COUNTRY HIRING FAIR

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22320, 18 January 1936, Page 2 (Supplement)

COUNTRY HIRING FAIR

QUAINT CUSTOM IN WALES ENGAGING FARM LABOUR PRACTICE GENERATIONS OLD A farmer from the lonely hills beyond Aberystwyth needed an extra labourer for his fields. So early one day recently he took his high-crowned bowler hat, drove into Aberystwyth in the face of a blade-keen wind and struggled to the crest of Great Dark Gate Street as the public clock chimed ten. Now it chanced that a labourer from another farm about 15 miles away had decided to make a move. He, too, put en his bravest muffler, and hurried through the rain to the left-hand pavement of Great Dark Gate Street. lliero before the tenth chime had ceased to echo in the clock tower ho and the farmer were bargaining in fluent Welsh. No mere coincidence brought master and man together on the slate-grey, gusty morning. Their grandfathers, even their great-great-grandfathers, had met decades before on the same spot for the same business. Custom dies hard in West Wales, and this hiring fair of Aberystwyth has survived many fleeting generations. Kegularly every year, on tho first Monday after November 12 —the date is important —one will find maids and men waiting for hire, masters and mistresses with work to offer. The meeting place is tho street; there is no shelter; there are no set miles. The country folk know merely that the fair has always

existed, and that November by November, when they need a change, voices will be speaking in Great Dark Gate Street.

At nine i% the morning the rendezvous was empty. Stinging rain whipped the pavements; a dense vapour clouded the hills. Nearly an hour later the weather had not changed, but the first country folk were on guard—Evan, the cowman, and Llew, the handyman, both dark-eyed and silken voiced —and both with formal bowler hats. They chattered in voluble Welsh. Then, espying a stranger, they changed courteously to English. "It iss miserable, this morning," said Evan sibilantly. "Miserable, yes indeed," agreed Llew. They lapsed into silence, while a wet and shaggy dog romped cheerfully around them. By now the people of the Cardiganshire farms for 20 miles around were moving up the street in twos and threes. Here was a sturdy girl cairying a suitcase; there a farm lad of perhaps 20; there an elderly labourer, forehead puckered and deep crowsfeet at the corners of his eyes.

Here, too, were the farmers and the farmers' wives, talking briskly as they tramped through the pelting rain. Gay scarfed students, with academic gowns bundled beneath their mackintoshes, brushed past on their way to University College. The wind tore over Cardigan Bay; the rain spun on the flagstones. No matter. Hiring fair had opened and already Llew and Evan were explain-

ing that their last agreements had ended on November 12, that they needed a change of scene, and that they were both ready to start the next Tuesday. Custom must be kept. When a man is engaged at hiring fair he takes a coin to clinch the bargain, but he does not start work until the following Monday—when "Pleasure Fair"—they call it in Aberystwyth—is over, and be has had his turn on the swings and roundabouts, and is prepared to go back to a country farm for another 12 months' toil. By noon most of the business was completed. The workmen had made their bargains. The farmers had chaffed their friends. The rain had stopped and for a moment wan sunlight crowned the clock tower with a golden nimbus. Presently the sun gleam vanished and big clouds slid like steel shutters across the sky. Still the people talked in Great Dark Gate Street. Hiring Monday may not be as bustling as it was. But whether it takes place in a rainstorm or in the crisp blue and white weather of a year ago, Aberystwyth Hiring Fair will hold its ancient pride.