XXX
Faversham town, lying a mile distant, between Faversham Creek and the turnpike road, will doubtless in the course of a few years adjoin Ospringe, and convert the village into a mere suburb. Preston, the old suburb of Faversham, is distant something over a mile, but in between there have lately been built very many new streets of cottages and villas, evidences of Faversham’s prosperity, doubtless, but not pleasing to the tourist. That prosperity is due to its situation upon a navigable creek, along which are pursued the trades of brick and tile making, and the manufacture of gunpowder; and the oyster fishery, which adds such a great proportion of wealth to this flourishing county of Kent, is largely centred here.
OSPRINGE: A JUNE HOP-GARDEN.
The surrounding country, too, is probably the very richest and most suitable district for the growing of cherries, gooseberries, currants, and strawberries; and the frequency and perfection of the market-gardens, orchards, and hop-gardens strike the pedestrian with admiration and amazement. A visit in early spring, when the orchards are in blossom, and others in the cherry- and hop-picking seasons, convince the sceptical that Kent is, in sober truth, the “garden of England.” The stranger needs but to spend a week between this and Canterbury; to tramp the high-road and the bye-lanes in the direction of Herne Hill and Whitstable, and he will see abundant evidences of how important is the fruit-growing industry, not only in the fields and gardens, where he may see the fruit growing, but also in the great barns and outhouses bursting with many thousands of bushel-baskets only awaiting the ripening of the cherries and currants to be filled and put upon the rails at Faversham Junction, whence numerous special trains are daily run during the season to London and the Borough Market. Somewhat earlier in the year—generally in mid-June—other evidences of the magnitude of the fruit interest are seen in the auctioneers’ sale bills posted on every available board and fence, announcing that the growing crops are presently to be sold by auction.
DISCONTENTED FARMERS
But, in spite of the fertility of Kentish orchards, the countryman will not forego his privilege of grumbling. Singularly enough, he never thinks of eating any of the fruit he grows, and the more plentiful the crops, the less pleased he professes himself to be. Not that, should you come upon him at a season when plenty is less marked, he will be any the more gratified. Hold the peasant proprietor of an orchard in conversation during the fruit season, and you will think him one of the most miserable and unfortunate men in the country.
“Good day to you,” you say.
(Hodge nods his head, and mumbles, “Mor’n’n.”)
“Splendid crops you have down here. I should think things must be going pretty well in these parts?”
“Ay, goin’ to the Devil fast enow, I’se warrand.”
“Oh! how d’you make that out?”
“Make it out, is it? Why, look a-here at them there turmuts; d’you iver see sich poor things; ay, an’ all the root crops is bad’s can be.”
“Yes; but you’re all right with your fruit; cherries and apples.”
“M’yes, there’s a dale o’ fruit this year: darned sight too much ter please me.”
“But you can’t very well have too much of a good thing, can you?”
“Can’t you just, though; look at the price; down ter nothing, as you might say. Get it for the asking.”
“But I didn’t get cherries for the asking; I had to pay eightpence a pound for some I bought at Chatham.”
“Oh! I dessay. Wish I c’d git a penny a pound. But that’s jist like them ’ere starv’em, rob’em, and cheat’em folks. Wouldn’t give ’ee so much’s the parings o’ their finger-nails if they c’d help it.”
“Then why don’t you make preserves of some of your fruit?”
“Preserves? what’s that, mister?”
“Why, jam, you know. Besides, surely you eat some of your own fruit, don’t you?”
“Fruit’s to sell, not to heat!”
“Well, then, if you can’t sell it, don’t preserve it, and won’t eat any of it, what do you do with it?”
“Give it ter the pigs, in coorse!”
“Yes, but why not eat some of it yourself?”
“Heat it! D’yer take me for a bloomin’ Nebuchadnezzar? Besides, it’s that there ondergestuble——!”
“But Nebuchadnezzar didn’t eat fruit. He hadn’t got the chance, poor fellow. He could only find grass to eat.”
“Grass ’ood’n’t be so ondergestuble as fruit, I reckon. Blame me if you town folks don’t think a man can live on nothink. Now, a pound or two o’ steak, a few rashers o’ fat bacon, an’ a few heggs for bre’kfuss—that’s more my line. Hexpeck a Christian man to heat fruit——!”
“But you expect people to buy yours, don’t you?”
“Naw, I don’t hexpeck nothin’.”
“Then why do you grow it?”
“Bekause I suppose I’m a fool; that’s about the size of it. Good day t’ye, mister.”