Constable Around the Village by Nicholas Rhea

manoeuvred this unusual purse into the building. There they stood and watched as the bewildered clerk counted out the money. Finally, she stopped.
    “There’s £9,997,” she said, smiling at them.
    At this, Dad turned to his son and grumbled, “Thoo silly young buffer, thoo’s brought t’wrong churn!”
    Then there was the miller who was eventually convinced that a bank account and a cheque-book was a good idea, and accordingly he deposited his £1000 with a local branch. After instruction from the manager, he went home with his brand new cheque-book and began to pay his bills. At the end of the month, the manager called him in and informed him that he was overdrawn.
    “What’s that mean?” asked the miller.
    “It means you’ve overspent,” explained the manager. “You’ve spent more than your £1,000.”
    “Don’t be so daft!” retorted the miller. “I’ve never seen a penny of it!”
    Knowing the true Yorkshireman’s attitude to his money, it is interesting to spend time in one of the local markets, watching and listening to them as they wheel and deal among cattle, pigs, sheep and hens. Even today, there are many weekly markets in the small country towns of North Yorkshire, and it is traditional that the pubs are open all day for the service of suitable refreshment to those attending the market.
    Attending market is one of a rural policeman’s multifarious duties and, in my time, it was a regular task to attend for the sole purpose of issuing pig movement licences. These documents were vital if it was necessary to trace the movements of any pig thought to be affected by disease, and the farmers themselves knew and appreciated the value of this security. It was a simple system and it worked very well, both for the benefit of the police, the farmer, the vets and the Ministry of Agriculture.
    The duty had many benefits, one of which was the pleasure of listening to the haggling that went on between farmers buying and selling. Even before they began, eachknew the price he would either pay or receive, but, traditionally, there was, and still is, a great deal of good-natured haggling before reaching that figure. In addition, there is “luck money”, a vital part of any deal.
    A conversation might go something like this.
    “How much for them pigs?”
    “Fifteen quid apiece, and I’m letting you have ’em cheap.”
    “Fifteen quid? There’s no such price for pigs! Nay, lad, thoo’s not on wi’ that sort of game.”
    “Fifteen or nowt. That’s my price.”
    “I’ll settle for ten.”
    “Ten? For these? Nivver. These are good pigs!”
    “Ten is my figure and nut a penny more.”
    “By, thoo’s a difficult chap ti deal with. These pigs is grand …”
    “Twelve. Nea mair than twelve apiece.”
    “Push it up to twelve pound fifty and we might start talking.”
    “We’ll talk when thoo comes down to eleven.”
    “Thoo just said twelve.”
    “Twelve was ti start thoo talking sense. Eleven apiece and that’s my final offer.”
    “Twelve then, mak it twelve apiece.”
    “And luck money?”
    “Aye, all right. A quid apiece for luck, then.”
    So he got them for £11 each. Such a deal can be a long-drawn -out affair, but luck money is always the concluding part of the deal and is always handed over in cash. It is not knocked off the price or added on. It is a cash transaction quite separate from the main deal, and marks the continuance of a very ancient custom in local cattle markets. Its origin is simply a method of bringing good luck to the transaction and the actual amount of money is a matter for negotiation. The conclusion of a deal, and the payment of luck money, is marked by the buyer and the seller slapping the palm of each other’s hand. It is neither blackmail nor corruption, but a long-standing local custom that fills a few back pockets.
    Such a purchase, with luck money, found me involvedwith one of Claude Jeremiah Greengrass’s business enterprises . Most of his ventures