The world's worst apple …?
With over 5,000 apple varieties in the world, and 2,500 of those coming from Great Britain, we've often thought it would be silly to have a favourite apple. With changing moods in changing seasons there are just too many varieties with too many characteristics for our “favourite” not to change from hour to hour, day to day, week to week. Often it’s the apple we’re dealing with that day, in the barn or the orchard; as a suitor we are unreliable, our affections swayed by what's at hand and forgetful of past loyalties. We love what we do and bestow our appreciation on whatever form of nature's bounty happens to be within reach, from Discovery at the start of harvest, onto Worcester Pearmain, then Adams’ Pearmain (no relation) and Brown’s Apple, passing by Dabinett and ending up at Tremlett’s Bitter, with many other stops along the way.
That said, if we had a pomological seraglio old friends would be ever-present; the unique and indefinable Ashmead’s Kernel, of course; Yarlington Mill, with its splash of yellow and soft, generous tannins; Lord Lambourne for its Snow White good looks and its crisp sweetness; Ellison’s Orange for its rustic beauty and intriguing taste; Norfolk Beefing, for its literary connections and culinary use, for its silly name and individual coincidence. But choosing just one? Impossible.
At the other end of the scale, however, our thinking is clear - we can name and identify our least favourite apple with clarity and confidence. We sigh and sag when it appears at the barn - it can only be delivered as we would never knowingly bring it there ourselves. Please give a very cursory greeting to the Longney Russet and move along.
It's a useless apple in almost every aspect. Its appearance is wholly unremarkable; small, drab and nondescript green, it’s more or less invisible (don’t be fooled by the picture above). It contributes little; hard and dry, Longney Russets are best used as naturally disposable balls to chuck into the Severn than as objects from which to extract juice. They taste of … nothing. They are the very definition of bland, a heap of nothingness from which everything else can be measured. But when it comes to aroma, bland nothingness would be an improvement on the pungent sourness that signals their appearance in the barn.
So, in a word, useless. In another word, totally useless.
But …
In this year, of all years, we must recognise that the Longney Russet, for all its disappointments, is unique. It is a unique sequence of DNA that grows well alongside a stretch of the River Severn in Gloucestershire.
Within the world of apples, we know about Rust and Fire Blight and Crown Rot and Cork Spot and Apple Scab and Phytophthora Rot, and other ailments beside, and have learned to live and deal with such afflictions. But the rate at which we’re destroying the planet, changing the environment and altering ecosystems in unnatural ways, we're inviting new pestilence to emerge and wreak havoc, just as the Sars-CoV-2 virus emerged from keeping pangolins and bats in unnatural proximity in Wuhan, People’s Republic of China. Who knows what else is around the corner, for Homo sapiens as well as Malus pumila (also referred to as Malus domestica, Malus sylvestris, Malus communis, and Pyrus malus)?
It might just be that each and every one of these hard, dry, pungent, invisible apples that we call Longney Russet, last seen bobbing in the river at Longney, contains the unique sequence of DNA that is resistant to whatever pomological horror that awaits, or holds the key to finding a cure or treatment. In time, and with the dedication and expertise of horticultural experts at East Malling and elsewhere, the humble and useless Longney Russet could be cross-fertilised with other, more attractive apples, to produce something that is productive AND attractive AND resistant to that as yet unknown pomological horror. We don't know … but it might just be …
Which is why, ultimately, we're pleased to see a few - not too many, but some - Longney Russets at the barn, because it means that the trees are healthy and productive and that the unique sequence of DNA still exists. Because (as the people at Lidl put it), WIGIG …when it's gone, it's gone. Forever. When a variety ceases to exist, that's it, extinction, goodbye to that unique string of DNA.
The Longney Russets that cross our path come from the orchard owned by the Gloucestershire Orchard Trust. We pay the Trust for these apples (as well as for the several tonnes of useful apples we get from there), which helps the Trust in its work to conserve traditional orchards and rare apple varieties. For the time being the Longney Russet variety is safe.
Unlike Appleridge Pippin, Arlingham Churchyards, Bastard Underleaf, Beeches Green, Belcher’s Pearman, Black French, Brandy Redstreak, Brice’s Kernel, Bridge Pippin, Bromesberrow Crab, Bromley, Bush Apple, Cabbage Apple, Captain Kernel, Cooles Seedling, Crackstalk, Dainty Maids, Dobbs' Kernel Golden Pippin, Forest Styre, French Old Boy, Gloucester Quarantine, Gloucester Quoining, Golden Gloucester, Hackett’s Kernel, Hard Irons, Hatcher, Hawkins' Kernel, Haywood Kernel, Heming, Holbert's Victoria, Hook Street Pippin, Maiden Blush, Middle Hill Brandy, Mobley's Sowing, Morris' Pippin, Netherton Nonesuch, New Bromley, Normandy Pippin, Pages Yellow, Red Dick, Red French, Red Royal, Rissington Redstreak, Royal Wilding, Rusty Coat, Sophie Turk, Sour Vallis, Sweet French, Tippler's Kernel, Wheeler's Russet, White French, White Styre, Winter Pippin, Winter Russet, all apple varieties that were once known and recorded in Gloucestershire but which have now been lost, many extinct, others (if we’re lucky) possibly still growing somewhere, not known to the apple world and maybe by a different name.
So, Longney Russet, whilst you're most certainly not our favourite apple and you're not invited to our pomological seraglio, we're pleased to meet you (occasionally) and wish you a long and healthy existence.
Thanks for reading.