I stand among the gnarled old apple trees and feel surrounded by a group of friends. The pruned shapes and the rough lichen-encrusted bark conjure up memories from my childhood in Kent, where orchards abounded and everyone had an apple tree or two in their garden. In my mind, I see clouds of pale pink flowers and rosy red fruits, set against a clear blue sky. I can feel the sun on my shoulders and smell the soft perfume of apples. This kaleidoscope of images is no respecter of order, for the seasons are muddled as they tumble over each other in my memory.

Today though, it is definitely autumn. There was a chill in the air this morning and dew drops were glistening on the cobwebs in the hedge. The leaves have turned a tired-looking green and some are distinctly yellow. This North Yorkshire orchard, planted by the local gentry in the nineteenth century, has had a varied life. Once tended, pruned and prized, it then fell out of favour and spent many years abandoned, ignored and unkempt. Now, it has a new lease of life with a gardener who is busy restoring these wonderful trees to their former glory. Each tree is an individual, tall and upright, wide and spreading or compact and stocky. There are many old varieties represented here with intriguing names like Bismarck, Keswick Codlin, Newton Wonder, Blenheim Orange and Peasgood’s Nonsuch.

The rough grass and nettles under my feet have been scythed and the best of the crop harvested. The inaccessible fruits at the top of the trees and the rotten ones on the ground are all that are left. Perhaps originally pigs would have been driven in and left to feast on what they could find. But today we are going to collect the remaining fruit and convert it into apple juice. The beauty of making juice is that we can use scabby, misshapen and bruised fruit so that very little of the crop ever goes to waste.

We’re making an early start and begin by selecting a tree, picking up the fallen apples and then spreading enormous sheets of plastic under it. We nudge the tree with apple pickers, long telescopic poles with a v-shaped fork on top. The fork holds a branch as we shake, encouraging a shower of apples, leaves, twigs, spiders and earwigs to cascade on to the sheets. On picking up the ends, the apples roll to the middle and we gather them into bags, jettisoning any that are too rotten. We move the plastic to the next tree and begin again.

Back at the farm we wash the apples. They don’t have to be squeaky clean, but soil, mould and animal droppings must be removed or the juice will be contaminated. We then scrat them. This is a process that turns firm rounded apples into a sloppy pulp. Originally horse power and later steam would have been used to power two large wooden wheels with protruding fingers to rotate and interlock. The apples would have been dropped in and pulverised as they were squashed between the wheels. Today we are using an electric scratter which is like a garden shredder. This machine is very efficient but very noisy. It’s a great sense of relief when it’s switched off for a while and I become aware of the quiet world around me. I can now hear the distant squabbling rooks, the buzzing of insects and the chatter of my companions.

The apple pulp, or pomace, is a light yellow which quickly oxidises to a brown colour, in the same way that a discarded apple core would. The pulverising releases the characteristic apple perfume, which attracts dozens of wasps that hamper our progress. I realise the tangy smell is linked in my mind to the fear of these insects and their painful stings. I feel a bit edgy as I continue to work, trying to dodge these black and yellow terrors.

We’re now ready to extract the apple juice and accomplish this by using a press. Today we’re using a barrel press and a rack and cloth press, but the principle is the same for both. The pomace is placed in a cloth which is squeezed more and more tightly by a heavy weight. The cloth bag is held in a slatted barrel in the barrel press, and several bags are stacked up on wooden slats on the rack and cloth press.

The apple cores, skin and pips are retained by the cloth and the juice is able to flow freely through the pores so we can collect it in clean buckets.

Everyone wants to try the juice. I savour my cupful. It both looks and tastes like liquid gold. It is the best, purest apple juice I have ever drunk and when I close my eyes I can taste sunshine, fresh air and apple blossom. Each mouthful transports me, once again, to my orchard of gnarled old friends.

Janet Willoner, 2016