Hop Picking Down In Kent Poem by Angela Wybrow

There was a time when many folk went
To pick hops on farms, down in Kent.
They came mainly from London's South and East Ends -
Some with their families, and some with friends.

They stayed in 'hopper huts' for days at a time,
Wishing for the weather to be warm and fine.
The Pickers, they toiled hard in the fields:
Everyone hoping for an excellent yeild.

They went each September, when the hops were ripe:
Row upon row, looking clean and bright.
They worked their way down the long lines,
Carefully plucking the cones from the bines.

These 'holiday hoppers', with hands which were willing,
Were keen to soak up the sun, and earn a few shillings.
In the Kent country air, the sweet smells lingered,
As the Pickers worked with deft, nimble fingers.

These 'hopping' holidays were for both profit and pleasure,
And, when evening came, it was time for leisure;
There was music and dancing, and folk put on plays,
And there was food and wine at the end of each day.

The camaraderie between Pickers was perfectly clear,
And many of them chose to return year after year.
It was arduous work, but they also had fun,
And they returned back home, following a job well done.