THERE hasn’t been a morning like this since last summer. It’s a cracker and Edward Stephenson hopes the sunshine will attract a good turnout for the livestock sale he is about to conduct at the York Auction Centre.

Edward is every inch the country auctioneer; spit-and-polished brogues, plush moleskin trousers and clipped tones that will soon become undecipherable in the frenzied bidding.

Range Rovers begin to arrive alongside lesser four-wheel drives; all have trailers, some carrying calves, others empty. By mid-afternoon the roles will reverse because the farmers here today are specialists, either at fattening cattle or as breeders. And with the weak exchange rate, times are pretty good for livestock. Edward says a two-week-old British Blue calf can make around £300.

By now the sun has climbed higher and there is intensity to its heat when the sale begins. Its presence seems to have done the trick and the hoped-for crowd is filling the arena, chatting about everything it seems but the election.

There is plenty to do ahead of the auction. A few have stopped off for a short-back-and-sides at The Shearing Shed, while others are gossiping over a hearty breakfast.

Most, however, are checking out which animals will be worth a punt.

Waiting cattle are kept in a vast array of pens where expert eyes peer through the gates looking for tell-tale signs of quality. They are not about to say what those are, because this is business after all and farmers like to guard their long-held secrets.

Gangways above the pens offer an unrivalled view of the bustling scene where the air is drenched with a heady, earthy but not unpleasant pungency, and flat-capped drovers armed with crooked sticks guide a pair of calves down the aisle and into the arena.

York Auction Centre was founded in 1871 and the faces greeting them as they enter the ring could be unchanged from those years. They are ruddy, rugged and anxious; middle aged or older. One or two appear to have the worries of the world; others, full of the joys of spring, break into an occasional wry smile.

But not during the sale where bidding is done the old way and a sly wink or imperceptible scratch of the nose are enough to confirm intent. An itchy ear might cost you dearly.

Fortunately, experience has taught Edward and his uncle, James, how to spot different sleights of hand and mannerisms. “Some of the farmers gather round the ring and when they bid they just lean forward and raise their hand a bit,” says Edward. “We tend to see the same people at each sale, so you get to know what animals a particular person is going to buy.

“And you can guarantee Mr Jones will be sitting in the same seat week after week, so when a heifer weighing 420 kilos comes in or a certain type is offered, you know it’s odds on that Mr Jones would like to buy it, so you look to him. If it’s a bull, there’s no point looking in his direction because you know he won’t be interested.”

On the face of it there doesn’t seem to be much happening, but James is busy spotting surreptitious nods as he rattles out bids like rapid fire from a machine gun.

Undoubtedly the stone-faced regulars understand what is going on, but James’s words are a mystery to the untutored. Even more baffling is who might be scratching to attract his attention.

Apparently the first number he chants is the amount being offered, the second is what he is looking for, in between are unrecognisable filler phrases. It’s a quick-cadence combination of numbers and words which give the impression he is talking faster and help increase tension among the bidders.

No sooner has the first lot begun than it’s over. I can’t tell you how much it went for but the sage-like expressions around the room suggest a fair price was paid.

After a few lots, Edward gets ready to take over. It’s going to be a hectic few hours with dairy cows, feeding cows, calves and store cattle on offer, so he and James take turns with the gavel.

Edward is one of a long line of Stephensons which in the 19th century began auctioning on the site now occupied by the Barbican Centre. The firm moved to Murton in the 1970s and that’s when things really took off. These days they don’t only sell livestock, Stephenson’s is also an estate agency and advises on all farming matters.

But it is more than an agrarian firm. Under a pleated canopy above the foyer a fine antiques sale has just taken place, and some Saturdays a farmers’ market is held, as well as an auction of everything from dining tables to socket sets.

Since the last foot and mouth epidemic, regulations have become stricter. Stephenson’s has always washed and disinfected as soon as the sale is over, even during the harshest days of winter, and all the staff are trained in livestock welfare.

Cows now have their own passport and on it is logged the date of birth and details of every move.

It’s much the same for sheep and pigs.

Edward says anyone is welcome to attend the farmers’ sales. “Come and see what we are doing and get to meet the farming fraternity, see how they trade and watch the livestock going through the ring.

“It would also be nice to have some school parties coming in for a couple of hours if they are visiting the Museum of Farming, which is next door but one. If they come to see us just before we start selling we can show them round and they can watch the auction.”

Livestock sales are held at Murton twice a week and when farmers gather at the auction centre, it’s like eavesdropping on a hidden world, even though it is on the edge of the city. This is a fascinating place where you can buy just about anything; from lambs and chickens to watches and hammers – even a car to drive it all home in. But one word of warning: probably best not to go if you have a cold. One false sneeze and you could end up with more than you bargained for.

• For details of the next sales at York Auction Centre Murton visit ylc.co.uk