On The Closure Of Beeston Auction, Cheshire Poem by Keith Shorrocks Johnson

In summertime at Beeston
The auction pens were few
The springtime heifers gone
The dry cows yet to come,
As farms brought harvest home.

The hay was sweet but short on sun
When dew was on the lea
And lots were cast on mowing then
Or tedding swaths once more
Or bringing heavy bales to store.

But if there was a spell
To take a break the while
And sell a bobby-calf or two
Some brass for beers was found
With whiskey chaser rounds.

And long upon the seasons
The castle kept its watch
On straight and crooked dealers
On tip-offs on the stock
And kickbacks paid for ‘luck'.

Then at last the gavel fell
As those who bid held back,
The tricksters and the touts
The buyers with their doubts,
To hear the ‘all done? ' shouts.

Now the yards are silent
And the gates are closed
Weeds are finding purchase
The farmers' deals are done
The last lots loaded on.

Still the castle lours
Like a guardian lion
And bargains once hand-shaken
Are settled for a tidy sum
Paid up for time to come.