I am eating an apple as I write: juicy, crisp, acid yet sweet. A truly English taste, I’d say, and one to savour with the apple season upon us. Yet this most familiar fruit is not native to northern Europe. It came from the mountains of Tien Shan on the Kazakhstan-China border, via the ancient silk route and the Romans. But that was so many moons ago that we have come to regard the apple as our own. It is the apple of English eyes, our best beloved fruit, and, arguably, we have done more than any other nation to nurture it.

Britain has an amazing 2,300 registered varieties of dessert and culinary apple, plus hundreds more cider varieties. Although the apple was hugely important long before Queen Victoria came to the throne, it was in her empire-building reign that the pinnacle of appledom was reached. Head gardeners on big estates vied with each other on the show bench, in the loveliness of their walled gardens and in their ability to supply kitchen and still room with fruits in tip-top condition for as many months as possible. They crossed favourite varieties to create new tastes, improve keeping quality and disease resistance. They cordoned trees to cradle fruit against sunny walls and arched them over grassy and gravel paths. They learned to harvest and store fruit so it was at its peak when served.