The Girl with the Titian Ringlets

Farm sales, or auctions are fascinating events, you never know what, or who, you are going to find.
Agricultural machinery is pulled out and lined up in a field, along with vintage craft and household items.

An ancient cast iron bath may rub shoulders with a weathered wooden gate and a quantity of roof tiles. All higgledy piggledy, awaiting a certain someone who cannot live without that particular bygone.

I had to take a client from Virginia, USA, to Yorkshire on a business trip, so I tacked a few extra days on and for the first time ever I decided to have some time away on my own. It was not something I relished as a woman of a certain age, but I was determined that being single would not stop me from doing stuff. I decided to head for Whitby, a place I knew I would be happy to spend time.

But let me take you back to the business part of the trip first, as the story carries several intertwining threads.

I had booked a charming B&B in Richmond for the American lady and me, as we were attending a meeting close by. I was a little surprised when she turned up with two friends in tow, both from the US.

One, living in London, with whom she had been staying, the other, who was here on vacation, looked exactly like a bargirl from a spaghetti western as she was wearing a flowing white skirt, with frilled petticoats and had stunning titian ringlets tumbling over her shoulders.

The weather was similar to today, with heavy squally showers and the odd clap of thunder thrown in for good measure. The business meeting finished unexpectedly early and on our way back we saw a sign for the farm auction. The American girls were keen to see what was happening, so I drove up the rutted farm track into a field commandeered as a car park. It was wet underfoot and decidedly muddy where the vehicles had driven in and out.

The girl with titian hair caused a stir by tucking her long white skirt and petticoats up in her waistband to keep them out of the mud, thus revealing long slender legs and strappy heeled sandals.

The field was crowded with men of all shapes and sizes. Wax jackets and flat caps were the dress code of the day.

During a particularly heavy shower we sheltered in a large barn where there were horse drawn carriages and equine requisites to be auctioned. The girl with the titian hair sidled up to a young farmer and worked her magic - instantly.

My American colleague found an Irish millionaire who had arrived by helicopter to buy some carriages and fell into deep conversation with him.

The third American struck up a conversation with a fellow countryman in cowboy boots and hat.

An ancient horse drawn, glass sided hearse caught my eye, and while I was looking at it, from beside me, in the softest of French accent I heard:

'I sink zat would be parfait for making love in, don't you?'

I looked round and into the deepest, twinkliest, brown eyes, shielded by long dark lashes.

Rather than an auction, it was as if we had found ourselves in the middle of a speed dating event.

It was freezing cold by now and we decided to adjourn to a local pub. A stranger site I'm sure has yet to be seen in Yorkshire.
The girl with the hitched up skirts and titian ringlets looking to all like the Pied Piper of Hamlyn as she led a procession of about 10 men, and us three women into a pub where we warmed ourselves by the open fire, drank whisky macs and talked long into the evening.

Friendships were formed, and as we parted, names and numbers were exchanged, along with kisses and even tears in some cases, but the events that followed will have to wait for tomorrow and beyond.