Hops!
We crossed the border into Kent earlier this week, the first county to grow hops in Tudor times and still the main producer of hops in Britain. We rounded the corner and I snapped this pic through the windshield.
I don’t know how they do it now, but the hop bines (those tall strings of hops) were originally hung up to the overhead wires by men on great tall stilts.
Then, at harvest time, whole families of Londoners would come down by train to pick them. They worked long hours for slave wages, even the littlest had jobs, and lived in these godawful leaky shacks on the farm. They regarded it as a holiday in the country, with pay.
A local person in my friend group remembers the hop picking.
All around Kent, Sussex and Surrey, you still find oast houses (also called hop kilns) where the hops were dried. Green hops were spread on perforated floors in those round towers and fires were built beneath. The conical hat, called a cowl, had a little sail stuck on the side to make it turn in the wind.
Nearly all the oasts have been converted to housing now, and very posh and desirable houses they are, too.
Oh, I know much, much more about hop picking. I could bore you for hours. It’s one of the topics we have extensively documented at work.
August 23, 2023 — 8:06 pm
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