WOOL AUCTIONS.

Western Star, Issue 903, 6 December 1884, Page 1 (Supplement)

WOOL AUCTIONS.

Thebe is no more curious sight in the city than one of the wool auctions which are now being held every afternoon in the Wool Exchange, Coleman street. Imagine a large and lofty room capable of holding about 500 people. Benches, in the form of a semi-circle, rise tier above tier, so that all the sitters are plainly visible from the tribune, or rostrum—an elevated desk at the bottom of the room* Every seat is numbered, and the highest number is 898. A narrow gallery provides accommodation for the few spectators. Five minutes before 4 nearly every seat is occupied, the demand for them exceeding the supply; and as the clock Strikes the hour, the auctioneer or selling broker takes his place in the tribune He is a cool, self-possessed, goodlooking man, with a keen eye, rosy cheeks, and hair parted in the middle. On either side of him sits a clerk—one bald and dark, the other hirsute and blonde. No time is lost in preliminaries : an eloquent wool auctioneer would be an intolerable nuisance, and this one is as sparing of words as a telegram from China. Every buyer before him is the busiest of men, and he has to sell .£IOO,OOO worth of wool before 6 o’clock. “ Lot 213, 10 bales,” he says. Simple words, but the signal for a very tempest of excitement. From every part of the room come, as it were, scattered shots in quick succession—“ Eight, half, nine, ten, ten-half.” Then up spring a dozen, or it may be a score, of eager, earnest men, who shout passionately at the top of their voices, and almost in chorus, “ Ten-half, ten-half, ten-half, ten-half,” until it almost seems as if the room would split. Some stretch their arms towards the tribune, as if they were threatening a foe ; others work them to and fro, as if they were engaged in mortal combat; others.

again, raise them upwards, as if they were appealing to Heaven. They yell still more loudly, gesticulate still more wildly, some in their excitement bending forward until they nearly topple over on the seats below. It is a bear garden, a Babel, a scene of indescribable confusion, and to the uninitiated spectator it seems as if the frantic bidders were about to spring from their places and punch each other’s head. Bat the auctioneer speaks one word, and tha storm is stilled; every voice is hushed, every man resumes his seat. That word is “Tomkins.” The lot has been knocked down to Tomkins. Without drawing breath,the selling broker goes on to the next lot, then there is another startling roar, followed by an equally sudden collapse. The faces of some of the bidders are a study. One gentleman, with a Jbald head, surrounded by a fringe of black hair, and features unmistakeably French, gets so excited that yoti fear he may break a blood-vessel or have a fit of apoplexy. His wide nostrils quiver, his swarthy face becomes dark red, he fights the air with his arms, and hurls his bids at the auctioneer as if he would annihilate him. Near the Gaul is a fair Teuton, stalwart and tall, shouting offers as if he were crying “ Vorwarts !” in the smoke of battle, and glaring at his competitors as if he would like to charge down upon them as the Uhlans charged down on the French at Gravelotte and Sedan. Not far from the foreigner sits a gentleman whose cast of features and style of dress leave little doubt that he is a manufacturer or woolstapler, and hails from a northern county. To make his bid more effective, he puts one hand to the side of his mouth and gesticulates with'the other; but he needs no artificial aid, for he has a voice of thunder, and shouts like a Boanerges. But why all this noise ? why cannot a wool auctioneer knock down his wares to the highest bidder like any other auctioneer ? There is the rub; the difficulty is to “ spot ” the highest bidder. All the firms represented at the auction know to a fraction the value of every parcel they wish to acquire : and five, or ten, or a score, as the case may be, are willing buyers of a certain lot, at, let us say, a shilling a pound —more they cannot afford to give. The rule is, when there are several bidders at the same price—and there generally are several bidders —to prefer the one who bids the first, which is practi oally the one who first succeeds in attracting the auctioneer’s attention. In such a contest the feeble-voiced have no chance, and the loudest shouters are the most likely to come out of it victorious. When the selling broker names the buyer who has caught his ear, all the rest subside like would-be orators in the House of Commons who fail to catch the Speaker’s eye. The confidence in the auctioneer’s impartiality seems to be absolute; he never loses his self possession, and time is too precious to be wasted in wrangling. The money turned over at these sales in the course of a twelvemonth is something enormous, probably 25 millions, more or less, according to the amount imported and the price of the material. At present the price of wool, like that of most other commodities, is unusually low. There are four sales a year, each generally lasting about six weeks, and it is now proposed to have a fifth sale. Individual brokers often sell a quarter of a million’s worth of wool in six days, the brokerage on which, at a half per cent, amounts to £l2so—not a bad week’s work, especially as the incidental charges are believed to cover their expenses. More than one broker is reported to make an income exceeding £50,000 a year. But their work does not consist solely in selling and presenting accounts. In the intervals between the sales they have much to do at the docks in arranging the bales—“ lotting ” them, as it is called—submitting them to the inspection of intending buyers, and preparing tbeir catalogues. The buyers are mostly middlemen, very few manufacturers being able to obtain at the sales the selections they want without buying more than they need. Many of the former are foreigners, wool being reshipped to the Continent to the extent of nearly 15 millions sterling a year. There would seem to be no reason in the nature of things why all this wool should pass through English hands and pay toll to English trade, and more than one attempt has been made to establish periodical wool sales in Bremen, Havre, and Hamburg. But they do not succeed. German and French sellers are timid; they dare no;} offer their wool as it is offered in London, without reserve : and not only do reserved prices take all the spirit out of an auction sale, but buyers, especially buyers from a distance, cannot be induced to attend a sale that may be rendered abortive by the caprice of a broker or the nervousness of a consignee. The result is that we keep a trade which is worth, to those concerned in it, more than a million a year—the cost of laying down and selling the staple in London being estimated at per cent., and the export to the Continent averaging more than 14 millions sterling. —The Spectator.