I’m at an auction in Askrigg village hall, deep in Wensleydale. It started at 9.30 am and the room is full. Full of people and full of furniture. In fact, full of all sorts of things, tables, chairs, buckets, milk churns, a child’s rocking horse in the form of a sheep. Everything you could possibly imagine is here.

I had trouble finding somewhere to park and had to leave my car on the road up on the grass verge, tight into a drystone wall, a little way beyond the village towards the Yorkshire Dales Brewery where they make a beer called ‘Buttertubs’ named after the high pass between the top ends of Wensleydale and Swaledale. It’s said that the name comes from the habit of farmers travelling from Thwaite to the market in Hawes, of storing their butter in the limestone potholes by the track as they rested on hot days. There are even some butter churns in the auction, some made of wood, others more modern in a big glass jar.

It's my first experience of an auction and it’s rather daunting. I’m sitting very still, watching the proceedings by only my moving my eyes without moving my head in case the auctioneer thinks I’m bidding for something with a nod, when in fact I was just easing my neck muscles. The auctioneer is talking very fast in a broad Yorkshire Dales accent and taking bids from people who signal with a slight tilt of the head or a wave of the auction catalogue.

Some people have brought their dogs, Small dogs are sitting on their people’s knees, larger dogs are under the chairs as there is no space anywhere else. The chairs are part of the auction and I’m assuming they’ll be sold at the very end, otherwise there would be no-where to sit. There are sofas, armchairs, kitchen chairs, dining room chairs, all full of people concentrating on the auctioneer. There is another crowd around the village hall doorway. Some people are wending their way to the back of the hall to the kitchen where bacon butties are being prepared and tea served.

Gradually I become attuned to the rapid speech of the auctioneer. He starts at a high price, then moves to a lower bid, which then works its way up to the price he started with and beyond. He seems to know who everyone is, or at least the lady sitting next to him does, as she’s writing down the final bid for each item. Sometimes the bids stay low and there are incredible bargains. The dogs on people’s knees scrutinise the proceedings intently. They don’t even have time to glance at the dogs under the chairs or eye up the bacon butties. The auction needs every bit of their attention.

Eventually the auction has come to a piece I want. A mirror that will sit nicely on a chest of drawers in the bedroom of my new Dales cottage. I rather inexpertly wave my hand when the auctioneer drops his bid in the opening flurry. He calls out my bid! I’m part of the auction! Unbelievably I get the mirror for only eight pounds. There is VAT and commission to pay on that, but it’s still an absolute bargain. As the day wears on I amass quite a collection of the furniture I’ll need, all at prices I can afford. A day well spent.

Have you ever been to an auction, or perhaps watched one on television, or are even entranced by the idea of picking up bargains? I’ll definitely go again!

Rowan on the Moor

A Moodscope member