WOOL SALE IS LIKE NOISY DOG FIGHT.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 18961, 7 January 1930, Page 10

WOOL SALE IS LIKE NOISY DOG FIGHT.

BEDLAM LET LOOSE AT CALEDONIAN HALL. If you have ever seen a dog fight you have got a fair idea of what a good noise is, but even a high grade dog fight sounds like a Sunday morning compared with a wool sale. There is a wool sale going on to-day at the Caledonian Hall, and the heterogeneous mixture of vocal effort that fills the hall puts the skirl of the pipes well into the shade. Six tiers of buyers ranged in a semicircle face the rostrum occupied by the auctioneer and the tables used by his clerks, and across the intervening space flys a babel of sound. All nationalities are represented, from the volatile Latin to the stolid Teuton, each one clamouring for a share of Canterbury’s clip, yapping, booming, and squeaking out their bids. Absolutely without interest of any sort in the proceedings, the buyers who are not operating 101 l in their seats, and smoke and chat, while next to them, an operator is leaping into the air emitting wild noises. Some of the men behind the neat little printed cards show a majestic detachment, till they are told in no over-polite terms to “ shut up ’* so the buyers can heat what they are doing. Controlling the whole situation is the auctioneer, aloof on his pedestal, throwing a lot to the buyers, much as a keeper throws fish to a tank of seals. There is a wild struggle for seven seconds, when the air is thick with noise and in the comparative silence the highest bidder and the price he offered are announced. The work goes on something like this:— Auctioneer: Lot 74. The buyers, hardly allpwing time for the “74” to be said: Tenarf, three, yelp, boom, yap, squeek, boom. The auctioneer, quite unmoved ■ Twelve-two Margollish. So it goes on, wave after wave of furious noise breaking against the rocklike auctioneer. There is never any cajoling of buyers, as there is at almost every other form of auction, and, m fact, the auctioneer who tries it is reminded of his unpopularity by a roar from the benches. Occasionally the auctioneer credits the purchase to the wrong buyer, and Bedlam is let loose again, the offended parties’ objections being supported by the whole of the benches. Occasionally, also a particularly high price is bid for a lot, and the buyer is greeted with a long-drawn “ Ooooh! ” from his confreres.

The battle goes on all day, the con tending forces being the brokers and the buyers, but there is another silent force, sitting in the gallery, to whom the sale is more important than to either of the contesting groups. They are the farmers, who, with fear and trembling, go to listen to their fate, and sit powerless to do anything when the wool is too cheap. The auctioneer faces both the buyers and the farmers, and, when the price is low, he must be conscious of the silent and powerful reproach which is directed in his direction from the gallery. A casual observer, unconscious of the meaning of that noise, would npver guess that the most important of all sales was in progress, that the fate of many farmers hung in the balance, and that business involving hundreds -uf thousands of pounds was being done.