Hop Picking in Kent

Date: [unknown] [unknown]
Location: Kent, England, United Kingdom
Surname/tag: Webster-16245

Some memories of the 1930s written by Alf Webster July 2009.

Hop Picking in Kent

As the summer school holidays drew to a close each year my mother would talk about the coming hop picking season. September each year, returning to school for one or two days seemed a waste of time, so I was allowed to laze about till the letter with free train timetable came. My mother always accumulated enough food, Tea sugar, and tinned supplies to last us for the first 10 days or so, and when we had earned sufficient money for a sub, to buy food for the remainder of the hop picking season.

The train left London Bridge station between 3 & 4 am. This seem to be a big adventure being woken, washed and dressed while half asleep, then walking from Rotherhithe tunnel up to London Bridge station pushing our hoppin box, containing our clothing, bedding and cooking gear. There always seemed to be three or four separate trains for different other hop fields, Whitbread’s had a very big farm at Paddock woods, We went on to Goudhurst railway station, where we were met by a farm wagon pulled by two massive draught horses.

All boxes, baggage, and kids were loaded; away off to the hutments, approximate two mile from the nearest public roadway, by farm track. (I see on a modern road map that a new motorway London to Hastings, skirts Lamberhurst village, and almost cuts the farm into two. )

There were approximate 24 huts, split between 6/7 family units. Sited in three groups of 8, plus a cooking shed and a pair of toilets to each block, all neatly out of sight in a woodlot. Most groups were women and children, and the menfolk used to come down from London, Friday night or Saturday morning, and return Sunday night, Giving the place a festive air, with many a late Saturday night sing along around a large cookhouse fire, (many fell asleep there till next morning ).

A good season and the hops would be as big as a man’s thumb, easy to pick and fill a good bin, a poor season and they were as big as a man’s thumbnail, the bin level never seemed to rise, we were paid by the bushel, a good hot dry day and the hops were big and fluffy, a wet and rainy day and they compacted and seemed more to the bushel.

A good picking season my mother and I plus an odd visitor helping out, we could clear 40-50 pounds, after all expenses were paid for, which at that time in history was a nice bonus for winter clothing, (a new tailor made suit for me cost two pounds ten shillings). We were the best dressed kids on the street.