I'm really off now for a while. Here's the classic tale of Scrumpin' .

~S~

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"SCRUMPIN' "


1. My steel-shod boots rang on the cobblestones of the courtyard of Bells Farm as I ran to the open back door.

2. "I've finished all my chores, Aunt Win," I called.

3. Aunt Win appeared in the doorway to the main room, wiping her hands on her white smock. She always wore it when working in the dairy, which was in the center of the house.

4. "Did you fill the woodbin and bring in the kindling?" she asked.

5. "Yes," I replied. "I also fed the chickens and collected the eggs, I added, pointing to a basket on the kitchen table.

6. "How about taking care of Prince?" she questioned.

7. "I gave him some oats, filled his water trough, and rubbed him down," I answered. I needed no reminding to take care of our horse, which was easily my favorite responsibility on the farm.

8. "Can I go now?" I pleaded.

9. "Does Uncle Char have anything for you to do?"

10. "No, he said to ask you."

11. "Alright, you can go, but be back in time to fetch the cows for milking," she admonished.

12. "Thanks, Aunt Win," I smiled.

13. "Where are you going?"

14. "Probably to Bare Hill, " I called over my shoulder as I clattered over the stones again at a run.

15. Since coming to live at Bells I had gradually been given various responsibilities as my knowledge of the farm increased under the guidance of Uncle Char. Doing chores was expected of me, as it was of all farm children, but I was never asked to do anything beyond my physical capabilities or skills.

16. But today was Saturday, and I now had a few precious hours to myself and didn't want to waste them, although I didn't feel like spending them alone.

17. Walking toward the center of the village I saw my friend Dennis leaning on his elbows on the wall outside his house. Dennis was a village boy and lived with his grandmother. His parents had abandoned him when he was a small child, and although he often talked of returning to live with them, he didn't really believe it; neither did anyone else.

18. Dennis was a studious-looking boy and did odd jobs for the Methodist Chapel, attending services faithfully every Sunday morning and evening, and singing in the choir. Because of his close association with the chapel he had been given the nickname, "Parson," which he never resented, even taking some pride in it.

19. "Hello Parson," I called, taking a position on the other side of the wall. "What are you doing?"

20. "Nothing," he stated the obvious; "how about you?"

21. "I have the afternoon off and I'm going to Bare Hill," I replied. "Want to come along?"

22. "Yes," he brightened up; "let me tell Gran where I'll be." And he dashed into the house where I heard him and his grandmother talking loudly.

23. "She's not too happy about me leaving for a couple of hours," he said as he came thro8guht the gate of their front yard, closing it behind him. "But I expect she'll get over it."

24. Together we retraced my steps to Bells Farm and beyond, taking a left fork on the road about a half-mile from the last cottage in the village.

25. Another mile brought us to the gate of Bare Hill, which consisted of three meadows connected by openings in the hedgerows.

26. "Look at all the rabbits," Dennis whispered.

27. About two dozen of them were feeding close to the edge of the field.

28. "Let's catch one," I whispered back.

29. Clambering over the five-bar wooden gate, which was much more fun than opening it, we gave chase whooping and yelling in an attempt to confuse our quarry. The rabbits quickly disappeared into the entrances of their warrens in the hedgerows, leaving us panting and empty-handed.

30. "Look, the hazelnuts will soon be ready," Dennis observed. These filberts we gathered when they were ripe, and were a delicacy we all enjoyed from autumn until Christmas.

31. Coming upon a large clump of blackberries, we gorged ourselves on the sweet fruit until our fingers and tongues were bright purple from the juice.

32. Dawdling our way through the fist and second fields we entered the third. This was by far the largest and consisted of a big, grassy hill for which "Bare Hill" was named.

33. "I'm thirsty," I said. "Let's go to the spring."

34. Climbing one side of the hill and running down the other, we were soon at the bank of a small stream. This rivulet was fed by four springs, which gurgled from some rocks, filling small stone basins before joining together below. Falling on our stomachs, we slaked our thirst with the clear, cold water. We then rolled on our backs to watch the clouds scudding by.

35. Turning my head a little I looked at an apple tree visible above the hedge.

36. "How about we scrump some apples," I suggested. 'Scrumping' was a term used to describe taking apples and other fruit from trees which did not belong to us. We did not regard it as theft but rather as using fruit which otherwise might have joined that which rotted on the ground every autumn.

37. "But that's the Vicar's orchard," Dennis replied doubtfully.

38. "Don't worry, I've been over there before and he won't miss a couple of apples."

39. "Just a couple, then," Dennis agreed.

40. Climbing the hedge we were soon munching the crisp fruit. The Vicar's orchard stretched before us, and over a small hill we could just see the chimneys of the manse. I reasoned that if we couldn't see the house, the Vicar couldn't see us, so I suggested we venture farther into the orchard. Reluctantly, Dennis followed.

41. We picked and ate apples from other trees, whispering to each other lest the Vicar's haring was acute enough to hear us from a quarter of a mile away.

42. "I've had enough apples," Dennis groaned.

43. "Me too," I agreed. "But there's a big pear tree over there, and I sure would like some."

44. "Do you think we'd better?"

45. "We'll only take two each," I reassured him.

46. After all, the secret to successful scrumping was to take only as much as could be consumed on the way home; thus the evidence would be destroyed before entering the village.

47. We silently made our way toward a huge pear tree bearing an abundance of beautiful fruit.

48. "Look," Dennis whispered. "Somebody's left a ladder against the tree!"

49. Sure enough, the rungs of a picker's tapered ladder disappeared into the dense, lush foliage above.

50. "I'll go up and throw some down to you," I volunteered, and began climbing.

51. Up and up I went, until the absolute worst thing that could possibly have happened—did. Horrified, I found myself staring at the heels of a pair of work boots.

52. I don't remember my feet touching the rungs on the way down. "Run!" I screamed, and, with the Vicar calling to us to stop, Dennis and I tore through the orchard, hurdled the hedgerow, streaked across the three fields of Bare Hill, and didn't stop until we arrived, panic-stricken and gasping for air, at the gate leading to the road.

53. "Maybe he didn't see us," Dennis said, but with no hope in his voice.

54. "We were probably too quick for him," I answered without conviction.

55. Promising never to mention the episode to anyone, ever, we returned to our respective homes.

56. "You weren't gone for very long," Aunt Win observed. "I didn't think you'd be back for quite a while."

57. "There wasn't much to do," I mumbled.



58. Next morning being Sunday, Aunt Win, my brother and I, dressed in our good clothes, started for church. On the way, we carried a pan containing the meat and vegetables for our Sunday dinner to be dropped off at the baker's shop. There it would be placed in the ovens, along with pans from other churchgoers. It would then be collected, perfectly baked, upon our return from the service.

59. Entering the sanctuary my brother and I took our usual places in the back row of the choir. This was not due to our angelic voices but because Aunt Win played the organ which was immediately behind. Thus she could reach around and give us a whack if we became too noisy.

60. The Vicar, preparing for the service, looked over and wished us a good morning. I suddenly became very interested in my shoes.

61. That Sunday morning's service was the longest I ever sat through, and the sermon was interminable. The Vicar took the Ten Commandments as his text, with particular emphasis on "Thou Shalt Not Steal." I had no doubt whatever that the entire sermon was for my benefit.

62. My torture finally ended with the recessional hymn, and with great relief I ran from the church to wait for Aunt Win and my brother to catch up. Collecting our now-cooked dinner we headed back to Bells, and the more distance I put between myself and the church, the better I felt.

63. After our meal I helped Aunt Win wash the dishes while Uncle Char settled back in his easy chair for his usual Sunday afternoon nap. My brother sat on a bench at the huge table where had just eaten, laboring over a letter to our parents in London.

64. Hearing footsteps on the stones outside the kitchen, I glanced out the window and, to my dismay, watched the Vicar heading for our back door.

65. I fled though the main room and up the stairs to my bedroom, to await the Vicar's departure.

66. "Jack, come down here, someone wants to talk to you," Aunt Win called up the stairs. I sat perfectly still and pretended I didn't hear her.

67. "Jack, come down, the Vicar wants to see you," she called again.

68. My heart sank. He obviously wanted to confront me with the whole orchard episode, which would elicit a lecture from Aunt Win and, even worse, would make Uncle Char extremely angry.

69. With great misgiving I slowly descended the stairs and entered the main room. The Vicar was standing by the fireplace, his face wrinkled in a large smile.

70. Puzzled, I looked at Aunt Win who was standing next to the Vicar, also smiling. Apparently he had not told her of my transgressions yet, but was waiting until I was present to hear the whole story. Still, I didn't understand the smiles.

71. "Look what the Vicar has brought you," Aunt Win grinned.

72. The Vicar reached down behind him and lifted a basket of fruit into view. I recognized three varieties of apples and two kinds of pears, one of them from that fateful tree.

73. "I know boys enjoy fruit so I thought I'd bring you some," he said. "I have more than enough," he added, still smiling broadly.

74. "Well, what do you say to the Vicar then?" Aunt Win asked.

75. "Thank you, Vicar," I mumbled, looking down at the flagstone floor.

76. "When this is gone and you would like some more, just come to the manse and I'll be happy to give you whatever you like," the Vicar invited.

77. Again I mumbled my thanks. Perhaps he wasn't going to tell of my scrumping escapade after all. I brightened visibly.

And so it was. To my knowledge the Vicar never told a soul about Dennis and me and the pear tree. I never had the nerve to go to his home to ask for fruit. Of course he knew I wouldn't, so from time to time he would come to the back door of Bells carrying a bag of fruit for us, until the season ended and the cold winter winds started to blow. But they never tasted as good as those we scrumped.