Grain and Chaff from an English Manor

by Arthur Herbert Savory

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).