I've never counted all the knives in the house before

I can only conclude that Davison is right, and that the old map is, in fact, genuine. Damn the history books, then. They make no mention of any such thing within a hundred miles of here. Davison has also pointed out that the orchard itself is conspicuous by its absence on the most recent map to hand, printed (according to itself) by Bodfirm and Daughter, Charters and Circlists, Snedge, which, I'm am reliably informed, is an old form of the more familiar (at least this side of the Werts) Snudgepate (not, in itself, a placename; rather the family name of generations of snudgers (hence the name) who, alas, lost all records in a storm they insist I must remember.

A bucketful of rosy-tinged apples of all sizes was duly brought back to the house and emptied onto a sheet of newspaper on the kitchen table, apple tart for afters hoving into view as a distinct post-prandial delight.

I've always been a dab hand at the peeling of apples, managing nine times out of ten to remove the skin in a happily spiralling single piece. But these, these somehow defeat me.