They discussed agriculture and the weather with a relish over their "sixpennyworth," and often laid wagers as to the result of the harvest. Here is an item in Royston—
"1795. Aug. 25—Mr. Bottomley lays S. Coxall sixpennyworth that the price of a quartern loaf will be as low as sevenpence the best sort in two months—24th Oct. paid."
Who had to pay there is little doubt, for the bet was a rash one in a season which had seen wheat at 113s. in that very August. The crop did not realize Mr. Bottomley's expectations, for the official average for the year was 75s. 2d. per quarter, from which we infer that Mr. Bottomley paid his "sixpennyworth."
Royston Market is spoken of in official announcements at the end of last century as "an exceedingly good market town." Though the market was open, the inns and inn yards were freely resorted to, especially in inclement weather, and the Green Man Yard was made to do duty to some extent as a Corn Exchange, for in 1785 when the house was to let, we find it stated that it had "large garden and stables and ten corn shops." Barley was the chief item of sales, and it is said as much as 4,000 quarters has been sold here in a single day.
I do not happen to have found any earlier official statistics of corn sales in Royston market, but for the year ending July, 1839, I find the following—
Total Per qr.
amount. avge. price.
Quantity. L s. d. L s. d.
Wheat--21,554 qrs. . . . . . 78,233 10 0 3 12 7
Barley--6l,556 qrs. . . . . . 122,402 13 0 1 19 9
Here then we get a sale of 1,200 quarters of barley a week and between 400 and 500 quarters of wheat per week.
Time was when the Royston market had commenced at a late hour, as it does now, but owing to the necessity of being late home, or the felt want of a jovial gathering at the market ordinary in times when the farmer himself worked and needed one day's relaxation, the fiat for change went forth on the 23rd October, 1782, and the hour was changed from 3 p.m. to 11 a.m.—an arrangement made possibly with a view to the pleasures of the market ordinary, and one under which, at any rate, that institution flourished most famously for fifty years or more.
At one time the grain was "pitched," that is brought to the town in bulk and stored at the various inns ready for sale in the market. The attendance of farmers, maltsters, and corn buyers was so large that the whole of the open space of the Market Hill was covered by crowds of buyers and sellers of farm produce, presenting a busy scene more worthy of the past traditions of the market than anything seen now. The market beginning then in good time, by mid-day most of the business was finished, and, regularly at one o'clock there came out of an upper window of the Green Man, the well-known form and features of Mrs. Smith, the landlady, ringing a hell with all the energy and promptitude of one who had evidently been accustomed to have that summons respected and as promptly responded to! The bell from the Green Man is answered by that from the Bull and the Red Lion, and the trio goes on ding dong, ding dong! The current of business and bargain-making slackens; plump portly farmers in top boots, millers in grey suits almost flour-proof, maltsters carrying riding whips—all the busy assembly of men of shrewd common sense and well filled nankeen purses suddenly puts up its sample bags, drops its business air, and, like boys out of school, melts away in three different directions according to individual preferences. For behind that well understood signal of the bells is the typical institution then in its palmiest days—the "Market Ordinary." Leaving the market to the cheap jacks and ballad mongers, the solid element of the market day gives a jovial account of itself in the market rooms of the well-filled hostelries—now learning from the paper the news, so far as it concerned prices and the continuation of war—now discussing crops with a loyalty to the three-course system which no enclosures had yet upset—now with equal loyalty toasting "the King, God bless him," and generally disposing of enough liquid to make the ride home behind Dobbin a self-satisfied consummation, finding expression in snatches of the old chorus—