Grain and Chaff from an English Manor

by Arthur Herbert Savory

DEALERS—LUCK MONEY—FAIRS—SALES—EFFECT OF CLIMATE ON CATTLE AND SHEEP—AGRICULTURAL SHOWS.

"I'll give thrice so much land
To any well-deserving friend;
But in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair."
—1 Henry IV.

Dealers of all kinds were much more frequent callers at farm-houses in the early days of my farming, than latterly when auction sales, to some extent, superseded private negotiations, but the horse-dealer remained constant, because comparatively few horses were offered by auction. The horse-dealers appeared to conform to an understanding that it was a breach of etiquette to exceed certain well-marked boundaries in their search for purchases, or to interfere in each other's business. This principle was carried so far as to prevent dealers from one of these "countries" purchasing a horse at a fair coming from another dealer's "country," and the understanding of course minimized competition likely to raise the price. The dealers however I think, gave fair values, governed for the most part by the prices obtainable by them in the large towns.

Most of my horses, when for sale, were bought by a man in a considerable way of business, a well-known breeder, too, of shire horses, taking many prizes at the leading shows. A handsome man with a presence, and an excellent judge, shrewd but straight. He would ask the price after examining the animal, and make an offer which he would very seldom exceed if refused at first; but he would spend some time in conversation, apparently quite irrelevant and very amusing, though always returning to the point at intervals with arguments in favour of the acceptance of his bid. He was so genial and pleasant and such good company, for no man was ever better acquainted with the ways of the world, that he very rarely, I think, left the premises without a deal, though sometimes he was in his gig before the final bargain was struck. It is a custom of the trade for the seller to give something back to the buyer by way of "luck money," and the last time I did business with him I refused to give more than one shilling each on two horses, as I never received more than that sum when a buyer myself. He accepted cheerfully, telling me that a shilling each was quite worth taking, as he had a thousand horses through his hands in the course of every twelve months, and that a thousand shillings meant £50 a year.

The best piece of horse-dealing I ever did, was the purchase of a six months old colt for £26, winning £20 in prizes with him as a two-year-old, working him regularly at three and four on the farm, and selling him at five for eighty guineas to a large brewery firm. Eighty guineas in those days was a big price for a cart horse, though, of course, in modern times, owing to the war, much higher prices can be obtained.

I remember another dealer, who, a notable figure in a white top hat with a deep black band, and large coloured spectacles, was to be seen at all the fairs and principal sales. He, too, had an ingratiating manner, and would accost a young farmer with a hearty, "Good-morning, Squire," or some such flattering introduction. A wise dealer always knows how to keep up amicable relations with a possible seller or buyer, and never descends to abuse, or the assumption of a personal injury if he cannot persuade a seller to accept his price, as is the case with some dealers with less savoir faire.

A successful cattle dealer I knew had similar tactics of fraternity, always addressing his sellers as "Governor," with marked respect. But the best instance of this diplomatic spirit occurred in the case of a deal between an old Hampshire friend of mine and a well-known and historic sheep dealer from the same county. My friend had lately become the happy father of twins, the fact being widely known in the neighbourhood, for he was a very prominent man. He had 100 sheep for sale, and the dealer was inspecting them, in a pen near the house. As the bargain proceeded, the front door opened, and a nurse-maid appeared with the twins in their perambulator. The dealer noticed them immediately, and was not slow to turn the incident to his advantage. "There they be, there they be, the little darlings," he called out, "a sovereign apiece nurse, a sovereign apiece." Diving into a capacious pocket, he pulled out a handful of gold and silver, and selecting two sovereigns he handed them to the nurse for the children. "After that," my friend said, "what could I do but sell him the sheep, though he got them at two shillings a head less than I ought to have made." Now two shillings a head, on one hundred sheep, represents ten pounds, leaving eight pounds which the dealer earned by his keen insight into human nature.

This dealer carried on business with a brother, and they were to be seen for very many years at all the large Hampshire summer sheep fairs, where indeed, sometimes, when prices were rising, they owned nearly all the sheep offered for sale, having bought them up beforehand. As in a favourable summer when there was plenty of keep and a good prospect of abundant roots prices would rise as much as 10s. a head during the months of the big fairs, and as at a single fair as many as 30,000 sheep would be for sale, the chances of profit offered to the courageous dealer with capital are manifest.

Though risen from small beginnings, these brothers amassed considerable fortunes, all of which, it was said, they invested in real estate, so that they were known at one time to be worth at least £100,000; and, as they continued in business for some years after the time of which I am writing, they must have exceeded that sum considerably as a total, though the values of land began to fall away towards the end of their active existence.

The more energetic of the two used very original phrases, in which he extolled the physical virtues of flocks he had to sell; referring to their size, he would say, "Just look at their backs! look at their backs! they be as long as a wet Sunday!" Watching him, you could see that while giving full attention to his customer, and keeping him in a good humour with pleasant chat, while a bargain was proceeding, his glance perpetually wandered to the moving crowd around the pens, and that he had not only eyes, but ears, open to catch any impression bearing on the progress of the general trade. He knew everybody, and intuition told him upon what business they were present.

These two dealers combined money-lending with sheep-dealing; if a buyer had not the ready cash they would give credit for the purchase price, the sheep forming the security; it being understood that when they were again for sale the lenders should have the selling of them on commission.

Speaking of horse-dealers I referred to the custom of giving "luck money," otherwise called "chap money." The word "chap" takes its derivation from the Anglo-Saxon ceap price or bargain, and ceapean, to bargain, whence come the words "chop," to exchange; "cheap," "Cheapside," "Mealcheapen Street" in Worcester, "cheapjack," etc. Also, the prefix in the names of market towns, such as Chipping Campden, Chipping Norton, etc. There is a curious place-name here in Burley, New Forest, where I am now living, spelt "Shappen," which puzzled me until I chanced to meet with an ancient print of a village merry-making, with dancing and a May-pole and found that the name Shappen applied especially to the spot, and that not far away the Forest ponies and cattle were formerly penned for sale at an annual fair in a lane, still called Pound Lane "Pound" is from the Anglo-Saxon pund, a fold or inclosure. Shappen is evidently, therefore, derived from ceap (and possibly pund) as a place in which bargains were struck, and the name testifies to the extreme antiquity of the New Forest pony and cattle fair formerly held there.

There are several notable horse fairs still held near Evesham. Besides the one at Pershore, already mentioned, the most important fairs are held at Stow-on-the-Wold and Shipston-on-Stour, both very out-of-the-way places; and many stories of the wiles of horse-copers were related in connection therewith. I remember the following told as occurring at Stow-on-the-Wold. A man approached a simple-looking young farmer, and getting into conversation with him, pointed out a horse not far off, telling him that he had quarrelled with the owner who refused in consequence to sell him the horse which he wished to buy. He promised the farmer £2 if he would undertake the negotiation, and could buy the horse for £10. The farmer agreed, and after some apparent difficulty succeeded in effecting the purchase at the sum named, paid the money and returned with the horse to the place where he had left his acquaintance. The latter, however, had disappeared, and after searching the fair from one end to the other, the farmer took back the horse, to repudiate the bargain. The owner had also vanished, and the farmer found himself with an ancient screw, which eventually he was glad to get rid of at a pound a leg, losing £6 on the deal.

There are small pig-dealers, in almost every village, on the lookout for bargains, and very cute men they generally are. One of these well-known at Aldington, though nearly blind, could tell the points and value of any pig in a marvellous way almost by intuition; it was said of him that, "though blind, he was a better judge of a pig than most folks with their eyes open."

At farm and other auction sales there are always anxious buyers who make a practice of trying to depreciate ("crabbing," as it is called) any article or property they particularly wish to purchase, by making damaging statements or insinuations to anybody whom, they fear, is also a probable buyer. At a sale of cottage property adjoining a public-house, in a village not far from Aldington, a keen purchaser remarked that there was no water on the premises. The auctioneer, however, knowing that water was not his man's strong point, immediately replied, "Oh, never mind the water, sir, there's plenty of whisky to be had next door." At another property sale, the tenant of the house on offer, gratuitously informed me that the roof was in a very bad state; knowing my man, I was not surprised when the house was knocked down to him, but I never saw any repairs to the roof in progress afterwards.

A friend of mine had a caretaker in an empty house, and, finding that no applications to view ever got beyond that stage, called at the house with his wife, ostensibly as intending tenants. He was not personally known to the caretaker, and on making the usual inquiries, found the man by no means enthusiastic as to the amenities of the place, and particularly doubtful as to the drainage, so much so as to make it plain that any otherwise likely tenant would be repelled. Knowing that all the sanitary arrangements were in perfect order, he disclosed his identity, much to the dismay of the caretaker who, of course, was dismissed.

The person who asks damaging questions of the auctioneer or solicitor at a property sale, though perhaps not declared the buyer on the fall of the hammer, not infrequently proves later to have been so, having employed an agent to bid for him.

At a sale of farm stock and implements I was examining a waggon practically new, though with no intention of buying, when I was surprised by a cousin of the vendor volunteering the statement that, having lately borrowed the waggon, he noticed one of the wheels giving out a suspicious noise when in use, as if something were wrong. This was a particularly bad case of "crabbing," as the man eventually became the purchaser at a high price.

It is an alarming sensation to see one's name on a waggon for the first time, especially when the vehicle has been wholly repainted in blue or yellow to represent the owner's supposed political tendencies, for such was the custom in Worcestershire; but perhaps one's name, address, and crest on a hop-pocket is more alarming still, when we remember that twenty or more of these pockets, all marked alike, will form each of several loads to be carted from a London railway station to the Borough, the seat of the hop-trade, on the way to the factor's warehouses, for all beholders to "read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest."

In the delightful and now somewhat rare book Talpa; or, The Chronicles of a Clay Farm, by Chandos Wren Hoskins, one of the few agricultural works ever written by a scholar, he refers to his first experience of this sort, when speaking of his difficulty in making up his mind as to whether he should let the property into which he had just come by inheritance, or occupy it himself, as follows:

"What was to be done? Apostatize from all the promises and vows made from my youth up, and take it in hand—that is, in a bailiff's hand, which certain foregone experiences had led me to conceive was of all things the most out of hand (if that may be called so, which empties the hand and the pocket too). Such seemed the only alternative! At first it was an impossibility—then an improbability—and then, as the ear of bearded corn wins its forbidden way up the schoolboy's sleeve, and gains a point in advance by every effort to stop or expel it, so did every determination, every reflection counteract the very purpose it was summoned to oppose, and, in short, one fine morning I almost jumped a yard backward at seeing—my own name on a waggon!"

The reference to a bailiff reminds me of my father's illustration, one evening at dessert, of the difference between a farmer selling his produce personally, or doing so through the medium of a bailiff. Taking three wine-glasses—No. 1 representing the farmer, No. 2 the bailiff, and No. 3 the purchaser—he filled No. 1 with port and poured the contents into No. 3; what few drops were left in No. 1 remained the property of the farmer. But if the wine were poured into No. 2, and from thence into No. 3, however much the complete transference was attempted, some small portion always remained for the benefit of the intermediary.

I always conducted my sales personally, except in small matters, and my experience in the latter proved an exception to the above rule, as I have previously related (pp. 17 and 20).

I commend Talpa, with George Cruikshank's clever illustrations, to the attention of all readers of the curiosities of agriculture, as well as to practical men; it is one of those uncommon books which enters into the humorous side of farming under disadvantages—as, for instance, prejudiced labourers who have long been employed upon such work as draining. The author found one of the men, after instructions to lay the pipes at a depth of three feet, cutting a drain about eighteen inches deep, laying in the tiles, one by one, and filling the earth in over them as he went. "I've been a-draining this forty year and more—I ought to know summat about it." The author adds, "Need I tell you who said this? or give you the whole of the colloquy to which it furnished the epilogue?" Talpa was published sixty-seven years ago, but it contains much that might well be taken to heart by our post-war amateur agricultural reconstructionists.

The tactics of a combination of buyers at a sale of household goods, with an arrangement for one man to buy everything they want, so as to avoid competition, is well known as "the knock out." I saw a most flagrant case at a sale of valuable books at an old Cotswold Manor House. The books were tied up, quite promiscuously, in parcels of half a dozen or more, and although the room was crowded with dealers who had been examining them with interest beforehand, practically only one bidder appeared, and nearly every lot was sold to him for a few shillings. I noticed several men taking notes of the prices made, and, immediately the book sale was finished, they removed them to the lawn, where they were resold by one of the gang at greatly enhanced prices. They would, of course, eventually deduct the original cost from the amount now realized and divide the difference amongst the buyers at the second sale, pro rata, according to the amount of each man's total purchases.

Cattle-dealers, with a reputation as judges of fat stock at auctions, have to be very careful not to let inexperienced butchers see them bidding, because the latter will bid on the strength of the dealer's estimate of value, arguing that the animal must be worth more to himself as a butcher, than to the dealer who has to sell again. I have often watched the crafty ways of such dealers not to give themselves away in this manner, and their methods of concealing their bids. One I particularly noticed, whose habit was to stand just below the auctioneer's rostrum, facing the animal in the ring, with his back to the auctioneer. When he wished to bid he raised his head very slightly, making a nod backwards to the auctioneer, who, knowing his man, was looking out for this method of attracting his attention.

Though the ordinary farm sale is by far the most amusing and picturesque, the sale of pedigree stock is much more sensational. When the shorthorn mania was at its height, and the merits of Bates and Booth blood were hotly debated, when such phrases as "the sea-otter touch," referring to the mossy coat of the red, white, or roan shorthorn, were heard, and the Americans were competing with our own breeders in purchasing the best stock they could find—prices were hoisted to an extravagant height. There is no forming a "knock-out" at a pedigree sale; sturdy competition is the only recognized method of purchase, and the sporting spirit is a strong incentive, especially when the vendor is known as a courageous buyer at the sales of the leading breeders.

I attended the dispersal of a herd where the owner had been for years one of these sporting buyers; he had, however, gone more for catalogue blue-blood than perceptible excellence, and the stock were brought into the ring scarcely up to the exhibition form which a pedigree sale demands. The American buyers were well represented, and the popularity of the vendor brought a great crowd of home buyers, so that the sale went off with spirit. I chanced to sit next to the veterinary surgeon who attended my own stock as well as the herd on offer, and it was amusing to hear his confidential communications as the animals were sold at huge prices. He knew their faults and weaknesses professionally, and it was no breach of confidence, when a cow had passed through the ring and extracted a big figure from an American buyer, to whisper them in my ear. I noticed that the Americans, no doubt with commissions to buy a particular strain of pedigree, appeared to pay more attention to the catalogue than to the cattle themselves, and I saw some sold at fancy prices, which I should really have been sorry to see in my own non-pedigree herd. The sale was a great success, from the vendor's point of view at any rate, and I think the average exceeded seventy guineas all round, including calves only a few months old.

Some years later I visited Shipston-on-Stour with two friends to attend a shorthorn sale in that neighbourhood. Mr. Thornton, the well-known pedigree salesman, was the auctioneer. He waited about for a long time after the hour fixed for the sale, until it became evident that something had gone wrong. It appeared that the sheriff's representative had served a writ on the vendor restraining the sale, and although it was stated that Thornton had offered a personal guarantee that the proceeds should be handed over to the sheriff, the representative could not exceed his instructions, and the sale was abandoned. A large company, including many foreign buyers, had assembled; it was difficult to get these together at a postponement, and when the sale was proceeded with some weeks later, I fear the result could scarcely have proved so satisfactory.

The Vale of Evesham is particularly suitable for pedigree shorthorn breeding, as the soil and climate are very favourable for their production according to exhibition type. It is otherwise with the Jersey, for they quickly adapt themselves to the difference in their environment as compared with the conditions in their native Channel Island. When I exchanged my shorthorns for Jerseys, owing to the foreign competition in the production of beef, which at sevenpence a pound compared unfavourably with butter at fifteenpence, I imported my cows direct from the Island, and afterwards bred from their descendants, selling the bull calves, and occasionally buying a young bull from Jersey. The blood was therefore kept absolutely pure, and, as I was a member of the English Jersey Society, all my stock were entered in the Herd Book.

As time went on my cattle presented a noticeable change from the original type; they were larger, developing much more hair and bone, and though they gained in strength of constitution, and were handsome and profitable, they gradually lost the dainty deer-like appearance of the imported stock; and though quite as valuable for the purposes of the dairy, they would have been regarded in the show ring by connoisseurs as having a tendency to coarseness. I was, at first, successful at the shows, but as the character of my cattle altered I recognized that they would stand no chance against Jerseys bred on lighter land, and in a climate more nearly approximating to that of their native country.

Precisely the same thing happened with my pedigree Shropshire sheep; environment altered their character and produced a different type—bone, wool, and size all increased. The wool was coarser and darker in colour; they were good, useful, hardy stock, but could not compete in quality with the pedigree sheep bred in their own county. No pedigree Shropshire breeder will, as a rule, buy rams bred outside his own district, for fear of introducing coarseness and an alteration of the established exhibition type.

An amusing incident happened at Mr. Graham's sale at Yardley near Birmingham, at which I was present. Mr. Graham had a reputation as a Shropshire sheep-breeder; though not actually farming in the county, his land was not unsuitable, and, on one occasion, I believe, he won the first prize for a shearling ram at the show of the Royal Agricultural Society of England.

I noticed a very non-agricultural individual in a top hat, who tried to get into conversation with me and who succeeded in getting a luncheon ticket gratis. These sale luncheons were at the time very bountiful spreads, including plenty of champagne, and the man under my observation made a very hearty meal. Short speeches and toasts always follow, but an adjournment is quickly made to the sale tent, before the evaporation of the effects of the hospitality. It is the custom for a glove to be passed round to collect subscriptions for the shepherd, during the progress of the sale, and on this occasion two young fellows undertook the duty of collectors. The man, who had done himself so well at Mr. Graham's expense, was evidently not buying or even making bids, and to each of the collectors he said he had already contributed to the other. Being suspicious they compared notes, and found that he had made the same excuse to both. Such meanness after the hospitality he had received was intolerable; shouting, "He's a Welsher," they lifted him bodily, protesting and struggling, rushed him out of the tent into a neighbouring field, and cast him into a dirty pond covered with green and slimy duckweed! A miserable object he scrambled out, for the pond was shallow, and took his dishevelled and bedraggled presence away as fast as he could limp along, amid the laughter and jeers of the crowd.

The Hampshire Down ram sales in the palmy days of farming were organized upon the same scale of liberality, and while the sale was proceeding steam was kept up by handing round boxes of sixpenny cigars, and brandy and water in buckets. It is, of course, good policy to keep a company of buyers in good humour, but I think it has long since been recognized that hospitality was carried a little too far in those times of prosperity, and, in these degenerate if more business-like days, extravagance is much less evident, though there is a hearty welcome and abundance for all.

Agricultural shows under favourable weather conditions are always popular and well-attended. The large exhibitions of the Royal Agricultural Society of England, the Bath and West of England, and the Royal Counties, especially attract immense crowds; much business in novel implements, machinery, seeds, and artificial fertilizers, was done when times were good, and the towns in which the shows are held benefit by a large increase in general trade. The weather, however, is the arbiter as to the attendance, upon which the financial result of the show depends.

In 1879, the last of the miserable decade that ruined thousands of farmers all over the country with almost continuous wet seasons, poor crops, and wretched prices, the Royal Agricultural Society held its show at Kilburn. The ground had been carefully prepared and adapted for the great show with the usual liberal outlay; the work for next year's show always commencing as soon as the show of the current year is over; but the site was situated on the stiff London clay, and, after weeks of summer rains and the traffic caused by collecting the heavy engines and machinery and the materials used in the construction of the sheds and buildings, the ground was churned into a quagmire of clay and water, so that in places it was impassable, and some of the exhibits were isolated. Thousands of wattled hurdles were purchased in Hampshire, and laid flat on the mud along the main routes to the tents and sheds, but they were quickly trodden in out of sight. Many ponderous engines were bogged on their way to their appointed places; nothing could move them, and they remained looking like derelict wrecks, plastered with mud, sunk unevenly above the axles of their wheels.

I attended the show and shall never forget the scene of disaster. One afternoon the Prince of Wales—the late King Edward—and a Royal party made a gallant attempt, in carriages, to see the principal exhibits, and succeeded, by following a carefully selected and guarded route. The crowd was dense by the side of the track, and people were making a harvest by letting out chairs to stand on, so as to get a view of the procession, with cries of, "'Ere you are, sir; 'ere you are, warranted not to sink in more than a mile!" Outside the show-yard, too, the streets were lined with long rows of nondescripts, scraping the adhesive clay off the shoes of the people leaving the show.

I had a pocket of my hops on exhibition entered in the Worcester class, and had great difficulty in getting near it. I found the shed at last, deserted and surrounded by water, with a pool below the benches on which the hops were staged. My pocket was sold straight from the show-yard, and when my factor sent in the account, I found that the pocket had gained no less than seventeen pounds from the damp to which it had been subjected since it left my premises, about ten days previously; hops, at that time, were worth about 1s. a pound, so that the increased value more than balanced all expenses.

A story is told of Tennyson at the Royal Counties show at Guildford. Accompanied by a lady and child he was walking round the exhibits, closely followed by an ardent admirer, anxious to catch any nights of fancy that might fall from his lips. Time passed, and the poet showed no signs of inspiration until the party approached a refreshment tent; then, to the lady he said, to the astonishment of the follower, "Just look after this child a minute while I go and get a glass of beer!" I cannot vouch for the truth of this story, but I tell the tale as 'twas told to me.

It is surprising how long farm implements will last if kept in the dry and repaired when necessary. I remember a waggon at Alton in the seventies, which bore the name of the original owner and the date 1795; it was still in use. When I decided to give up farming, or rather, when farming had given up me, I disposed of my stock and implements by the usual auction sale. The attraction of a pedigree herd of Jerseys, and a useful lot of horses and implements, brought a large company together, and Aldington was a lively place that day. I was talking to my son-in-law some time afterwards, and spoke with amusement about the price an old iron Cambridge roller had made, not in the least knowing who was the purchaser, until he said, "And I was the mug who bought it!" I believe, however, that a year or two later it fully maintained its price when valued to the next owner, and probably to-day it must be worth at least three times the money. I can trace its history for a period of fifty-three years, and I don't think it was new at the beginning.