Will’s World: A road trip and a local mart history hit

When a man reaches a certain stage of life, he must wax lyrical to his offspring about how things used to be when he was nought but a stripling himself.

It should be done in a manner that conveys the sort of hard-won wisdom acquired only through decades of lived experience.

If at all possible, it should be emphasised thoughtfully with the pointing of a pipe stem or, failing that, a gnarled and leathery finger.

See also: How new income streams are protecting Shropshire farm business

So it was recently, while ferrying the youngest of my numerous daughters through the centre of the known universe that is the People’s Republic of Wrexham to her latest rugby match, I felt compelled by some higher power to dispense my great wisdom on how the town (or city now, don’t you know) has changed since I was her age, much to her undoubted delight.

Market forces

As we drove past the ubiquitous trinity of early 21st-century crapness that is the shopping centre, bingo hall and supermarket, I asked her if she could possibly imagine that in the relatively recent past, a bustling cattle, sheep and pig market had stood there.

Not only that, her esteemed father himself attended this place of legend many times in his early years, alongside his own father and grandfather.

Her astonished face conveyed to me that she couldn’t imagine it, so I proceeded to launch into a long and detailed history of livestock markets and the associated agricultural connections of the town of her birth.

Wrexham was the site of an established market as early as 1391, with its wide streets and squares hosting sales throughout the centuries. Livestock were driven on foot from all over North Wales to get there.

The market I remember was originally built in 1875, and by the 1980s things had thankfully progressed to Land Rovers and Ifor Williams trailers, as I stressed to my now wide-eyed daughter.

Previously, sales had taken place where the shopping centre now stands, on what is still known to many older locals as the Beast Market, and there were still regular horse sales taking place there well into the 1960s.

It was at this point that I slipped into full Horrible Histories mode to keep her interested, and described how during the reign of Elizabeth I the Catholic martyr Richard Gwyn was hung, drawn and quartered there for resolutely holding to his faith.

I could’ve made a joke about that being a fairly standard Saturday night in my beloved hometown but, not feeling it was appropriate, I quickly returned to the topic of farming.

Currying favour

Even I find it hard to believe now, but in the old man’s day there were several tractor and machinery dealerships in the middle of town.

If you were feeling flush after selling at market, you had the choice of Nuffield, David Brown, Ford or Massey Ferguson to spend your hard-earned money on.

There were multiple leatherworks and tanneries, which exported their products all over the world, as well as an abattoir directly behind the market, surrounded by terraced houses, where stock would be taken direct to slaughter.

Local butchers would then pick up their meat from there to sell in their shops. How’s that for a circular system?

Sadly, the only trace of all this now is the name of the street beside where the market once stood: Smithfield Road.

Even the pub next door – the Smithfield, which once quenched the thirsts of generations of farmers, shepherds and drovers on market day – is gone, an Indian restaurant long since taking its place.

They do a belting Welsh lamb madras, mind.