Do you remember the neat brick paths lined with apple trees at Chailey? They divided the grass into small squares. By the dining room at St Martins was the weeping pear, a giant umbrella of shade. By the slope leading from the dining room were climbing roses resembling the Tudor rose, scentless but lovely. THEORY AND PRACTICE Whatever inspired me one late summer day To make me some cider instead of just play. So I gathered some apples from off of the trees And a clean white handkerchief in which I could sneeze. Then I wrapped up the apples and tied a a tight knot In my grubby white hankie while the sun was still hot. And smashed my bundle against the brick path And emptied the hankie of all the mash And I wrung out the juice and swallowed the brew It was brown, it was bitter,disgusting and new.