A few words of reflection and praise for those ladies and gentlemen who live for the livestock auction, in a literal sense, and who live ‘by the sword’, writes Iwan Llwyd Folkes.
When that timely moment ultimately returns - of oak hammering the tarnished rostrums of these British Isles to a learned audience.
Those age-old rostrums, varnished, all nigh polished by the sweat of generations of instinctive auctioneers.
Orators, risk-takers, price setters, trade regulators - not merely chanting songbirds.
When that moment returns, of heavy, forward golden cream Charolais-cross bullocks bursting the seams of an archaic, yet exacting, weighing sales.
Before catching the admiration of the gentlemen of Anglesey and the Lowlands of the age-old English Shires.
If only that moment came sooner rather than later. Rostrums are the altars of fair trade.
Long live each and every livestock market - from the ultra-supermarkets to the seasonal fairs.