Poultry Auction

Sometimes I wonder what's happened to my fashion sense since I left London for Newhouse Farm. The day's clothes tend to be those which are easiest to grab in the early morning stumble to let the animals out, rather than chosen through thoughtful selection. Today I find myself wearing a T-shirt with a pig on it, a stripy jumper, oversized plaid fleece, workmen's trousers and rolled down wellies... not exactly high fashion, but it keeps me warm. And the animals certainly don't seem to mind.

I have another animal tale to tell you this morning: my first ever poultry auction. Nigel the Muscovy duck had been looking more depressed than ever since we'd clipped his wing and put him in with the geese and Indian runner ducks. He'd just sit by the gate looking mournfully in the direction of the tree he used to sit beneath. So on the morning of April 18th, Dick, James and I decided to go out and find a cure for Nigel's depression. Our mission was to attend a local poultry auction and bid for a couple of lovely Muscovy ladies to bring home and put a spring back in Nigel's step.

We arrived at Mays Countrystore where the auction was being held and found the auction hall crammed full of people and poultry. Stacked cages lined the walls of the hall and ran down the centre, each one filled with some sort of feathered creature inside, large and small. The air was filled with squawks, honks and chatter and the smell of chicken poop. We squeezed our way through the crowds of people, slowly walking down the rows of cages and examining what was inside. I had no idea there were so many different types of poultry: Crele Old English Game Bantams; a pair of Transylvanian Naked Necks; strange looking Malay Large Fowl; African Owl Pigeons; as well as all sorts of ducks, geese and hens.

We examined each cage and eventually found what we were looking for, a rather timid pair of black and white female muscovy ducks huddled closely together. They had their heads at the back of the cage and their bums pointing outwards, clearly unimpressed with their noisy surroundings. We took one look at them and knew these were the ladies capable of cheering up Nigel. Also on our way round the cages we'd spotted a pair of Light Sussex point-of-lay pullets - which for those not in the know means a pair of traditional English white female hens which are just about to start laying eggs!

Our birds were selected - now it was time to bid. No doubt for the amusement of Dick and James, I was put in charge of the bidding. I'd never been to a regular auction before, let alone a poultry one, and my only understanding of what to do came from watching the odd episode of 'Cash in the Attic' on TV. I had my bidding card and a list of the bidding order, on which I'd circled the number for the Muscovy ducks (number 29) and the hens (number 51). As the auctioneer prepared to begin the bidding we all crowded around the scaffolding stand on which the auctioneer stood. Dick whispered into my ear the bidding technique I was to try: keep secret from the other bidders which birds I was interested in; don't start the bidding but wait and see what happens and then come in later; know the maximum amount you're prepared to pay and don't get carried away with auction fever and over-bid!

The auctioneer hollered into his microphone and the bidding was underway. Trouble was, I couldn't understand a single word the auctioneer was saying. It sounded like a variation of the many honks and cackles filling the hall, a kind of nasal drone with occasional intonations and inflections, but surely not English. I looked round at Dick and James in panic, only to find them grinning and giggling at me... no help there! Looking back at the auctioneer I frowned and focused my attention with all my might, and eventually I began to understand bits of what he was saying. I could make out the odd number and enough words to realise that we were rapidly going through the bidding list and that number 29, the Muscovy Ducks, was fast approaching.

My hands were shaking, my palms were clammy, and my nerves were running high as the auctioneer called the bidding to start for the Muscovy Ducks. Somebody else bid £10 pounds, and the auctioneer looked round for any more bids. With a hefty nudge from Dick I shot my hand holding my bidding number straight up in the air, and I had entered the bidding arena. The auctioneer looked back to the first bidder, who bid again, and then over at me for a higher bid. Not knowing what to do I stood still, scared to move a muscle in case I accidentally over-bid. The auctioneer called to me again, and I heard a loud whisper in my ear saying "NOD!". Realising I had to nod to continue the bidding, I nodded vigorously at the auctioneer, who took my raised bid of £20 and looked back to the other bidder. The other bidder must have shook their head, because the auctioneer called "Once, Twice, SOLD!" We'd won the Muscovy Ducks at a bargain price of 20 quid and I was filled with adrenalin!

I looked round to Dick and James to discover they were chuckling at me. Apparently I'd made a funny spectacle during the bidding, and despite my best efforts to look disinterested I'd been about as cool as a chilli pepper. But there was no time for ridicule, because the bidding slot for the Light Sussex hens was upon us. The same procedure started again: I waited a while for the bidding to get under way, then shot my hand bolt upright in the air to enter the bidding foray. The price spiralled upwards between me and another bidder - these were clearly a popular couple of birds. But after much tension the final bid was placed, the auctioneer cried "SOLD" and thumped his hammer, and the hens were won by... ME!

Auction fever had consumed me: I'd won both pairs of birds and wanted to bid again and again! We decided it was time to collect the new members of Newhouse Farm and leave, which was a very good idea otherwise I'd probably have bid on all sorts of weird and wonderful birds to add to the menagerie at the farm. With the ducks and hens safely placed in travel boxes in the back of the car we headed back towards the farm, contemplating names to call Nigel's new ladies. It seemed obvious to call Nigel's girl Nigella, and after some thought we decided to call the other duck Mindy and give a name to Nigel's previously unnamed son... Mork. Mork and Mindy, Nigel and Nigella... happy families!

Back at the farm we put the Light Sussex hens in with the chickens, and Nigella and Mindy in with Nigel and the newly named Mork. Nigel's reaction was instantaneous. Once he clapped eyes on the ladies mopey Nigel was no more: his feathers fluffed up and he began strutting and hissing towards the females, bobbing his head and looking very pleased. After a few minutes of watching Nigel and his son Mork strut around after Nigella and Mindy, I jumped back in the car and got a lift down to the train station. It was time for me to head back to London to visit friends and tell them of my recent exploits. Once back in the city the squawks and chatter from the morning in the auction hall were juxtaposed with the honks and clatter of the city streets.

Several weeks on and the Muscovy ladies have settled in nicely. To avoid harassment from the Indian runner ducks and the geese, they've taken to perching on the narrow ledge above the stream where they seem to spend most of their days. Nigel and Mork are transformed, waddling around after their new ladies who seem quite unimpressed by their efforts. Ah l'amour!