Ripe for the Picking
It’s a sunny day, the Kentish air is sweet and the roadside sign says ‘Terry’s Cherries First Right’. Turning off, a track leads through apple and pear orchards until suddenly, we’re back in H.E. Bates’ country (the author lived just a cherry stone’s throw away) with towering standard cherry trees buttressed by 50ft fruit-picking ladders next to a jaunty red and white sales booth exclaiming ‘Sound Horn for Service’. The cherries are ripe and summer is here.
From this 1950s wonderland, Terry sells nine varieties of cherries that will ripen one
