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.