"Wake up love. It's sale say, at
last." Despite the late night and sporadic sleep, interrupted by
nightmares of things forgotten, things going wrong, there was an
instant wakefulness, a mental standing to attention. We've all heard of Father Christmas 'making a list and checking it
twice'... well-ll... we had made countless lists and checked them all a
heap more times than just twice, and still I fretted about oversights.
All of our sale items sorted and cleaned; tentatively priced; moved here
and moved there, and sometimes moved back to the first position again;
until finally all were in their "order of sale"... check. Advertising of the Clearing Sale in the local paper and other rural
newspapers further afield, a few weeks ago, and again last
week... check. Catering organized (local Red Cross)... check. Agent's signs up on roads leading to our place and on our property itself... check.
And yet, after all that prior organization, there were still a myriad of
items to be moved out of sheds, garage and our home itself, all those
things that couldn't be outdoors until the day itself in case of
unfriendly weather. Just when we'd thought we were so organized, and had
been congratulating ourselves on all our planning and hard work, these
last minute chores deteriorated into a serious scramble.
Although the sale was not due to start until 10 am, the first of the
potential buyers (or was that just "lookers"?), started to arrive before
8am, whilst we were still flat out in the midst of all this final "shuffling" and arranging. Politely, but in vain, we tried to encourage
them to go for a wander down the rows of farm machinery and stuff, so
we could get these last items in place (without side-stepping and/or
tripping over an alarmingly fast-growing number of parents, and
kids... and their toys!).
Some of the earliest and most inquisitive fossickers start poking around
in boxes, even as you are carrying them out... whilst other more
unscrupulous types change the contents of some boxes to include and/or
exclude unwanted items. This can prove disastrous for the first "re-arranger", as the same action is repeated by others, sometimes
several times over until the final boxes bear no resemblance
whatsoever to their original, (vendor-packed) content. Karma, maybe?
In the last hour or so before the action begins, the crowd swells to
amazing proportions as the designated 'parking paddock' fills with all
manner of farm vehicles and trailers, until it looks like a major
auto-yard. And each side of your road in both directions, and up your
driveway, all but blocking it. They are everywhere... like measles. But
it is, after all, a good sign, the numbers should make for spirited
bidding... you hope!
"Sale-o... sale-o", the auctioneer shouts, and as the crowds draw close
around the starting point, the tray top of countless boxes and other
unlikely containers of farm sundries, at last, the Clearing Sale begins.
And I can take a short break and a sit down with a cuppa... inside my
house... blissfully alone for just a short reprieve, far from the
'madding crowd'.
All too soon, it was necessary to be present, hovering around the
outskirts, trying to keep an unobtrusive eye on other potential disaster
areas, particularly of the type involving vehicles and machinery with
working parts. Imagine the horror of the engine that is extremely
difficult to 'fire up' or won't even start at all. Especially after
being described confidently by the auctioneer, "goes like a possum up a
gumtree" or perhaps, "runs on the smell of an oily rag".
So how is it possible for there to be a problem? In a word, sabotage! A
seemingly innocent but close examination of an engine by a dodgy buyer,
can result in a rotor being removed from the distributor or turning
the ignition key on and off repeatedly (without actually starting the
motor), floods the firing chamber, causing great difficulty in starting
next time (when the auctioneer's offsider cheerfully tries it). Simply
and speedily achieved, and the end result, of course is a decrease in
value, so that the saboteur will pay considerably less, maybe even get
the "bargain of the day" for what appears to be a faulty or unreliable
vehicle or piece of machinery. Lucky for the buyer, diabolical for the
vendor.
We are told that today's Clearing Sales commonly expect to include
actual theft in the 'normal' agenda. The creativity of these thieves
makes you wonder what levels of success they could achieve honestly,
instead of hurting their fellow-farmer. Thankfully, the majority of
would-be buyers are a happy, friendly and supportive group, as
evidenced by their willingness to help each other to gather their
purchases at the end of the sale.
In the meantime, the large buying group move along with the auctioneer
and his assistants in a reasonably quiet fashion, compared to his loud
voice chanting "...do I hear 20, 20, 20?... or 15?... come on, someone
must have 15?... oh, come on!.. 10, surely 10? This is an insult!". And
then the prices can go all the way up again, as the bidding starts in
earnest.
It's a bitter-sweet time for the vendor, as the sale progresses. The
amount many items get 'knocked down' for surprise you, both happily and
regretfully. On the day, at that particular moment it's anybody's
guess where the interest and the bidding will start... and eventually
stop. This would be true of all auctions, but a Clearing Sale moves
along at a 'bone-rattling' pace.
After all those weeks of planning and preparation, it's suddenly all
over. The auctioneer has ended (somewhat hoarsely) with his thanks and
last instructions about attending the temporary "office" to finalise
payments and requesting a patient and orderly collection of purchases.
For some considerable time after this, bedlam ensues as queues form at
the 'office' and then traffic jams of all manner of farm vehicles,
trucks and trailers bank up between the long lines of goods, to collect
their purchases, many previously gathered together into motley heaps.
There is much dust, and maneuvering of vehicles, and barking of dogs,
and shouted directions for backing up to the chosen 'heap'. More often
than not, the finest traditions of mateship are witnessed, as farmers
pitch in and heave together to lift and man-handle that heavy load that
one man can't manage... up onto the back of that ute... or trailer. "She'll be right, mate" would be the most common phrase heard at this
time. And over to one side will be a couple of low-loader semi-trailers,
ready and able to be hired to take home the large machinery and maybe
another with a large crane for lifting oversized and over-weighty
items.
At last, the final items have been collected, and the last vehicle
drives away. The silence is deafening until the birds remember to sing
again, and the sheep and cows in the paddocks to discuss the day. Most
shocking is the huge barren space where first of all so much farm gear
has been lined up for days and weeks, and then covered in all those
people and their vehicles.
Once again, that bitter-sweet feeling engulfs you. Sad to think of all
that 'stash', once upon a time your treasures, now no longer absolutely
necessary... now no longer yours, and yet... when you come to pack up
the rest, how much easier it will be. And suddenly, you lift your head
and straighten your back, and stop looking over your shoulder.
