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
Ruth’s son, Henry Billingham, and Great Grandson Reg
Homer Jean,
Ruth’s Great Granddaughter
circa 1933
Looking after the picnic
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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