It’s surely possible to spend every day at an auction without crossing the county boundary, and with eBay you don’t even have to leave your chair. But there’s no substitute for those heaving crushes in cattle markets where you can pick up anything from a prize bull to a sofa with bust springs, pitting your wits and technique against the pros and hustlers for tat and treasure.
I’m drawn like swarf to a magnet by farm and livestock auctions, particularly those that flog waterfowl. You may not think that bidding for a clutch of hatching eggs, a group of fluffy goslings, or some majestic Silver Appleyards is much of a thrill, but you’d be wrong. I push past the hordes eyeing up the squawking birds. I spot a fabulous cockerel – black, polished, mature, shiny-eyed. I don’t need a cockerel, but decide to bid if he’s going at the right price. Then there are the ones I’m really keen on: the trio of Khaki Campbells coming up to laying age or those fine, comical Indian Runner ducks that warrant their own primetime cartoon show.
I decide to bid, get my bidding number from the tiny booth, and though I’ve only bought twice before they know my address. The auctioneer’s hand does a quick check of notes, handkerchief and toupée. People cluster round trying to act nonchalant and mostly failing, the numbers of admired lots scrawled on the backs of their hands. The auctioneer’s patter booms through the mic, barely intelligible; I tune in to his wavelength knowing it’s a lost cause bidding on early birds.
The chosen lot comes up, I wait til the bidding slows and raise a hand. Sometimes there are no or few rival bids and you quench your desire for coins; you see something others don’t, or they see something you can’t. At other times a cage goes for bigger bucks than you can fathom. Concentration is total, even though you may be about to part with nothing more than a blue beer voucher. It’s over quickly, and there is an undeniable adrenalin rush.
It’s crucial to read the notices or the catalogue before you join the fray. Some sales are so supremely civilised they are barely auctions. At the Royal Cornwall I’ve slid along the for sale section, clocked a nice young pair of ducks, shoved over to the Treasurer’s desk, paid over my lucre and clicked a sold label onto the cage; done, dusted. But some venues like to keep you guessing; the weekly auctions are sold by the cage but priced per bird (and there may be three or more in a cage), whilst their monthly dos are priced per cage. Same venue, different rules. It’s all too easy to get confused and think you’re about to part with twenty pounds – plus buyers premium and VAT of course – only to find that you’ve committed to sixty quid plus the extras.
And eBay can be the place for auction action; last time I checked, six hatching eggs from rarer-than-hen’s-teeth Chocolate Orpingtons were going for nigh on two hundred smackers.
Published in The Landsman June/July 2009 Issue 14
