Going - Going  (From a womans notebook)

I can't resist auctions. I never could. So, when I popped into our local Allotment Holders’ Annual Exhibition of fruit and vegetables this evening, and found a they were selling off the produce, I clutched my bag under my arm, and wriggled through the crowd till I stood under the auctioneer's nose. He was waving aloft an apple as big as a pumpkin, one of an exhibit of six. 

"Who'll give me a bob apiece?" he asked hopefully. 

The crowd gave an amused grin. 

“Then, a bob for the lot? Come on, ladies and gentlemen, it is for the hospital. Well, a tanner for the lot. Now then?" 

"Yes. " I said, firmly, and the auctioneer gave me an approving smile. 

He must have marked me down as a likely buyer, for whenever the bidding, grew slow, he looked, down at me and murmur, "Now, what about you, Madam?" 

I hated to disappoint him , and cheerfully bid sixpence for carrots and parsnips as long as my arm, turnips and beets like footballs, and exhibits of mixed vegetables. They were simply throwing the stuff away for anything it would fetch. They had to get rid of it, for it is Saturday night, and the hall is wanted by the Christadelphians in the morning. It ia difficult to conduct a service when the seats are occupied by giant beets and marrows, unless you pretend it is a Harvest Festival. Even at a Harvest Festival, though, vegetables should be in their proper places, and not seat themselves among the congregation. 

When the sale was over, I went to claim my purchases, to my amazement was the owner of sufficient Mixed Roots to keep us going for weeks, a sack of potatoes, and i the Father of all the marrows, to say nothing of sidelines like apples, runner beans and shallots. I ask you, how is a woman, and small at that, to carry them home? 

Next time theres an auction I shall probably not bid.