“Welcome to paradise,” exclaimed our guide as he led us through the gate. Derived from the ancient Persian pardes, meaning “orchard” or “enclosure”, “paradise” is an apt description for this beautifully restored Victorian walled garden nestled at the foot of the South Downs, which boasts more than 100 varieties of apple, many of Sussex origin. Commercial growers nowadays concentrate on a handful of cultivars selected for heavy cropping, bruise resistance, keeping quality and uniform shape; this garden, in contrast, celebrates our wealth of heirloom apples, whatever their peculiar traits.
The orchard is quartered by flint-edged paths and subdivided with neatly clipped dwarf box hedging. Around the periphery, trees have been coaxed into elegant forms, with traditional espalier, oblique cordons and fork-shaped palmette verriers against the red-brick wall, while others are trained as goblets and four-winged pyramids on free-standing metal frames. In the centre they are planted in traditional rows with a grass sward beneath.
As he recounted the history of the apple collection, our guide deftly picked and sliced an example of each variety for us to taste. I munched on wedges of mealy-fleshed Nanny, spicy aniseed-flavoured Sussex Mother, the greasy-skinned but fragrant Tinsley Quince, crisp Golden Pippin, which had a refreshing lemon sherbet tang, and nutty Egremont Russet.
Genetic russeting is a common feature of Sussex apples, a corky condition of the skin that ranges from freckling on the Duck’s Bill and webbing on the Saltcote Pippin, to the warted, toad-like skin of the Knobby Russet.
I was surprised to spot a glossy green supermarket stalwart among the heritage varieties. Though the Granny Smith is of Australian origin, it has a Sussex connection, having been cultivated by a Peasmarsh-born immigrant to New South Wales, Maria Ann Smith, in the 1880s.
Alongside that old kitchen faithful the Bramley, I discovered the magnificent Howgate Wonder, from the Isle of Wight. Its vermilion-flushed fruit are some of the largest cooking apples in cultivation, and one tipping the scales at 1.67kg made the Guinness Book of Records in 1997, although the record was broken in 2005. But the apples I couldn’t resist taking home were Catsheads – glossy, pistachio-skinned cookers that did indeed bear more than a passing resemblance to the shape of my Siamese’s skull.
Follow Country diary on Twitter: @gdncountrydiary
