This cider was made in 2021 as part of the research carried out in writing 'A Vagrant's Pomona'. It is made entirely from fruit removed without the owner's permission and may or may not taste better for it.

Orchard 8
27-10-21 1140 – 1310 Light cloud, still, damp 11°C
Furtive is the word here. This ground belongs to one
of Cornwall’s larger producers and no doubt the
following will make it entirely obvious which one. I’ll
be honest, it’s my opinion that the bulk of what they
make is utter crap and the rest of it I haven’t tried, not
being prepared to part with twenty quid for 750ml of
what is likely to be easily surpassed by other makers
at a fraction of the cost. The spiel gives it the usual
welly about tradition, family values and their apples
being at the heart of everything they do. The first two
may well be the case, although if you seek opinions on
what it is to be employed by these people, you might
find alternative values centre and forward. As to the
third, given the claim is that over 2000 tonnes of fruit
are pressed each year and the orchard holding (at least
that on site and I know of no others in Cornwall) is
approximately 14 acres, I’ve yet to meet the grower able
to achieve nearly 143 tonnes per acre. Currently, even
the most industrially minded of dessert fruit growers
are achieving around 25 tonnes/acre on vertical cordon
systems, not centre leader half standards at eight foot
spacings. Clearly a disconnect here and a great deal
of fruit materialising from elsewhere. Again, the spiel
speaks of the seven varieties of traditional Cornish
native apples found in these orchards. It goes on to only
mention Katy (Katja – A Swedish made cross of James
Grieve and Worcester Pearmain introduced to the UK
in 1968) and Ashton Bitter (Dabinett x Stoke Red raised
at the Long Ashton Research Centre near Bristol in
the 50’s and pushed in the 80’s, but quickly fell from
favour due to biennial cropping habit and tendencies
to mildew and forming weak, whippy laterals liable
to snap under crop load). Nice traditional, Cornish
native varieties those. I’m directing a poison dart here,
but it could equally be applied to any number of the
industrial and semi-industrial producers who take
advantage of the fact that cider in the UK needs must
only contain 35% apple juice – the rest can be made up
with sugar, water and non-fermentable sweeteners, then
give a load of horseshit on their websites about how
the fruit is the most important factor. No. Profit is the
most important factor. Disingenuous marketing is the
means to that end. Believe me, these guys are far from
the worst. Until labelling on the drinks folks like this
make is more transparent, the public will continue to
accept this rubbish as cider, believing it’s as good as it
gets. That could be a rant which develops into a book of
its own, but it’s not the party I’m here for.
Actually, the fourteen acres are incredibly well
maintained and diverse of varieties as well as heavy
cropping. The orchards have a really nice feeling
of light and space despite the slightly industrial
planting system. They kind of need to in a way, this
place operates mostly as a tourist destination and the
orchards are definitely on show. The only thing is – if
you’re using a rotary fruit gatherer, you really need to
do away with ruts created by the tractors each year,
or the fruit has a tendency to gather there, gravity
being what it is, and the collector cannot sweep it up.
Consequently, it’s a bit depressing to see so much fruit
ground under the tyres of the machinery supposedly
employed to facilitate its safe removal from the orchard
floor.
I’ve been in the area most of the morning and had
no intention of hitting this orchard when I left home.
However, I have finished what I needed to do early
and as the stuff is in the car anyway… Parking and
access to the orchard without having to resort to the
main tractor entrance is pretty convenient here and
this always makes me feel slightly paranoid – why on
earth would these folk make things so easy? Maybe
the simple answer is that they rightly surmise that the
quantity of produce I’ll be removing by this access is
negligible in relation to the total harvest, so why bother
with the effort and expense? What’s two sacks in the
face of 2000 tonnes? (actually it’s about 0.000018%).
However, this isn’t to say that these vanishing figures
make me complacent – I always try to play by the
rules, which means attempting to evade discovery. As
I arrive I can hear the blaring of the tannoy attendant
upon a trailer of tourists pulled by a 1950s open Ford
tractor driven by a bored-looking youth. Of course, it’s
bloody half-term. The orchard tours run according to
demand, which means today about every ten minutes.
I’m not aware of this though, so I sit and wait, thinking
the tractor will emerge in a matter of minutes. But
it doesn’t. In fact, after ten minutes, another comes
trundling down the hill. Weird. Bit more waiting and
I take a wee scroll on Instagram and look at the very
pretty pictures of orchards and pressing sheds from
cider makers I admire across the globe, their beautiful
apples and glowing juice, mechanised processes for
harvest and thousand litre stainless fermenting tanks
and another blue bastard rolls down the hill. Wtf?
How come I’ve now seen three of these things go into
the orchard but none emerge? It’s starting to feel a bit
ridiculous, so after I hear the tannoy fade on this one, I
dive in to take a look and, contrary to expectation, it’s
nice and quiet. But I now get my first real feel for the
breadth of variety on offer here – kid in a sweetshop
time! No gear on me though, so it’s back to the car to
get organised, at which point I catch sight of another
tractor approaching and seek temporary refuge. As
I’m sat in the driver’s seat, pretending that I’m doing
paperwork, another tractor comes pelting up the hill
behind me, this time a slimline orchard tractor with
the rotary fruit gatherer hitched up behind. He slows as
he passes me and gives me a good eyeball then heads on
up the hill. Bugger, better get on with it now. Another
tourist load approaching, so wait for that to enter the
gates. As it enters, I happen to notice, at the top of
the hill, one of the previous tractor loads of tourists
cross the road back into the farm. A circular route, no
wonder none emerged. This time I’m out the car and
into it, crouching among the nettles and brambles of
the orchard margin as it rumbles on its way.
I spot Harry Masters Jersey first – ace, we’ll have some
of those, Michelin next, then Ball’s Bittersweet, large
green-yellow Sweet Coppin for extra sugar and finally
Tommy Knight. All the while, I’m having to take
occasional refuge among the rows, lurking against
trunks, under as much canopy as I can, every time the
tannoy approaches. It’s brilliant, I feel like a cartoon
villain. Duh duh duh duh duuuuuuh, duh duh duh
duh, creeping from tree to tree. I can see them gawping
around at a bunch of trees which presumably look
mostly alike in a picturesque way and every time I
catch one of them looking right at me, I get a little
electric frisson. One child points. Needless to say, the
driver never thinks to look for lurking weirdos.
This orchard has so much more to offer, but I’ve filled
my quota already and not really penetrated beyond the
first hundred feet of the margins. Might have to come
back next harvest, but probably an early or late start
would allow for more leisurely perusal. Seven varieties
my arse. Maybe the orchard on the other side of the
lane offers more privacy? I make my way back to the car
and unload the clobber. As I’m heading up the hill, the
bloke previously on the orchard tractor comes roaring
towards me on a quad bike and glares at me as I pass –
maybe escape was a closer thing after all.
In any case, I’m very pleased with the fruit here and
this is borne out in the pressing – the juice is such a
rich, dark tawny, I know this is likely to be one of the
better batches. Full juice. Always full juice.