Country Life
By IAN NIALL
'GETTING jagged,' as the woman in the little green- grocer's shop put it, is one of the natural hazards of blackberrying. 'I wouldn't do it for one-and•six a pound!' she added emphatically. I agreed, knowing that half the country population goes blackberrying at least once in late summer. I often pick a few myself. Here and there, of course, a solitary pro- fessional blackberry-picker may be found, but he is a somewhat exploited character, an eccentric who is prepared to sell his basket, his 'jagged' fingek, scratched shins, rips and tears of varying degree, for a shilling or so. The bulk of the hedgerow harvesters are amateurs, as prone to eating what they gather while they gather it as they are to putting it into basket or jar. One should not gen- eralise. and there are determined blackberry-pickers to be found. Most of them are a type with 'Institute' written all over them and come fresh from a veritable library of recipes for jams. jellies and wines. Across the lips of these dedicated females never a full, ripe blackberry passes. They know the folly of eating while they pick, and their every movement speaks of determination. Afternoons of mild, golden sun- light . with only the wasps, apart from themselves, busy about the bushes, may not have a mental association with sweet flavour on the tongue, but memory of such occasions returns, I am sure, one day, in December perhaps, when one hands round the buttered scones and says. 'Do try my black- berry jelly, dear. I think it is better than any I've ever made,' and it probably is.
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