Final part of Native: Life in a vanishing landscape

Native: Getting smart at the mart

Concluding our series of extracts from his award-winning book, Patrick Laurie learns how to bid successfully at the ‘masterclass in suppressed emotion’ that is the Castle Douglas cattle sale

By Patrick Laurie

It’s easy to see meat when your beast is dead and skinless, but I challenge you to pick out ‘good’ from ‘less good’ when it’s standing upright in a thick, baggy skin. Some of the butchers in Castle Douglas can measure up a walking beast without breaking step. They’ll give you a scarily accurate stab at value and cost off the back of a fag packet as the auctioneer drones on and pigeons clatter in the rafters.

A few breeds attract more money because they’re famous and customers are willing to pay a little more for the kudos. There’s always a market for Galloway beef, but nobody mentions Riggits on their marketing bumf. The name is too obscure to add value, but it’s not too much to hope that’ll change. It’s lucky that the farmers who worked so hard to rescue Riggit Galloways from extinction had their heads screwed on. They know that markings don’t matter when the skin’s off and the frame is hanging from a hook. Riggits are traditional, stocky animals, but they have good flesh in all the right places. That’s where live animals start to be recognised as joints and are measured on meat yield. Butchers count the number of steaks they can slice out of a long back; they peer at the legs and hunt for the rump that is square and plump.

I didn’t know any of this when I began to look at Galloways. I saw nothing but uniformity, and the fine details went far over my head. Back when I was dithering about cattle, I went to a stock-judging competition laid on for young farmers by the Galloway Cattle Society. I was baffled by a relentless procession of identical black animals. That was one of the reasons why I took to Riggit Galloways in the early days; it’s easy to tell them apart.

My beasts became so familiar that I began to memorise their shapes. It didn’t take me long to home in on conformation, and soon I was conjuring up fine details of length and girth. I thought one of my calves was the most stunning beast I’d ever seen, but she grew into a cow with many failings; she was skinny at the back and narrow along the spine. Meanwhile, one of the ugliest heifers filled into beefy perfection. Her markings were all wrong, but she made a stunning silhouette. I was learning to balance beauty with function. If I wanted to produce good cattle, I’d have to bring both together in a single beast. And I’d got the very one in mind.

The Annual Show and Sale of Belted and White Galloway Cattle is a landmark in the Galloway year. People come from all over the world to see our cattle sold, and the brickyards hum with excitement on the Market Hill in Castle Douglas. Most of this buzz wells up around Belted Galloways, the

Laurie was first drawn to Riggit Galloways because they are easy to tell apart. But soon building up a quality herd became a passion.

most famous black-and-white beasts in Scotland. The finest Belted Galloway bull might sell for less than a tenth of what you’d pay for a high-octane commercial breed at Perth, but there’s nothing part-time or hobbyish at Castle Douglas. Big exports go across the world, and the bulls are polished to a glassy sheen of perfection.

Speak to some of the breeders at Castle Douglas and they’ll list the many virtues of Galloway cattle. Some are working towards top-notch beef; others need hardy livestock for conservation projects like mine with Riggit Galloways. There are all kinds of reasons to take the day seriously, but it’s surprising how many folk lean on a vague feeling that native breeds are fundamentally important. You find the same words and ideas when people gather to play folk music or take part in old dances. Maybe it’s helpful to abandon yourself and be part of an old tradition sometimes, even if you can’t put your finger on why that continuity and repetition is so valuable.

White Galloways are often tacked on to the end of the Belted Galloway sale, and a few beasts are sold once the main roar of excitement has passed. It seems unfair to relegate the white beasts to play second fiddle behind their belted cousins, but these are the quirks of fancy and taste.

In a bid to raise their profile, the farmer whose Riggit heifer I wanted to buy had lobbied to sell his trio of the beasts as the first pedigree Riggits ever sold at Castle Douglas. The Riggit Galloway Cattle Society hoped that this would generate some much-needed publicity and interest. The farmer was granted his wish, but the heifers were tacked on after the White Galloways like an afterthought. It was a telling reminder that Riggits occupy a small corner of a very marginal world, and their presence is often merely tolerated.

I went to see the heifer in her pen on the morning of the sale. She stood quietly with her sisters and I chatted to the farmer as I wrung my sale catalogue into a mush of nervousness. He knew I was bound to bid, so I didn’t even try to hide my anxiety. They would come on last, shortly before the store cattle and the commercial beasts.

Any fool can buy a cow, but the experience is meaningless without fine attention to protocol. After several centuries of determined Presbyterianism in Galloway, this is a masterclass in suppressed emotion. It’s forbidden to show any expression as the bids are made. You shrug and suck your teeth. If you can attract the auctioneer’s attention by throbbing a vein on your forehead, then you’re starting to get the idea. Tradition dictates that all faces around the ring should be left utterly blank; allowances are sometimes made for expressions of despair and boredom. In this game, triumph and defeat run in screaming riot behind a screen of pessimistic indifference.

I worked hard to wipe every crease of expression from my face. Deep breaths. I stared at the sawdust as the first Riggit came in and jogged in a wobbling trot around the ring. The auctioneer reminded us that these were the first pedigree Riggit Galloways ever to be sold through the ring in Castle Douglas. I fought the rush and wondered how many Riggits have passed through this ring over the last century without any official recognition or endorsement. They would have been bizarre throwback store cattle, sold with a shrug of confusion. But yesterday’s freak had become today’s pedigree. The first heifer sold, and not for big money. She was my least favourite of the three, but I’d just seen Belted Galloway heifers sell for almost three times as much simply because their stripe was around the middle rather than along the back. So much for logic.

Then my darling entered the ring. I tried to count backwards. Nobody wants to jump in too soon, and the auctioneer began to lower the starting price. I stared at the ground and pretended not to care as my pulse roared in my ears. A child laughed and the crowd continued to dribble away through the open doors.

Then bidding began. Somebody started us off, but I couldn’t look. I only knew that they were behind me and to the right. I ignored it and caught the auctioneer’s eye with sheer willpower; he must have felt the fury coming off me. His hair would’ve been sizzling with it. I’d set a budget, but that was exceeded in a short titfor-tat exchange of 100 guineas a time. I strove to focus my roaring nerves into a single, gentle nod of my head as if nothing could matter less and I was already thinking about what I would have for lunch. The hammer fell at 900 guineas. The auctioneer announced my name to a clerk without having asked it. I’d never seen either of those men before, but they knew me because they knew my father. A tall, smiling guy from Connemara was standing beside me and he turned to shake my hand and said, ‘That’s a grand wee beast.’ He hadn’t even realised I was bidding until the gavel fell. I’d won.

Market forces: ‘In this game, triumph and defeat run in screaming riot behind a screen of pessimistic indifference.’

Native: Life in a Vanishing Landscape by Patrick Laurie is published by Birlinn (£9.99, pbk) www.birlinn.co.uk