Foxwhelp - old, red, improved, faux…?
Whatever you think of Foxwhelp apples, or of cider made from them, the place to start a discussion is its simple, playful name, an amalgamation of two common enough words that somehow invites a warm chuckle and a moment’s consideration.
Fox; a famiar sight across the globe, present in every continent (except Antarctica, of course), well-adapted to both rural and urban living, with triangulated face, elongated nose, pointed ears, bright-eyes and bushy tail, a global reputation for cunning and trickery, considered a pest by some but with affection by others, part of folklore the world over and, most importantly, the inspiration behind Basil Brush. Whelp; a puppy, also used as a slightly disparaging reference to a child or young adult.
But a young fox is called a cub, a pup or a kit, not a whelp, so how did the name arise? That's been lost is the mists of time and given that Foxwhelp has been around a long time there has been sufficient mist over the centuries for the facts of the matter to become rather blurry. Foxwhelp was first mentioned In Ralph Austins’s fulsomely titled work A Treatise on Fruit-trees, showing the manner of grafting, setting, pruning, and ordering of them in all respects, published in 1653. Foxwhelp then featured in John Evelyn’s Pomona, published in 1664, also in Robert Hogg’s The Fruit Manual (1884), where the notion that it's a Herefordshire apple seems to have started (but it did of course originate in Gloucestershire, specifically the Forest of Dean, something that John Evelyn understood over 200 years earlier). Charles Martell, in his Native Apples of Gloucestershire (2014), summarises some of the ways in which the name may have arisen; it was found as a gribble, or seedling, close to a fox's den; a fox-hunter discovered and named it; the eye of the fruit resembles the face of a fox; cider made with Foxwhelp has a distinctive and particular aroma, apparently reminiscent of a fox's scent. Take your pick.
Dabinett is named after William Dabinett, who first discovered it. Yarlington Mill is named after the mill in Yarlington, where it was first discovered. Harry Masters’ Jersey is named after Harry Masters, the nurseryman who bred it. No such simple explanation attaches itself to Foxwhelp; its name derives from the vernacular, from random happenstance, chance, circumstance and the native wit of Gloucestershire's citizenry almost 400 years ago. It adds to the mystique.
Adding to the sense of occasion is the fact that Foxwhelp has a well-known tendency to mutate, to produce “sports”. Thus a tree can start to produce fruit from a limb that is subtly different to the “normal” fruit, hence the proliferation of Foxhelps; the original Foxwhelp (now unnecessarily called Old Foxwhelp in some circles), Improved Foxwhelp, Rejuvenated Foxwhelp, Red Foxwhelp, Broxwood Foxwhelp, even Fauxwhelp, apparently. And because of this tendency to evolve naturally, we can't be totally certain that what we know to be Foxwhelp is exactly the same apple as the Foxwhelp John Evelyn wrote about so glowingly all those years ago. The orchard from which we gathered Foxwhelp last autumn straddles the Gloucestershire - Herefordshire border, close to the very heart of its provenance, the trees are mature so we’re confident that we're dealing with the real thing, as is the cider-maker who generously introduced us to the orchard, the inestimable Pat Lock of Jolter Press, as is the owner of the land.
The most recent edition of Malus features an article on Foxwhelp, written by Cameron Peace, a professor in the Department of Horticulture at Washington State University, someone who clearly knows his stuff. Single Nucleotide Polymorphism DNA analysis of an array of apples bearing the Foxwhelp name has helped to sort out the Foxwhelp lineage. For full details, we suggest and recommend you subscribe to Malus magazine - but here are what we think are the edited highlights:
Foxwhelp (aka Old Foxwhelp) is the true, original Foxwhelp, itself probably a grandchild of Caville Rouge;
Red Foxwhelp is a sport of Foxwhelp;
Broxwood Foxwhelp and Improved Foxwhelp are both children of Foxwhelp;
A sample labelled Broxwood Foxwhelp was, in fact, Ellis Bitter;
A sample labelled Sonoma Foxwhelp was the same as Geneva Foxwhelp, which is also known as Fauxwhelp and is unrelated to Foxwhelp.
With apples having the ability to proliferate and with Homo sapiens' instinct to explore, investigate and improve, it's no wonder there has been confusion, not just around Foxwhelp but many other varieties too. Cuttings are taken, scions grafted and budded, trees are planted, fruit is sampled, amateurs are involved, labels are misplaced, cider is made, names are given, traditions are started. The work of experts such as Prof. Peace and others who work at East Malling and elsewhere, is essential in helping to sort out the resulting chaos.
With some facts now established about Foxwhelp, all that remains is for everyone involved in the growing and supply of Foxwhelp trees and everyone involved in the making and selling of cider from Foxwhelp apples, from Maine to California, from Penzance to John O’Groats, from Perth to Brisbane and in every other land where the trees are grown and cider made, to accept the analysis, to stop confusing Rejuvenated Foxwhelp with Broxwood Foxwhelp, to destroy their stock of labels and get new ones printed. Most difficult of all, those affected may have to change the thoughts and opinions of a lifetime.
And we know in Gloucestershire how hard that can be. As we wrote in March 2020 in our blog “What’s in a name? (Part 1), DNA analysis has revealed that what we thought was Hunt’s Duke of Gloucester is, in fact, Puckrup Pippin and what we thought was Puckrup Pippin is Hunt’s Duke of Gloucester. And where do we go with that discovery? Did the laboratory accidentally mix up a couple of record cards, or do we have to persuade the pomological world in Gloucestershire also to change the habits and knowledge of a lifetime? We’ve only been involved in that world for six or seven years and already have firm opinions on the matter, so good luck with that …
Hunt’s Duke of Gloucester … not Puckrup Pippin!!
Old? A plea …
Since when did Foxwhelp become Old Foxwhelp? Not in these parts, it didn’t. When some European settlers from the Netherlands landed on the shore across the Atlantic and booted the resident population off their elongated island home they called Manhattan, they erected a wooden barricade and called their new settlement New Amsterdam. Did the Amsterdam they left behind suddenly become Old Amsterdam? No, it did not.
The Dutch traded that little settlement with the British, in exchange for two small islands, in what is now part of the Indonesian archipelago, where nutmeg happened to grow rather well. When the British changed the name from New Amsterdam to New York, did the original York, home to York Minster, Clifford’s Tower and The Shambles, become Old York? No, it did not.
Does the emergence of Black Dabinett, a seedling of Dabinett, mean that we now have to refer to the original version as Old Dabinett? No, it does not.
Just because something is popular or successful, copied or imitated doesn’t mean that the original has to be retitled. Red Foxwhelp is Red Foxwhelp. Broxwood Foxwhelp is Broxwood Foxwhelp. Improved Foxwhelp is Improved Foxwhelp (and who gets to decide whether it’s an improvement on the original or not?). And Foxwhelp is Foxwhelp. Can we please leave it at that?
Thanks for reading.