Wednesday it was market day,
to Bury we’d be on our way,
Pigs and cattle sheep and horses,
all were put up for auction.
The auctioneer would sing his song,
ten pounds, twenty, come along,
Who will buy this fine beast now,
don’t nod your head you’ve bought a cow.
The market then was full of noise,
excited young girls and boys.
They’d see the man on the board walk,
spieling out his special talk.
Forty pigs sold in ten seconds flat,
didn’t understand a word of that.
The sheep were bleating all the while,
adding to the organised turmoil.
Across the road at Simpsons mart,
rabbits, chickens,nick nacks, works of art,
Lorries trailers unloading stock,
cleaning out at the washing dock.
Then it’s time for the tea shed,
pies,cakes, sandwiches of new bread.
Mothers, children, farmers to,
would sit and drink that special brew.
Then off to the round house to get paid,
discussing what things had made,
Then the activity starts again,
loading animals from the pens.
That’s how it was back in the day,
the excitement now has gone away,
Some will say that it was cruel,
but it was quite a spectacle,