AN OXFORDSHIRE CHERRY-FEAST.
VISITORS to Henley-on-Thames, being other than the crowd of boating-men and pleasure-seekers who are attracted by the regatta, and who are not observant of any other localities than such as " Remenham Corner" and " The Poplars" and other critical points of the course, will have noticed the well-wooded hills that bound the landscape on the north and west. These are spurs of the Chiltern Hills, the very range which is supposed to afford a refuge to weary or unsuccessful politicians, well known in coaching days as crossing the high road between Oxford and London at Nettlebed, and now that so strong a tide of pleasure traffic passes along the river, more familiar as forming at Pang- bourne and Streatley the most picturesque portion of the scenery of the Thames. The visitor who can tear hinuclf away from the manifold attractions of the river will find himself well repaid for his trouble if he explores these heights, which, as they do not attain a greater altitude than five or six hundred feet, cannot be said to offer a very difficult or laborious ascent. They are densely and beautifully wooded ; and the landscape views which they afford of the Thames valley and of Berkshire, itself one of the most richly timbered counties of England, are singularly varied and picturesque, surpassing by one great feature the bolder scenery of the Surrey Hills,—the beautiful brimming river which no drought seems able to affect. If the traveller time his visit to one of the later Sundays in July, and pass through one of the little villages of the district, Greys, or Higlimoor, or Checkendon, he will come across a scene which will probably be new to him. The cherry is one of the staple productions of the country, the growth of the tree, which here attains an unusual height and luxuriance, being apparently favoured by the soil, a sandy loam laid upon chalk, which, though light, is not unproductive. Thus, like the apple in the cider counties, and the hop in some districts of Kent and Sussex, the fruit, though scarcely possessing the same economical importance, becomes an object of special interest to the inhabitant, and gives occasion for the chief festival of his agricul- tural year. One cannot but think that this interest is a proof of the power exercised over minds which are scarcely aware of the influence, by what in a more self-conscious condition of mind we call the love of variety, change, and the picturesque. The farmer whose prosperity must in the main depend upon his successful dealing with his pasture land and his arable, upon thriving flocks and liberal harvests, yet seems to have his heart in his cherry orchards. Something there is in the fact that they require less toil and out- lay, though the trees are, of course, the subjects of a careful culture ; then the crop is liable to great chances and changes, is the subject of peculiarly vivid hopes and fears from the first moment that the bloom shows itself. Does the profuse flower mean, for it does not always mean, plentiful fruit ? will some late
frost nip it before it is ' set '? will there be rain to swell the fruit to a size that will easily fill the baskets, and sun to give it colour and sweetness ? Then there are the fluctuations of price. An outbreak of cholera, to speak of an extreme case, would make the crop almost worthless ; a trade strike, when men have enough to do to get bread and cannot think of fruit, may rob it of its best markets. Then there is the picturesque aspect of the orchard, which an Englishman of this class says nothing about, but feels in an inarticulate sort of way ; the shapely trees, with their rich foliage variegated with fruit, showing every hue of red deep- ening into positive black, the merry pickers, singing glee and psalm alternately, who love this work more than any other that they do ; the children purple-mouthed beneath the boughs,—much, in fact, that resembles the joyousness and plenty of a vintage. All this seems to produce a sense of relief from the monotony of ordinary life, which expresses itself in these " cherry-feasts." These are village festivals, otherwise of an ordinary and homely kind, which derive a certain novelty of aspect from the place and time at which they are held. The place, indeed, is singularly picturesque. One of the most noteworthy features of the district is the unenclosed orchards. Common property they are not, the trees all belonging to the owners of neighbouring land, though there is a popular belief that on one day of the year every passer- by is at liberty to pick as much fruit as he pleases. (The real truth is that at any time a stranger may take what he can get from the ground without throwing or elimbing,—not, as may easily be supposed, a very valuable privilege, the magistrates refusing to inflict a penalty for picking, though punishing any damage that can be shown to be done to the trees). In these unenclosed orchards, which have been for this reason selected as the site of an unusual number of beer-houses, the villagers assemble on the last three Sundays in July, their numbers being swelled by visitors, not always of a very desirable kind, from the neighbouring towns. The ordinary features of the English village fair or feast are evidently modified by the influence of the day, though the day itself is observed with more of licence—some would say of liberty? —than has been commonly seen in this country since the days when Laud vainly endeavoured to supplement the Bible with the " Book of Sports." Cricket is played not only by boys, common rebels against the rigid regulations of Sabbatarianism, but by men, who are seldom seen, at least in the South of England, to do any- thing on the Sunday but lounge about and lean against posts. There are stalls, laden with cherries of course, and with the usual wares of gilt gingerbread, bright-coloured sweets, and the like.
But the shows and noisier sports, the caravans and merry-go- rounds, and wheels of fortune are not there. To wear and show their best clothes, which, indeed, what with the ill-assorted colours of the girls, and the ill-made, dingy cloth garb of the men, are not very picturesque ; to chatter, gossip, discuss village politics, and carry on some singularly awkward love-makings, to eat fruit and gingerbread, and to drink beer, but, above all, to get a relief from the wearying monotony which so depresses the life of our English working-class, seem the objects of their meeting. Some noise there is, even what may be called some gaiety, but on the whole, as one passes through the crowd, one cannot but remember the saying that "these English amuse themselves sadly." They do so, doubt- less, more sadly than usual this year, on account of the depression caused by the long drought,—a depression felt where there is no pressing want of water, but here the result of positive privation and suffering. The whole district is dependent for its supply upon tanks and ponds, which are universally exhausted, and upon the few public wells which have lately been sunk, one of them being the munificent gift of an Indian prince, the Maharajah of Benares; but as the water supply lies in the chalk, several hundred feet below the surface, private wells are not found except in the houses of the wealthier class. "You may hear," as a farm labourer said the other day to the writer, " the beasts crying for water all over the country ;" and the same suffering, besides vastly increasing the labours of the day, seems to express itself very evidently in the faces of the people, and to give a tinge of sadness to their festivities.
One asks, of course, as one has often asked before of such gatherings, whether these feasts are good things, and gets, of course, a decided answer in the negative from the educated opinion of the neighbourhood. To the clergy they are especially distasteful, as tending to empty the churches, besides causing other even more serious evils. Yet, on the whole, especially to one who knows what village feasts commonly are, it may seem that they are about as harmless and inoffensive a form of an inevitable danger as we are likely to find, and that the day, though the desecration may seem to some an additional evil, helps to give them this character. If people could only do without amusement life would be much more easily arranged, but as they cannot, it is necessary to put up with a good deal. that one scarcely approves of. The only practical suggestion that we can make, and it will seem ludicrously insufficient to philanthropists and religionists, is that the people should have better beer. The Oxfordshire peasant is not, perhaps, worse off than his brethren elsewhere in the quality of the liquor which he drinks, and he has the doubtful advantage of abundant opportunities for imbibing it. But he suffers like others from the undoubted fact that the national beverage, as it is drunk by nine- tenths of the nation, is worse both for body and soul than what is used in any other civilized country.
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