The staple commodity of Hereford is cider; but the reputation of the county for this production dates backward only to the reign of Charles I., when, according to Evelyn, it became “in a manner one entire orchard.” The apples are merely a variety of the crab, as the pears are descended from the common wild pear. The plantations are found in every aspect, and on every soil; but in general the west winds, so much praised by the Roman poets, and after them by Philips the bard of cider, are unwholesome to the plant, from the circumstance of their blowing over the Welsh mountains, which are capped with snow even in the spring. The best colours for cider fruits are red and yellow, the juice of the green being harsh and poor. The pulp should be yellow, but this part of the apple is not so important as the rind and kernel, in which the strength and flavour of the liquid reside; and for this reason the smaller the apple is the better. From twenty-four to thirty gallons are required to fill the provincial hogshead of one hundred and ten gallons.
The cider-mill used even at this moment is a rude and imperfect contrivance, consisting of a circular stone, about twelve hundred weight, set on its edge in a shallow circular trough, and drawn round by a horse. The apples are gradually introduced into the trough, and a quantity may be thus mashed equal to a hogshead of cider in the day. The expressed juice is put into casks, not quite filled, and in the open air; and as soon as the vinous fermentation takes place, it is racked. When two years old it may be bottled, after which it will become rich and sparkling, and so remain for twenty or thirty years. Perry is made with pears pretty nearly in the same way.
The salmon is still the principal fish taken in the Wye, though far less plentiful than formerly. It was at one time a common clause in the indentures of apprentices that they should not be compelled to live on salmon more than two days in the week. Wolves were formerly so numerous in this district, that in 1234 a proclamation was issued commanding them to be destroyed, and calling upon “all the king’s liege people to assist therein.” A wolf would now be an extraordinary spectacle indeed on the sunny slopes, or prowling among the apple orchards of Hereford! But the Wye has seen changes more remarkable than this.
CHAPTER IV
Beauty and tameness—The travelling hill—Ross—The silver tankard—The Man of Ross—The sympathetic trees—Penyard Castle—Vicissitudes of the river—Wilton Castle—A voyage to sea in a basket—Pencraig Hill.
Comparatively speaking, there is little worthy of remark between Hereford and Ross; and yet Gilpin’s charge of tameness is unjust. What it wants is excitement. The valley of the Wye is here beautiful—neither more, nor less; but its beauty is similar to that of the portion we have just traversed between the Hay and Hereford, and we therefore call it tame. Why did we not apply the word before? Because the contrast presented by the valley after leaving Hay with the wilder or grander features we had passed formed one of the vicissitudes of the river. This will be understood by a traveller who journeys up the stream. On reaching Ross, after emerging from the tumult, or sublimity, of the lower passage, he will gaze with delight on one of the most quietly beautiful landscapes in England—whose smooth green eminences, gentle groves, orchards and hop plantations (the latter far finer objects than the vineyards of the continent), white cottages, villages, and village spires, give an endless and yet simple variety to the picture. After passing Hereford, in quest of new excitement, the scene-hunter will pronounce a similar character of landscape tame.
Six miles from Hereford, the Lay adds its waters to the Wye, and near the confluence we remark an abrupt elevation, which being wholly different in character from the rest of the soil conveys the idea of an accident of nature. And such it actually is.
Marclay Hill—for so the elevation is called—in the time of Elizabeth, according to Camden, “rose as it were from sleep, and for three days moved on its vast body with an horrible noise, driving everything before it to an higher ground.” Fuller states that the ascent gained by the surprising traveller was eleven fathoms, that its bulk was twenty acres, and that the time it took to perform the feat was fourteen hours. Sir Richard Baker, in the “Chronicles of England,” is still more minute. “In the thirteenth year of Queen Elizabeth,” says he, “a prodigious earthquake happened in the east parts of Herefordshire, at a little town called Kinnaston. On the seventeenth of February, at six o’clock in the evening, the earth began to open, and a hill, with a rock under it, making at first a great hollowing noise, which was heard a great way off, lifted itself up, and began to travel, bearing along with it the trees that grew upon it, the sheepfolds and flocks of sheep abiding there at the same time. In the place from whence it was first moved it left a gaping distance forty foot broad, and fourscore ells long: the whole field was about twenty acres. Passing along it overthrew a chapel standing in the way, removed a yew tree planted in the churchyard from the west to the east: with the like force it thrust before it highways, sheepfolds, hedges, and trees; made tilled ground pasture, and again turned pasture into tillage. Having walked in this sort from Saturday evening till Monday noon, it then stood still.” The yew tree still exists as a witness of the fact, and the church bell was dug up not many years ago.
