A Herefordshire Wassail Experience: Old Twelfth Night, 17th January 2011, at the Yew Tree Inn, Preston on Wye, Herefordshire.

I have often thought that with the one life we have there is not enough time. For most of us it is a struggle to keep up with the demands of the modern work place, its conveyor belt routine and the frustrations it brings, often making the daily commute a depressing time. So it is a great privilege and joy to have escaped the restrictions of the workplace, albeit as pensioners, at a time when our generation may well be the last of the modestly superannuated classes.

As a result Sian and I found ourselves with both the opportunity and energy to attend our first Wassail. Instead of working late into the night to meet the next deadline as we used to, we were now spending the evening with a hundred or so other people encircling an old apple tree.

A great deal of hard work goes into producing a good harvest of any kind, and of course, more specifically, the apples and pears which make good Cider and Perry. In Herefordshire it is not the culinary apple which is at the centre of attention, although the county produces some of the best desert apples such a Garden of Eden deserves. No, it is the cider apple, with its bitter and sweet flavours, its tannin and its golden and quickly oxidized juice.

Good husbandry, careful processing and a large measure of good fortune go into producing these most sustainable beverages. As April and May approach the fear of late frosts threatening the newly formed buds is the first anxiety. Once that is over the next concern is the right combination of rain, warmth and sunshine during the summer and finally the hope that early autumn gales do not strip the trees of the immature fruit.Is it any wonder that our forebears hedged their bets by appealing to both the old and new religions?

Having gathered our strength in the pub we joined the crowd which had gathered in the car park armed with flaming torches. Led by the Foxwhelp Morris musicians, who were suitably protected from the rain by an umbrella and plastic sheets, we set off into the darkness to the sound of trumpet, fiddle and accordion. Somewhere among the throng were two men carrying shotguns still in their cases.

Looking back at the procession from the van of the parade was an unexpected shock. With no street lighting to lessen the impact, the sight of this snake of flickering light making its way in the darkness sent a shiver down the spine. We could have been in any century since the people of these islands depended for their survival on a meagre harvest produced by their own communal labour.

The traditional ceremony involved the wassailers forming a large circle round an old tree. We stood outside a circle of small unlit fires constructed of wood and straw while the Morris team took up position under the tree itself. There was much talk and song of the spirit of the tree, its guardian Old Meg and the general wish for plenty after a hard winter. At some point the fires were lit and the scene was transformed into one of a swirling confusion of smoke and flames with figures looming and fading as the wind changed. At another point, the end of a wassail song or recitation was met by a great noise of shouting, ringing bells and the reports of the two shotguns being used to fire blanks into the night air.

All of this would have been, and still is for some, intended to frighten off any evil spirits which might be lurking in the orchards. For others the evil is now represented by the intensification of production aided and abetted by the agro-chemical industry and the uniformity demanded by the profit obsessed supermarkets. In spite of cider apple prices being quite good last year, there is a sense that a more general malevolent spirit of rural betrayal is stalking our country lanes.
As we stood outside the circle of fires, each representing a month of the year and being warmed by these and the tree’s very own fire invoking Old Meg, our thoughts were of the New Year to come, not the past.

However, with the tree having been offered toast and been given a liberal dousing of cider, the crowd started to move off back down the lane. But one further act remained to be performed, almost without any witnesses and with no ceremony. One, and only one, of the encircling fires was trampled into extinction, leaving the others shining into the darkness. Of the twelve, this fire represented Judas and his betrayal, while the other ‘Apostles’ were left to bring the light of a new day. Strong stuff indeed, but it prompted in us the thought that although electric light has long since come to these rural communities, enlightenment as to modern rural affairs on the part of distant others, is yet to be gained.

We were now among the very last to leave the orchard and so we slowly made our way back through the rain and the gloom. The dark thoughts of a few minutes earlier were soon dispelled by the light, warmth, and good company of a well run public house, and, once the singing started, as an old miner friend of ours would have said across the other side of the Black Hill from here, ‘... well, boys bach, we ‘ad a triffic time’.

The Big Apple in the villages around Marcle Ridge: October 11th and 12th

The Big Apple is a great little festival in the middle of an important fruit growing area. Every year the seven parishes of the Marcle Ridge country south of Ledbury in Herefordshire celebrate their heritage of apples and cider, and pears and perry.

For the avoidance of doubt both cider and perry are made by crushing and then pressing the fruit and the reason that most people don’t really know of perry is because the output of perry pears is usually consumed by the local demand. Perry was big in the fifties in the form of Babycham but real perry, whether still or fizzy, is a fuller bodied drink. Purists like us are annoyed by the appearance of products under the name of Pear Cider which is a contradiction in terms but it is presumably intended to create a new drink for people taken to be incapable of understanding the difference. Drinking either can of course make you incapable of anything especially with some hand crafted farm versions going to 8% ABV or above. If the drink is made from 100% pears then it is perry but if pear juice has been added to cider we would claim is a pear flavoured cider. Many mass produced products will fall back on imported concentrate when supplies are tight but not the genuine products you can find at this event.

A few years ago there was a lot of concern with all the orchards being grubbed up around Herefordshire but we can report that the cider business is growing and on the way to Much Marcle the sight of lots of orchards being re-established added to the glorious views of the Malvern Hills, Marcle Ridge itself and beyond to the Black Mountains. Such is the growth of cider that despite a hugely reduced acreage we are drinking record volumes of the stuff. This productivity has been achieved by growing traditional varieties as dwarf trees with high yields easier harvesting.

The big name producer in Much Marcle, the centre of the festival, is the family run firm of Weston’s Cider. Their works are well worth a visit especially if you take the tour of their modern cider mill/factory. We would claim that their Stowford Press Ciders and their traditional perry are right at the top of the mass produced roll of honour. Their traditional fizzy perry makes a sound substitute for many white wines at a fraction of the cost so a trip to their shop is both a bargain and an education all in one.

Some photos from the festival are here.

At the other end of the scale is Greggs Pit which is found at the end of a farm track and situated in a cottagers plot with its small orchard of traditional fruit trees. The production process is what we would call ‘artisan’ with the result that award winning perry and cider is produced here. A custom built barn for the vats with an open front for the crusher and apple press never fails to prompt dreams of creating such a unit on our own hillside plot. The old cottage orchard has cider trees as well as cooking apples, damsons and other fruits. Not all is used for cider and perry but we are happy to report that redwings and other birds don’t let anything go to waste. Apples and pears are also bought in from nearby farms so that single variety brews can be created. If you have never tried top quality ‘champagne method’ ciders and perrys this is the sort of place you need to track down. At Lyne Down Cider you can try your palette at more traditional brews as well as fresh apple juice straight from the press.

On the Sunday at Hellens, the local ’big house’, they get their old crushing mill going with visitors helping to push the crushing wheel round in its trough; a task usually carried out by a horse! Hellen’s Perry is made from pears collected on the Saturday and as with all of the events you can usually by a bottle or two. The house itself is well worth a visit and is one of those places that always seems to have been connected with many of the great events down the centuries but it, and its residents, seem to have survived by good judgement and luck. A return visit to this house on a quiet summer afternoon makes a great outing. During the festival the adjoining barns are devoted to the sale of fruit (Flight Organics) and the study of apples and pears (Marcher Network) and there are helpful experts who will try and identify the mystery apple tree in your garden. The variety of local food is usually well displayed at this event. Added to all this bustle was the appearance of the Leominster Morris dancers who drew a large crowd.

An essential visit during the afternoon is to the Memorial Hall where you will usually find an art exhibition as well as ‘a cup of tea and a slice of cake’ as Wurzel Gummage would describe his favourite refreshment. One year we were in front of a novice ‘Big Appler’ who asked whether they had any apple cake? Yes, came the reply, about fifteen different choices! We bought about five different types and sampled pieces from each. We have our own popular recipe which was found in a book on Yorkshire cooking where it is described as ‘Somerset Apple Cake’. Althought not a local recipe, we do not find this hard to live with as we all have a fondness for counties where apples are a specialist crop and so whether it comes from the land of the Wurzels’, Gloucestershire, Devon, Kent or Cornwall, or our own dear Herefordshire, if it’s good, we’ll have it. Especially with cream, in moderation of course, as with cider and perry.

A short distance from the Memorial Hall is St Bartholomew’s Church where local produce and crafts were on sale in aid of church funds. A brief rest beneath the 1,500 year old yew tree might just restore the energies sufficiently for a visit to Awnell’s Farm.

Awnell's Farm is run by the Countryside Restoration Trust, this conservation charity aims to protect and restore Britain’s countryside with wildlife-friendly and commercially viable agriculture. The trust is committed to promoting the importance of a living and working countryside through education, demonstration and community involvement.

It has another farm just down from us at Turnastone Court where the National Hedge Laying Championships will be held this coming 24th October, hopefully ‘with a caterer in attendance’. This usually means a beer tent at the very least. Taking farming back to sustainable practices by working with nature is a welcome contrast to some of the industrial farming that can be found in Herefordshire such as the ever present expansion of growing fruit under plastic and the efforts the Potato Barons which sometimes results in our precious pink soils being washed away in heavy downpours.

Most years the event has attracted large parties of cyclists. This is an encouraging feature although we sometimes thought that their awareness of pedestrians could have been better. Was it perry they had stowed in their drinking flasks we asked? Now in its twentieth year the number of visitors cars can be a problem but it is not yet on a scale which needs major management, and a parking space is usually available somewhere. Bringing a bike to tour the various events is a good idea and means that the car can be left at some distance. I think we will try it next year, although a good set of panniers will be needed for our liquid purchases.

For a community run event the Big Apple just shows what can be done. This lengthy article is not just the perry talking but it comes from people who know how important it is for everyone to reconnect with nature, our traditional sustainable local produce and the communities who still have the skills and vision to bring it all from farm and orchard to your table.

Dacier Outten and Mary Horesh

Citizen Cider and the Rescue by Ciderman

Having been trying to get rid of our accumulated junk for sometime I decided that it was time that our garage had some attention. The only thing we don’t keep in it is the car. There is so much junk and my visits so infrequent that it never fails to provide a surprise or two. This time it was a load of home made alcohol at the back which I had forgotten about. Although there are several full wine bottles their labels have all fallen off so it was only the cider which was clearly recognisable because it is in crown top beer bottles. I also remembered that the bottles with a white sticker were the sweet whilst those with no sticker were dry, or more correctly, sharp.

This meant that they had to be brought down to the house for sampling. The sweet was quite good and some ended up going to Glastonbury with Mary. It has lots of flavour and a good aroma but as usual too much alcohol. I always drink it by the wine glass. Being a complete slap dash merchant when in comes to cider making I just follow the old John Seymour recipe from his self-sufficiency bible and throw a good lot of sugar into the juice and let nature take its course. Having had many disasters down the years I don’t make too much so as to avoid a lot of wasted effort. I have not only made quite a lot of undrinkable cider but also I am constantly reminded at this time of year not to repeat the great pea pod wine fiasco again. We had such a good crop of peas that it seemed a shame to waste all the pods so five gallons of pea pod wine were set in motion, bottled and stored. The brew had quite a kick but had the one big snag: getting it past your nose! That done, it had quite a kick but not enough to obliterate the smell, so eventually many years later it went down the drain on the occasion of one of our many moves chasing the work.

When we lived on the edge of Worcester I imported large quantities of cider apples to the back yard and spent many hours pulping and pressing them to make a nearly forty gallons of cider. This was all stored in our brilliant cellar which had a near constant temperature throughout the year. My Hereford cider, brewed in Worcester, was soon being sampled by neighbours and I eventually learnt that I was known by some neighbours as Ciderman.

One set of neighbours fell victim to the persuasive powers of Ciderwoman in that she had encouraged them to consider the merits of camping as a cheap holiday for a large family. Soon, thanks to the local ad mag, they had acquired a full range of equipment, including an old style frame tent with steel work which seemed to be a scaled down version of a New York construction site back in the thirties. Such was its size that the family had tried several times to complete its construction and on its umpteenth attempt was nearly there but was a pair of experienced hands short. Up went the shout that Ciderman was needed and soon a knock was being applied to our front door. The small child sent to summon help was in an agitated state of mind but clearly someone was needed across the street. Ciderman was already engaged in a project to preserve his job i.e., meeting a deadline. Ciderwoman therefore dashed to the rescue and soon the huge tent was in place and soundly pitched. At this point Ciderwoman and Ciderman (who had eventually put in a belated appearance)were applauded for their help and deliverance from the violent ways of the steel framed tent. Needless to say we had not been sampling our harvest at the time. If we had been the result could have been somewhat different.

Dacier and Sian