Cider Days

Where would Autumn be without the cider making at Hamptonne...

Cider Days

Sing we a song of the harvest home
Of maidens fair, and lads who roam
Sing of dalliance, should they meet.
Quaff of our cider, the finest, sweet.
 
This is the time of our cider making
Cabbage loaf, Wonders, all for baking
Sing in the farmyard, take the apple
While lad and maiden in lusty grapple.
 
The farm horse turns the cider crusher
Apples crunched, no fair smell sweeter
Sing now of the old farm days of clover
While lad and maiden, now rollover.
 
More apples to fetch from orchard now
Heave carts and barrows past the cow
Pick the apples, some to eat and savour
This year, the maiden is now in labour.
 
With some for bake, and some for crumble
This is our Jersey apple, so very humble
But best of all, drink upon cider days
While nearby mother with baby plays.