I was there in good time, instead of the usual frantic ten
minutes prior to kick off that I tend to leave myself to search for the few lots
that I’ve previously highlighted from the catalogue. Some intensive scrutiny
takes place at this stage. Some take photographs whilst others urgently discuss
the finer points of selected exhibits. I’m always impressed by the expertise in
evidence on these occasions, as friendships are renewed and intentions for the
day are outlined.
Numbers were down due to a clash on the auction timetable
with Crewe RA, apparently because of a misunderstanding over a changed date
that hadn’t filtered through to some auction organisers in time for it to be avoided.
Some of the usual dealers and stall holders had apparently also gone to Crewe.
Audience attendance thinned further after lunch, as is often the case.
With the benefit of a near-deafening PA system, the
auctioneer is affable, polite and humorous - “Yes, I’ve got you, sir, don’t
panic” and, after a bit of card dithering in the stalls, “A fiver?…..I know,
well it’s a lot of money, sir.” He is soon into his stride.
To suck in the punters, he starts high then swoops down, as
though on a big dipper, “Fifty? Twenty? Five?” Once the bids get going, he escalates
affairs just as quickly, “Five, eight, twelve? ......” Some items fail to sell
at two quid and are attached to the next lot. A more expensive lot doesn’t sell
because the reserve has not been reached, though I suspect that it might have
fared better elsewhere. Nor is he phased by catalogue withdrawals, missing or
incorrect images on his screen or by any late additions, “Write it on a bit of
paper – just don’t lose the bit of paper!” he informs his assistant.
In this part of Yorkshire dominated by agriculture, Thirsk railwayana
sales offer occasional variety from the usual fare, in contrast to the auction
houses that make railwayana their sole purpose and therefore attract most of
the more expensive items. GCRA have discovered, by way of their Bloxham set-up,
that there is also a ready market for high volume, low value, fast track, live sales,
like that at Thirsk.
Things could just possibly get under the radar here. The advance
on-line and on-the-day printed catalogues offer very brief descriptions and few,
if any, photos to look at. It requires a bit of guesswork. A cast iron sign for
a “horse box” turned out to be for a “hose box,” which might have perplexed a
commission bidder once acquired, and - literally reading between the lines - a
mystifying “Lot 409 Maroon” meant a dark red version of the BR cap badge that
had provided the previous item. The only way you can be sure, in some
instances, is to be there to check things out yourself, which is maybe no bad
thing. There were no telephone bids either, while I was there, to slow the
process down.
One happy couple who were immediately behind me in the queue
at the pay desk had strayed in by accident from an adjacent venue. They were
visibly radiant at having rescued an otherwise unloved print that had just scraped
into double figures, a surprising addition to their day which could provide a
talking point when displayed on their wall, for years to come.
These assorted scraps of paper and metal are the discarded
fragments of our railway past. One man’s rejected clutter is another man’s
unearthed gem. As a gentleman said to me on our way out, “If you can’t find a
bargain here you won’t get one anywhere.”
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