A day at Arva fair

One man's recollections of the way cattle was sold in bygone days and how deals were struck

Seamus Barry

Cattle were not sold in the marts until the 1960s, instead they were sold by the farmers themselves.

The cattle were taken to towns where fairs were held. These fairs took place at intervals during the year. The farmer and dealers met and conducted their own deals which involved much haggling and hand slapping. As the deal progressed, often farmers and onlookers would assist to get the deal over the line. Very often the suggestion to split the difference would prove successful. When agreement was reached there was one final hand slap. The hand, previously spat on, seemed to seal a firm deal (Covid was unheard of in these times).

Arva was a famous fair town and attracted huge crowds of people, cattle and buyers. The town prepared for the event by erecting temporary barriers to protect their shop windows from cattle. The livestock were all over the streets and footpaths as this is where the deals took place.

Shopkeepers welcomed the opportunity to have a bumper day’s sales. They were happy to leave their doors open, even if it meant a huge clean up afterwards. Arva became a thriving town because of these fairs.

I grew up in the 1950s in Drumbess, and being the eldest son it fell to me to assist my father to take the animals to the fair. I was always delighted to get to the fair. There was huge excitement with the crowds, the activities and mayhem of the day.

Arva was five miles away and we would walk the animals on foot as was customary for all farmers in our areas as there was no transport.

Preparations were made the day before and the cattle were confined to the field beside the house for an early start. Ash sticks were cut in the hedge as these were essential for the journey.

I was awakened by my father in what seemed the middle of the night and the rush was on. The aim was to be on the road by daybreak as fairs were early events. The breakfast was quite hurried but we had lots to eat. “Eat up now,” my father would say, “it may be a long while before you get to eat again.”

He was a big man with large hands and quite clumsy in the kitchen, although I cannot say I was any better myself.

We were on the road by daybreak. Our animals had a great liking for deviating from the main roadway. It was my job to run ahead to block any open gaps or other such opportunities along the way.

Soon we met up with neighbouring farmers with their stock. There was Packie Caffrey, James Leonard and Joe Reilly. These men were quietly spoken but could raise their voices several decibels in commands to their animals. Phrases like “High hip” and “Hup hup” seemed to be understood by the so-called dumb beasts. By now we had left the gravel road and were on the main road to Arva; a much wider, tarred road. It was clear from the amount of mud and excrement on the road that many were gone ahead so we quickened our pace. It always seems that animals in their excitement can excrete at will, skittering it all over the smooth surface making it impossible to avoid, which was the reason we all wore wellingtons.

Along the way the dealers or jobbers as they were called would pass by in their vans or small trucks. Sometimes they would stop when they spotted an animal they fancied and attempted to deal. At times the deal could be successful, but more often the seller would chance his luck in town, not being persuaded by the wiley dealer saying there was a glut of cattle and prices were down.

I enjoyed the deals. The dealer offering his top price, then walking away upon refusal, only to return with a higher price. Often faults and flaws in the animal would be pointed out in an attempt to lower the farmer’s confidence. This would be angrily refuted as to insult his animal was an affront to himself. I have seen usually placid farmers erupt into huge angry outbursts with all kinds of curses and swear words.

This was serious business. I understood only in later years how important it was to these men to get good prices for their livestock. Times were bad, their very livelihood depended on it. It was not often they had animals to sell - merchant bills needed to be paid, as did rent and rates, meals and fertilisers, not to mention the bills for groceries and family household needs.

I was always glad when we got sold early, giving the remainder of the day to roam around. The dealers gathered around. They would pinch ribs, poke back bones and feel tail ends and they would express disappointment at the condition of the animal.

When it came to the dealing my father could match anyone and could show his anger real or fake but refrained from cursing (I had to learn that language elsewhere). This was all part of he day but I hoped his anger was fake as otherwise it could have an adverse impact on the sweets and treats of the day. Eventually the deal was made, my father hesitantly held out his hand for the final slap. A large roll of notes was produced and a big red £20 note and a smaller blue £10 note was passed and the deal was complete. The new owner then took out a coloured wax type marker from his pocket and pasted his own brand mark on the animal’s back.

There were holding yards down alleys at the back of the shops. All the sold animals were taken there. Our business was now complete.

There were many eating houses in the town for the day. These were not always visible from the outside. We passed through a corridor covered in sawdust and into a room with large oil cloth tables and timber chairs. These eating houses provided wholesome meals to hungry men, were cheap and always crowded. There was much chat and banter as the tension of the day eased away.

I would stick around with Dad for sometime as my business was not yet complete. He knew a lot of people and met up with many friends and distant relations. On these occasions there was a good chance a young boy could get a coin placed in his hand. I would get perhaps sixpence or a shilling, and on rare occasions a two shilling piece. Usually we would meet my grandfather and he was good for half a crown. Now with lots of coins I could visit the stalls. These were temporary huts on the Market Square selling all types of goods. There was ointment to cure all ailments, gadgets to neatly slice vegetables and cutters to cut glass into all shapes, all smoothly demonstrated and could turn the purchaser into an expert, or so the salesman enthused. I would settle for the purchase of a small toy or penknife or perhaps a water pistol. The latter would not meet the approval of my brothers when I got home. I went to bed early that night having counted my money several times.

Who could ever say that marts were better than the fairs of long ago?