
young plums as large as peas, which after two nights' sharp frost
turned black and fell off to such an extent that there was scarcely a
plum left; but I had a few very good crops which gave employment to a
number of additional hands besides my regular people.
A season came when the plum-trees in my new orchard were badly
attacked by the caterpillars of the winter-moth, but the cuckoos soon
found them out, and I could see half a dozen at once enjoying a
bountiful feast. When better plums are abundant the Pershore falls to
very low prices; I have sold quantities at 1s. or 1s. 3d. per pot of
72 pounds, at which of course there was a loss; but it is needless to
say that at such times the consumer never gets the benefit, 2d. a
pound being about the lowest figure at which they are ever seen on
offer in the shops.
The Victoria is a very superior plum to the Pershore, and a local plum
called Jimmy Moore is also a favourite. I believe this plum is very
similar to, if not identical with, one sold as Emperor; both it and
the Victoria nearly always made good prices and bore well. The
Victoria, especially, was so prolific that in some seasons, if not
carefully propped, every branch would be broken off by, the weight of
fruit, and the tree left a wreck. Not discouraged, however, it would
shoot out again and in a few years bear as well as ever.
My best plum was the greengage, rather a shy bearer but always in
demand. Living in a land of Goshen, like the Vale of Evesham, one gets
quite hypercritical (or "picksome," as the local expression is), and
scarcely cares to taste a fruit from a tree in passing; but I used to
visit my greengages at times when the pickers had done with them, for
they have to be gathered somewhat unripe to ensure travelling
undamaged. I often found, on the south side of the tree, a few that
had been overlooked which were fully ripe, beautifully mottled, full
of sunshine, and perfect in melting texture and ambrosial flavour.
For restocking old worn-out apple orchards, in Worcestershire at any
rate, there is nothing to equal plum-trees; they flourished amazingly
at Aldington, and soon made up for the lost apples; they appeared to
follow the principle that dictates the rotation of ordinary crops,
just as the leguminous plants alternate satisfactorily with the
graminaceous, or, as I have read that in Norway, where a fir forest
has been cut, birch will spring up automatically and take its place.
My predecessor always sold his plums on the trees for the buyer to
harvest, and I heard that when the former turned a flock of Dorset
ewes into one of these orchards, the buyer complained--the lower
branches being heavily laden, and within a few feet of the
ground--that he had watched, "Them old yows holding down bunches of
plums with their harns for t'others to eat." This I imagine was in the
nature of hyperbole, and not intended to be taken literally.
I had about forty cherry trees in one of my orchards, and among them a
very early kind of black cherry, as well as Black Bigarreaus, White
Heart and Elton Heart. The early ones made particularly good prices,
but when the French cherries began to be imported, being on the market
a week or two before ours they "took the keen edge off the demand,"
though wretched-looking things in comparison. The cherries from my
forty trees made £80 one year when the crop was good, but they are
expensive to pick as there is much shifting of heavy ladders, and the
work was done by men. In Kent, I believe, women are employed at
cherry-picking, ascending forty-round ladders in a gale of wind
without a sign of nervousness, but with a man in attendance to pack
the fruit and shift the ladders when required. I found Liverpool the
best market for cherries, where they were bought by the large
steamship companies for the Transatlantic liners, and where they were
in demand for the seaside and holiday places in North Wales and
Lancashire. Like the pear-trees, the cherry-trees are very beautiful
in spring, and again in autumn, and as mine could be seen from the
house and garden, they added a great charm to the place.
I must put in a word here for the bullfinch, which is unreasonably
persecuted for its supposed destruction of the cherry crop when in
bloom; it undoubtedly picks many blossoms to pieces, but probably no
ultimate loss of weight follows; very few comparatively of the blooms
ever become fruits in any case, and even if some are thus nipped in
the bud, it is probable that the remainder mature into larger and
finer cherries in consequence. The advantage of thinning is recognized
in the case of all our fruits, and is indeed, the reason for pruning.
The vine-grower knows well the truth of the saying that, "You should
get your enemy to thin your grapes," and I would sacrifice many
cherries for a few of these beautiful birds in my garden, for man does
not live by bread alone.
One of the old couplets, of which our forefathers were so fond, runs:
"A cherry year is a merry year,
And a plum year is a dumb year."
I have seen the explanation suggested that cherries being particularly
wholesome contributed to the happiness of mankind, but that the less
salubrious plum tended to depression of health and spirits. There is,
however, a small black cherry still grown in this and other parts of
Hampshire and Surrey called the "Merry," from the French _merise_, and
it was natural that when cherries were abundant the merry would also
be plentiful. The word "dumb" is an archaic synonym for "damson," and
the same rule would apply between it and the plum, as with the cherry
and the merry. My own small place here, in the New Forest, has been
known for centuries as "the Merry Gardens," and no doubt they were
once grown here, as at other places in the south of England, called
Merry Hills, Merry Fields, and Merry Orchards. Even now as I write, on
May Day, the buds on the wild cherries in my hedges are showing the
white bloom just ready to appear, and in a few days, these trees will
be spangled with their little bright stars. I imagine that they are no
very distant relation of the old merry-trees that once flourished
here.