Picking the Hops
Pictured
at the Dumbleton in the 1920’s
Seated
is Ruth Billingham who recruited Pickers for many years until her death in 1938
Next to
her, in the hat, is her Daughter-in-Law Leanora
Next is
Daughter, Ruth, who married a local—Ernest Hayes—from the Menith Wood
Hops
were stripped from the bines into a crib.
The
crib was a large open topped “sack”; suspended from a wooden “A” frame
structure with
trestle
legs. The frame had handles at both ends to enable the farm hands to move the
crib on
when
the area had been picked clear
A
family had a complete crib and single pickers, like my Mom, had half a crib
with the “sack”
divided
down the middle
Picking
the hops stained the fingers, a little like a nicotine stain; it was regarded
almost like a mark
of
achievement amongst some of the Pickers—but just the opposite by my Mom!
The
hop yards were home to a variety of wildlife and the ones that always impressed
me were the
caterpillars,
especially a very colourful and hairy one we called a “Hop Dog”; I doubt if
this was
its
real name but I still use the expression to this day to describe a certain sort
of individual!
The Farm hands always made sure that there was a good supply of bines
available, moving the cribs
around the Hop Field and the Busheler was usually pretty generous when
filling the Bushel basket
from the crib to measure the days picking—a fair amount of leaves usually
being overlooked
Rumour had it that some of the “hard nosed” pickers had more leaves than hops!
A
Bushel of hops earned today’s equivalent of 7p
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There were two Hopfields;
The Black Gardens Hopfield
Ruth’s son, Henry Billingham, and Great
Grandson Reg Homer Jean,
Ruth’s Great Granddaughter
circa 1933 Looking after the picnic
The
Black Gardens were the first ones to be picked; they were off the main road on
the
Great
Witley side of Eardiston, a walk of about one and a half miles from the
Barracks
This
was Ok in good weather but September can be a little unpredictable and we would
occasionally
walk back soaked to the skin with a hopsack draped over us—the hot broth
went
down well on these occasions!
I recall once getting
a severe chill, Mom got the local
G.P. in and I was
confined to bed for a couple of days
At
the bottom of the hop field, away from the road, there was a stream, Dumbleton
Brook,
and
a new nut wood. It was an ideal playground for us kids and we “skived” off
whenever
we
could, quite prepared to risk the wrath of our Moms
A
cheer would go up when the last bine was “pulled” no more long walks with the Dumbleton
hop
field
one minute from the Barracks
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The Dumbleton Hop field
Twin sisters Rita and Ruby with Sheila (in the hat), more
members of the Billingham family
Situated right
next door to the Barracks meant that us kids could more easily sneak away to
our
favourite
playground—the cherry orchard—one favourite game was to see whose waterlogged
piece of wood
would stay submerged longest in the cow trough
As
the month wore on and the wood became more waterlogged , the time seemed to run
to several
minutes
until that fateful day when it vanished for good!
Another
game I played was talking to my best mate—cousin Ray Holloway—on home made
telephones.
These
were tin cans, with a hole punched in the bottom, connected together with a
good length
of
hop yard string
We
would usually do this from the tops of adjacent cherry trees
I’m still not sure whether it
actually worked or not!
The cherry orchard,
covering an area of 15 acres, was right next door to the Barracks
In full bloom, with
Frank Jeavons another member of the Billingham family, on the cherry
orchard gate
As
the hops were picked and the hop yard, that was originally a dense mass of
green bines, was
slowly
transformed into a barren “wasteland” our feelings were mixed although a great
cheer went
up
when the very last bine was felled
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