Well, it wasn’t deliberate. On my recent trip to rural Ireland, we went to the local cattle market, and in a little town where nothing much happens, the cattle market takes the town over, with the tractors and trailers parked half up on the footpaths, the noise of the cattle moaning, the auctioneer’s voice on a loudspeaker - and an unmistakable smell wafting on the breeze – if you were deaf, you would definitely have had your senses alerted to what was going on.

Tried to look invisible

We sat as inconspicuously still as possible in the auction room, but as women in a male environment, we were a giveaway as people who didn’t belong in this crowd of men in bobble hats, wellies, muddy jeans and anoraks. It was exactly as you see on TV - the saleroom a small circular pen in the centre of standing or seated buyers/sellers, where one by one, frightened cattle were ushered in, and gently poked by a cattleman with a stick to keep them moving round the pen. Bidding was invisible, not a quiver of a bobble or a raised finger could be seen. The farmers looked like observers, whispering to each other and leaning on the barrier, no doubt tiny twitches of the eyebrows or pulls on earlobes were enough for the auctioneer – who traditionally talked so fast that it was impossible to tell if our favourite cow was sold for €25 or €2025. We avoided making eye contact with the auctioneer in case that might have been misunderstood as a bid and managed to slip out between heifers before we were auctioned off ourselves.

The Local Paper

I picked up a copy of the local weekly free paper, and there were at least six pages of local sporting events – how could so much be going on in a little corner of a damp, muddy country? But there it was, evidence in columns of print accompanied by pictures of football players looking cold and snatched and photos of groups of lads from local teams lined up grinning, still pristine in their kit. And an odd collection of adverts for church services, obituaries (God rest their souls), property sales, a farm machinery auction, plus two or three cattle slaughterers I supposed, looking for ‘dead and worn-out animals’, and another offering to buy ‘lame and culled cows and cattle – anything considered’. A page gave dates and locations of various cattle auctions coming up, with different classes of cattle – ‘fatstock sale of heifers’, ‘special sale of bullocks’, sales of ‘dry cows’, ‘calves/runners and weanlings’. I had no idea there were so many categories!

What also amused me was a report of a gentleman who had gone to a cut-throat barber for the first time for a beard trim, or as he called it, a ‘a beard regulator’. It was a well-written article - with good advertising for the barber I might add.

Highlight

The highlight of our visit was to one of the oldest pubs in Ireland for a feast of local music, tale-telling and dancing. This one-of-a-kind pub was established way back in 1734, and is a well-preserved old thatched pub, well-known as a music venue that offers a seat in around the musicians, singers and dancers - and were invited by lively banter to sing, play or dance alongside them!

And finally…the weather

Funnily enough, the topic of the weather today, tomorrow, last week, next week or whenever was a subject as hotly debated there as it is here in Portugal, and in fact instead of a week of cold wet weather, we were treated to not exactly to blue skies, but patches of sun breaking through chilly grey skies. The phrase ‘You’ve been lucky with the weather’ we took as a good omen, especially as we saw glaring evidence of a recent storm – ancient trees wrenched apart and chain-sawed into heaps – more so as it had been tipping down and ‘blowing a hoolie’ back in Portugal while we were away!

Author

Marilyn writes regularly for The Portugal News, and has lived in the Algarve for some years. A dog-lover, she has lived in Ireland, UK, Bermuda and the Isle of Man. 

Marilyn Sheridan