Two fruiting bushes that are looked at almost daily are not yet by any means ready for picking, though some bushes, in the right sun-facing position, are coming on well. That is, the elderberries. And in spite of good resolutions and encouragement from many books, including Mrs Beeton, the wine has never been tried. Maybe because it takes too long. As always, within a few yards you find one bush, sun-facing, back to a stone wall, which is plum ready for the birds to gorge on, while others in a draughty corner are not half-way ready.
But the prize bush of all, and the one which escaped entirely the ravages of the frost, is the arbutus. Mind you, its flowers, which are now appearing, could be hit by early autumn frosts, but they are so well roofed by the bay-like leaves, as are the subsequent fruit, that no matter what the climatic conditions, the one bush here has never failed to produce. This year is bountiful beyond any of its predecessors. Charles Nelson in his majestic Trees of Ireland, tells you everything you need to know about it, and quotes interestingly from an 18th-century traveller who observed about the arbutus on the islands of Lough Leane that most of them are on craggy rocks "where you can't see a shovel full of earth".
It doesn't tolerate shade but it can be grown in lime-rich or acid soil. There are varied opinions about the quality of the fruit, strawberry-like in certain aspects, as is the rough, seedy exterior, but insipid or dry as to flavour until very late in the season. Yet Nelson quotes one Anne Pratt, writing in 1855 and stating that in Killarney during the last century the fruits were gathered and "offered in baskets for sale . . . they are, when fully ripe, perfectly wholesome." Fully ripe means deep, deep red - almost falling off the branch. And it does survive and thrive north of Killarney.
Jane Grigson first came across it in Ventimiglia, near the coast at the French-Italian border, and gives a couple of ideas for cooking. Arbutus jelly, for example. The jam was tried here because of not wanting to waste anything of the fruit. A bit gritty, but flavoursome. Or the fruits parboiled and placed on a bed of whipped cream in pastry cases. Perfection.