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The two sites around what is still a working farm looked promising on my map, and apple blossom gleaming through a hedge on the far side of the site raised our expectations. Disappointingly though, it proved belong to garden trees behind a neighbouring cottage. Nothing was left of the once extensive orchard, now erased under a dull field of arable.
On, then, to the other side of the farmyard, and a gate bearing the sign ‘No unauthorised persons’. With my clipboard, survey forms, and sensible shoes, I felt authorised enough to peer over, but drew another blank. The second orchard site has become a garden. There were no fruit trees in sight there, or in the hedgerows around the adjacent field. Crossing the lane, we set off across more fields towards the largest site on the day’s agenda. At a junction of the footpath, where a smaller site was marked, we detoured for a look. It could just about be glimpsed from the path, with a bit of scrambling, and this time there was unexpected success: a scattering of gnarled apple trees in exactly the right place.
We pressed on, until the big site on the map began to open out on our left, beyond an overgrown hedgerow. Like fairytale princes, we hacked our way through thickets of nettles and bramble to get to the boundary, only to find a wicked double strand of barbed wire above the low fence. Beyond was a lush, peaceful scene: a tended meadow where the grass was putting on a springtime burst of growth, and tall mature trees were growing in widely spaced rows. This was clearly a former commercial orchard, worth recording in detail for the survey.
As we left the site and headed for the road, we saw that the footpath by the fields is lined with cherry trees of all sizes: an extra clue to fit into the history of our lost orchards.
Deborah Spring
May 2018