THE THIRD WOOL SALE

Press, Volume LXXI, Issue 21412, 2 March 1935, Page 12

THE THIRD WOOL SALE

-—-♦ Expectation and Resignation SCENES IN THE HALL There is a certain tension, an air of uncertain expectation, among those who attend a wool sale as spectators. However well it may be realised by those more vitally concerned that it is useless to encourage high hopes of greatly improved values, those hopes die hard; and it is certain that at the third Christchurch sale, which was held yesterday in the Radiant Hall, there were many who thought wistfully of past sales when prices rose buoyantly to bring smiles of self-congratulation to farmers' faces. Others there were, no doubt, who disguised their hopes by proclaiming extravagant fears; and a happy few, perhaps, who came prepared for any turn of the market, ready to accept good fortune or disappointment with genuine philosophic detachment. So much for those directly interested. Many attended, besides, who regarded the sale as an entertainment with just enough vital interest to add to a spectator's pleasure.

Generalities apart, the third sale of the season was a disappointing one. So much depends on the price of wool that the disappointment of the farmers is naturally reflected among those to whom the growing of wool is not a bread-and-butter affair. After the last sale, at which values were firmer, it was felt that at least no ground had been lost if nothing substantial had been gained; but yesterday there was another story to tell. Values weakened, as the phrase is in commercial English, and for some important classes of wool there was a significant drop in price. The wool buyers, literally, rose to the occasion very seldom, though their naturally vociferous habits gave at times an appearance of enthusiasm. In the Morning The sale began at 10 o'clock in the morning. Outside the hall, in Kilmore street, only the lines of cars on each side of the street gave any indication that business of some importance was proceeding inside. Actually, the wool sales are the most vital business of the province—more than that, as they are an index to the prosperity of the whole Dominion. But the general public, howevei interested, cannot see its own. business being done on a week-day morning. Its concern at such times is with the more immediate problems of earning a living. So there were comparatively few people waiting for the sale to begin. Small groups stood about the entrance in the hall, and oddly enough, not many of them seemed to be discussing wool prospects; this was probably a sign of resignation rather than apathy.

There was not much excitement to be had inside. The sale went on for an hour, for two hours, and there was no sign of sensation, either in the form of extraordinarily high values or of extraordinarily low values. The attitude of those in the body of the hall, rather resembling that of a congregation paying polite attention to a dull sermon, seemed a passive rebuke to the spurts of frenzy on the stage. The remark of one man to another, at the main entrance, summed up the general notion of the sale: "You won't get cheered up in there."

The Buyers Any person attending a wool sale for the first time, that is, any person having a reasonably lively imagination, would find considerable amusement simply in watching the antics of the buyers. Of course, when prices are low and competition is slight, there is less vociferation; but, as has been hinted above, the average buyer is habitually excitable. Moreover, his response to the first suggestion of competition is immediate and dramatic. No second-rate actor calling, in the character of Mark Antony, on Caesar's wounds to witness to the guilt of the murderers ever appealed with such fervour as a wool buyer to the auctioneer. And this fervour leaves the ordinary person wondering vaguely why these mannerisms are necessary—for so they seem to be. It is in a way irrelevant, possibly not in the best of taste, to stir the sense of the ridiculous towards the conduct of yesterday's sale. For so many people the result was disappointing, and to everyone the sale had such significance that mere idle self-amusement is almost in tune with the mind of Nero—if indeed that emperor did play the Roman equivalent of a fiddle while Rome burned. In a time of depression, however, it is proper enough to take amusement where it can be found, and to bo thankful that it can be found at all. On the Benches On the benches during a sale there is no time for anything but keen concentration. Ears must be alive to catch the naming of the lots, and the inarticulate shouts—some of them squeaks and grunts rather than shouts—which represent bids. Yesterday most of the buyers managed to keep their seats; but some of them rose magnificently, arms outstretched, on very little provocation. They keep it up for a whole day, or very nearly. They use their voices unsparingly and their quick perception is always awake. Wool takes a long time to come from the sheep's back to the market; but when it does come it is disposed of in an instant. And the efficiency of the method is obvious.