once a year — the last sunday of july — the market is held without bargaining. each stall sets its price, marks it on paper, and the price stands. there is no calling, no banter, no auction of any kind. the early record, from the burgesses' book of 1697, calls it "the silent market," but the modern name stuck: nobody is silent, exactly. they are only courteous. the noise is the noise of a quiet kitchen.
traders complain a little every year, and turn up anyway. a portion of what is set out is given freely to whoever asks for it — by tradition, the first three things on every stall. these do not go fast. people are shy of being the one to take them. late in the afternoon a child is usually sent up the row to ask, on each stall's behalf, what should be done with the remainder.
now the day ends with the stalls being taken down by whoever is nearby — buyers helping sellers, sellers helping each other, the canvas folded slowly into trunks. the square empties without a closing bell. by sundown the cobbles are bare again, and the apple-cores in the gutter are the only sign anything happened.
— field note: a small jar of plum jam at no. 4 was marked "no price." it was still on the stall at sunset, with a slip beside it: take it home.