“Yer’s tu thee, old apple-tree, Be zure yu bud, be zure yu blaw, And bring voth apples gude enough Hats vul! caps vul! Dree bushel bags vul! Pockets vul and awl! Urrah! Urrah! Aw ’ess, hats vul, caps vul! And dree bushel bags vul! Urrah! Urrah! Urrah!” This strange uncouth song was being chanted by moonlight by two score or more of rough West-Country voices. For half-a-mile the sound was carried by the sea-breeze, and all the cottagers within hearing of the chant had run forth to join, both in the song and in the ceremony which it marked.…
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