South Molton

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South Molton - Simon Dawson

South Molton farmers’ market, Saturday morning, dead early. My stall is set up and I’m waiting for the rush – crush barriers and police horses standing by in case the crowds get too overcome by my produce.

Officially the market opens at 8am, and stallholders are encouraged to have everything up and ready by then. I’m always the last, but it’s done now and I sip strong black coffee, lots of strong black coffee and watch the people go by.

A lady, pretty but looking very tired rushes past. Behind her walks a guy, scruffy with short hair and following him another guy, this one walking with a swagger – it’s a bit early in the morning to feel so good, isn’t it? Then a young girl walks by, she’s about seventeen, maybe eighteen. She walks past at the same time each week. She’s very glamorous, almost too glamorous for the surroundings. I can’t put my finger on what it is because her clothes aren’t over the top. Neither is her hair. It’s more natural than that, like it’s her shining through the clothes rather than the clothes making her shine. She’s very lucky. I wonder if she works in fashion? She smiles at me and I call a cheery, “Morning.”

I sip more coffee and hope I’m going to have a good day and lots of people will buy from me.

Toby goes by next, arms loaded with boxes. He works on the fruit and veg stall. He’s always smiling, always kidding around. He’s at collage now but he’s going to be a sports teacher when he leaves. He works with Justin and Jenson – Jenson, the man with the coolest name in South Molton.

This time in the morning it’s still quiet. Around ten it’ll start to get busy. That’s when the regulars and locals come through to do their shopping. South Molton is a small farming town in North Devon just off the A39 with a population of around four thousand, but for a small place there’s a lot going on. It feels bustly with something always happening. Every Saturday and Thursday, the thing that’s happening is the market, and most people in the area wander through at some point or another.

Stand behind my stall long enough and it’s like having an entire town parade in front of me (with the more discerning ones pausing to buy something, of course). I don’t know their names, but I know snippets about them and guess the rest, like whether the glamorous girl works in fashion or not.

There’s a guy who has long curly hair and looks as though he should be in the music business, maybe as a record producer. There’s another guy who sometimes wears builder’s boots and a short pleated skirt, and I wonder if he’s in advertising. Then there’s the beautiful mother with two very pretty daughters who are always in party dresses, are they always on their way to parties?

There are grubby farmers with muddy wellies, women in tight jodhpurs and riding boots with their hair scraped back into ponytails, families with noisy children, elderly people on mobility scooters, people carrying newspapers, or books, or flowers, and always everyone carrying heavy bags.

And there’s Jim. He’s 81 now, but in his prime he was Mr Universe. I’m serious. He once brought in a photograph of when he was in his prime, posing, oiled and pumped up with muscles like Arnold Schwarzenegger. He looked incredible. I handed the picture back and he rested his walking stick on the side of the table, grinned and waved his hand down his side. “Look at me now,” he said, and I realised the grin held little humour.

Not everyone stops and talks, but lots do. Sometimes they buy, but sometimes they just want to catch up. I like that about South Molton, the fact that people feel comfortable enough to chat to the stallholders without feeling under pressure to buy, even though I’ll occasionally drop my eyes down to the neatly tied pork joints in the chiller in front of me just in case they meant to pick one up but got so carried away they forgot. They’d only kick themselves when they got home, and I wouldn’t want an injury on my conscience.

All the stallholders are friendly. It’s in the remit of being a stallholder to smile and talk about their goods. I’m Hidden Valley Pigs and I sell rare breed free range pork from our smallholding on Exmoor. Sarah next to me sells handmade pies, pasties and game from her farm. On the other side of me Chris sells cakes and biscuits and crisps. Down from him there’s Coombe Farm who sell all different meats. We’re in the main entrance.

The main body of the market is a massive hall with forty or fifty stalls running in four rows from top to bottom. There’s a fishmonger behind boxes of shiny wet fish, and opposite him the fruit and veg stall, the biggest stall in the market with masses of, well, fruit and veg. On from there is Keith with his smellies, Stafford with his flowers, Celia with her olives and Megan with her dried fruits.

Lisa runs the most colourful stall in the market, the Indy stall with bright scarves and pashminas, silks and sarees, velvets and woollen smocks, and sweet smelling oils and incense and bits and pieces from India and Tibet.

There’s a shabby chic home and garden stall, Chris with handbags and Tracy’s accessory stall with coloured scrunches and hair bands, bangles, beads, bracelets and bows, and of course Philip and Seonee with fabric and jewellery.

For food there’s West Country cheese, fresh ground coffee and fresh baked bread. There’s even a W.I. stall selling homemade cakes and sausage rolls. We’re a friendly farmers’ market, mainly because we want to have fun while we’re working too. Pop in and say hi – and don’t forget your purse.

South Molton Farmers’ market is on every Thursday and Saturday 8am-1pm throughout the year.

South Molton

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