First, Know Your Fruit

Damsons and bullaces are two of the great rewards of a late-summer walk in Britain, and it pays to tell them apart before you start filling bags. A damson is roughly the size of a large olive: oval, with a pointed end, deep blue-black under a dusty grey bloom, and flesh that is firmly acidic, sharp enough to make you wince raw. It grows on a small, thorny tree or large shrub, often dark-barked and dense, and it hangs in clusters rather than singly.

A bullace is rounder and usually a shade lighter — greenish-blue to a dull purple, frequently with a heavy bloom — and slightly smaller and more erratic in flavour. Ripe bullaces are a touch sweeter than damsons, and once fully soft they can be eaten straight from the bush with real pleasure. The two often grow near each other, sometimes in the same hedge.

The most useful distinction, though, is with the sloe. Sloes grow singly on blackthorn, which carries long, vicious thorns, and they are small, perfectly round and violently astringent. Bite one and your mouth dries out instantly. That taste test is worth doing once, just so you never again mistake a sloe for a bullace. Cherry plums, another confusion, are round, shiny and red or yellow rather than bloom-covered.

Where and When to Look

Start looking from late August. Damsons in the south are often ready from the third week of August into mid-September; bullaces follow on and can be picked into October, sometimes later. Heading north or into heavy clay soils pushes the season back a fortnight or so.

The best hedges are old, thick and mixed — boundaries that have not been flailed flat every autumn. Look along field edges, quiet lanes, canal towpaths, churchyard boundaries, the scrubby margins of footpaths and the skirts of woodland. Where there are old stone walls, there are usually old hedges nearby, and the two together often hide a good damson.

• Mark bushes when they flower in April and May, white and sharp-scented before the leaves appear, then return in autumn.
• Fruit ripens unevenly, so plan on two or three pickings over a fortnight.
• Favour sunny, south-facing sides of a hedge — fruit ripens earlier and tastes better.
• Avoid verges on busy roads: spray drift, exhaust and dust are no garnish.

Picking Cleanly and Kindly

Wear gloves with a leather or suede palm. Blackthorn scratches are sore and slow to heal, and damson bushes are rarely thorn-free. Take a bucket with a handle, or a stout bag you can sling over a shoulder while your free hand bends a branch down. An upturned umbrella or old sheet spread under a bush works beautifully: shake the bough gently and the ripest fruit drops cleanly, which saves a lot of reaching.

Pick only fruit that comes away with the lightest tug. If it resists, leave it for next week. Bruised fruit goes straight into a bag for gin, where a little damage makes no difference at all. Back home, wash and dry what you plan to eat or cook, and leave the rest dry for steeping.

Never strip a bush bare. Leave a generous third of the crop for blackbirds, redwings, wasps and the next forager, and never break branches to reach the top. Shaking is kind; snapping is not.

The Short Version of the Law

In England and Wales, the Theft Act 1968 makes it clear that picking fruit, foliage, fungi or flowers growing wild is not theft, provided it is for your own use and not for sale. So do not turn a profit on a hedgerow — a chutney for the village fête is fine, a market stall is not. Uprooting any plant without the landowner's permission is a separate offence, and digging up a wild damson to plant in your garden is not foraging.

On land with public access, stay on the public right of way; on Open Access land, the right of access covers open-air recreation rather than picking. In practice: use hedgerows beside footpaths and lanes, ask if you are ever unsure, and treat every bush as though someone else is coming along behind you.

Damsons in the Kitchen

Damsons are high in pectin, which means they set jam reliably — a mercy in a rainy August. For damson jam, simmer 1.5kg of fruit with a splash of water until the skins split, then add 1.2kg of granulated sugar, stirring until dissolved. Boil hard until a spoonful wrinkles on a cold saucer. The stones float, so fish them out with a slotted spoon as you go, or warn your guests. A couple of bay leaves and a cinnamon stick in the pan lift the flavour enormously.

For damson gin, freeze 500g of fruit overnight — freezing splits the skins far more effectively than pricking each one. Tip into a large jar with 250g of sugar and a litre of gin, then add a cinnamon stick, four cloves, two bay leaves and a few cracked cardamom pods. Shake daily for a week, then weekly for three months. Strain, bottle, and keep the steeped fruit to spoon over ice cream.

For chutney, cook damsons with chopped onion, raisins, cider vinegar and soft brown sugar, plus a spice bag of ginger, mustard seed, allspice, cinnamon and a dried chilli. Reduce until a spoon drawn through the pan leaves a clean trail, pot while hot, and leave a month before eating. It is superb with cold pork, sharp cheese and sausages.

What to Do with Bullaces

Bullaces reward a gentler hand. Their slight sweetness suits a jelly: simmer them with just enough water to cover, strain overnight through a cloth without squeezing, then allow 450g of sugar per 600ml of juice. Boil to setting point and pot. The result is a clear, amber-pink jelly for roast pork, game and a decent crumbly cheese.

They also make a fine spiced syrup for poaching pears and plums, a soft fruit cheese to slice with crackers, and a country wine that improves for a year or two in the bottle. Whatever you do, pick more than you think you need — a walk that ends with purple fingers and a full bucket is one of the small, reliable joys of a British autumn.