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IN ARTHURIAN legend, dead heroes go west to Avalon, an island paradise of
apple orchards. In the Irish version, the trees blossom and bear fruit
simultaneously. Better than angels with harps any day—the ancients knew a
good place when they saw one.

Indeed, you could argue that orchards stand as one of humanity’s finest
achievements, living proof that our species really can negotiate mutually
beneficial relationships with nature. The domesticated apple ranks among
Britain’s top 10 trees for feeding invertebrates—fuelling the food chain
for all manner of birds and beasts. “In orchards, we and nature together have
created an exuberant and secret landscape,” says Sue Clifford, co-director of
Common Ground, one of Britain’s environmental charities and a vigorous champion
of the orchard.

Yet these days, the allure of old orchards is increasingly something we
experience only through legends and fairy tales. Modern orchards are no place
for heroes, dead or alive. Dwarf “bush” plantations bearing fruit of just one or
two commercial varieties grow in serried herbicided ranks, all the better to
receive pesticide sprays a dozen times a season. As Dan Keech, also of Common
Ground, says: “Standardisation can take the heart out of a place and all the
enticement out of an orchard.”

My local greengrocer has fond memories of her Kentish childhood, but for her
there’s no going back. “When my mum and I drove round our old neighbourhood the
other day,” she says, “all the wonderful old cherry orchards were gone.” You
have to look hard to find the last of these Kentish giants, 18 metres high,
awash with white blossom in spring. Go west, though, and you can still see why
Hereford, Somerset and Devon are renowned for their cider apple trees,
Gloucestershire for its perry pears, producing an alcoholic tipple that can
rival fine wines.

Such remnants persist, but they are not enough. A revival of care and concern
for these magical places should be at the top of every planner’s agenda. Even
something as spectacular as Stonehenge probably lost its meaning within six
generations or less. Social memory is frighteningly short. So now is the time to
save old orchards, while we still remember what they can be—and to plant
new ones with local varieties. Just published, The Common Ground Book of
Orchards (available through www.commonground.org.uk) celebrates Britain’s
immensely rich and diverse orcharding traditions and offers practical advice for
would-be “community orchardists”. Already, there are hundreds of these new
community orchards in cities as well as the country, feeding fruit and other
products back into the local food economy, perhaps through farmers’ markets or
the “box schemes” that already deliver in-season produce.

“We desperately need more places to relax and play in, as well as shared
activities that can unite all sorts of people,” says Keech. What better than an
orchard? No wonder community orchards are the focus of local
celebrations—not least those on Apple Day, 21 October, a festival launched
by Common Ground in 1990. As the orchard revival gains ground, who knows?
Perhaps the heroes of Avalon, patiently awaiting their return to the mortal
world, may judge that the time has come at last.