‘If horses were dear, they’d all be going mad for them’

A wrinkled man with a stick and a jaunty hat stood near the entrance to the fair field at Puck and offered advice.

“If some fella asks you to hold a reins, don’t, because you could be left with the horse,’’ he warned.

Inside, the place was full of fillies, foals, cobs, half-breds and nags of varying pedigree, but few people were buying — no spitting on hands, no slapping of palms, no calls to split the difference.