SILKWORMS SPIN IN OLD CASTLE

Taranaki Daily News, 28 December 1934, Page 14

SILKWORMS SPIN IN OLD CASTLE

Industry Saved Historic Home From Ruin

HPHERE are all the elements of a x fairy tale in the experiences of a poor (but very clever and beautiful) heroine who was likely to lose her family castle, but saved it with the help of silkworms that spun cocoons of gold all over the castle walls! This, however, is but a free rendering of the story of Lady Hart Dyke, whose experiments in silkworm culture at Lullingstone Castle, in Kent, promise to open a new romance of industry in rural England. When Sir Oliver Hart Dyke came lately into his inheritance of the beautiful old castle, which has descended in an unbroken line since the 14th century, the practical difficulties of upkeep, after paying death duties and taxes, made their prompt appearance. It might well have been the old story, which is being repeated all over England—of untenanted ruins, or sale to guest house proprietors; but the mistress of the castle had other and more enterprising ideas. Instead of retiring to make room for paying guests, she installed silkworms! Guest chambers, which once resounded with laughter and gossip of Queen Anne’s ladies-in-waiting, are now enlivened by the scissor-like sound of the munching of millions of mulberry leaves. Lady Hart Dyke, who is young, fair and charming, believes in her silkworms with whole-hearted enthusiasm, and sees in their future more than personal gain (says the Melbourne “Herald”). “No one,” she says, “can hope to make silkworms pay in less than two years, but after that” (and her expression was dreamy) “they are not only going to pay, but are going to make big money!” Lullingstone Castle is a perfect setting for this picturesque enterprise. It stands in one of the loveliest park of Kent, and its battlemented gateway and the traces of

the ancient moat bear withness to stormy centuries. Queen Anne was a guest there and her room, kept just as it was at the time of her visit, magically preserves the atmosphere of elegance and charm which was her own gift to Time. In the little parish church within the grounds are the storied tombs of the generations of the owners of Lullingstone, one of which, if the least illustrious, bears what is perhaps the prettiest of rural epitaphs: “He was a right true English gentleman.” The silkworm rooms are silent and not very spectacular just now, as spinning is over for the season; but I am assured that the noise of 300,000 silkworms eating like one is singularly impressive! The cocoons hang on a forest of twigs with trays underneath. Most of these will be baked, as a preliminary to the unwinding; but a certain number of moths are allowed to complete the life cycle and their eggs will be stored through the winter and gradually warmed up next season. Sample hanks of silk, ranging from cream to pale gold according to the breed of the spinner, bear witness to the industry of the new castle tenants. British manufacturers have already expressed their readiness to take the whole of the future output, and Lullingstone can profitably compete with Continental producers. A trained manager and two girl assistants are working with the owner, and the 300,000 silkworms under their care are but the nucleus of a future collection. Lady Hart Dyke explained that “the Italian' worms are all very well, but they are too delicate; the Italians have made the mistake of inbreeding. We have had good results with cross-bred worms at a fairly low temperature, but I’ll be pleased when I can get a worm that will live and be happy at 58 degrees. Two of the rooms in the castle

are given up to the spinning silkworms. Another is used as a hospital! Daily the silk culturists make a careful survey of the workroom, and any worm that appears to be off colour, and is not up to the same stage as its neighbours, is put in the hospital. His diet is white mulberry leaves, like that of his brethren, but instead of being given whole, the leaves are minced. Careful nursing pays so well that an overwhelming majority of invalids go back to the spinning room and make up for lost time. The practical possibilities of the industry, though, depend very largely on making rural England what Americans would call “silkworm conscious.” Labour costs are still high because of the scarcity of mulberry trees. True, the castle has asquired an interest in 70 full-grown trees, but these are scattered through three counties, so that two men are constantly engaged in picking. Meanwhile, Lady Hart Dyke is busy persuading country people to grow mulberries, not as trees, but as bushy hedges, which would reduce picking costs to a minimum. I heard her tell a country woman how to prepare the cocoons, and it sounded rather like a recipe for scones! “Pop them in a hot oven at first,” she said. “It should be at boiling point, and to make quite sure of mine I always do them for threequarters of an hour.” The secrets of careful and cleanly keeping, correct diet and economical working, are explained to all comers. And for the benighted people who feed their silkworms on lettuce leaves Lady Hart Dyke has only censure. “A worm will eat lettuce leaves, of course,” she said, “but how can he fill his cells up with saccharine and glucose to spin an elastic thread when there is nothing of the kind in his diet? Lettuce leaf silk breaks when you stretch it. Then there is the temperature. A worm only breathes with his feet, and he must be reasonably warm. That is why you cannot put silkworms in the trees to feed themselves, and save the cost of labour.”