I first started to photograph Malton Cattle Market simply because it seemed like a good subject to document. However, once I had begun, I soon realised that this was much more than a market, here too was a community and social gathering. And, despite its town centre location, it was quite hidden from the rest of Malton; it would be easy to miss it. I also found out that there were plans afoot to move the market to a new, out of town location. So then it would be missed by the farmers who regularly attend, the auctioneers and their staff and The Spotted Cow pub that, as well as providing comfort and hospitality, is key to the farmers for exchanging news, gossip and story telling. Talking about the likelihood of moving to the new location with one of the farmers, gathered in the Spotted Cow for his ritual breakfast, he looked around and then mournfully said 'they're taking all this away from us'. In a single gaze he took in his colleagues, the snug bar, the open fire and outside the market, the auction ring, the way of life. In that one sentence he encapsulated the essence of the market and its place in the lives of these otherwise solitary men. In his sweeping glance he absorbed and reflected on the meaning of it all. No, it’s more than just a cattle market.
I grew up where the southern edge of Middlesex met the northern outskirts of London. At one end of the lane there were open fields and farm land. Here I walked, played, scrumped apples and kissed girls in the hay. All the while I subconsciously awaited that deep, gruff voice that would mysteriously come from nowhere and shout 'get off my land'. I grew up in fear of farmers and shot guns and sought a life at the other end of the lane and towards the city. Because of this I was unsure how I would be received by the farmers all these years later and, once again, on their land. I can only say with welcoming courtesy, dry Yorkshire humour, reserved friendliness and mild interest. Cundall's auctioneers were equally welcoming and accommodating. I did my best not to get in everyone's way too often, to restrict my naive townie questions and avoid being trampled to death by what I now know to be called beasts. I still know nothing about sheep, tups, ewes, store lambs, suckler calves, bullocks, bulls or cows. I do know a lot more now about human kindness, the spirt of companionship and the meaning of community. My fear of farmers has turned to respect.
