THEY call him Mr Matt. For almost half a century, his well-tailored tweed suits and perky bow ties have been one of the best-known trademarks of Craven's farming community.

But Matthew Pallister came very close to never reaching his adopted Dales home - thanks to an incident in the days when winters really were wintery.

Mr Matt, auctioneer and later secretary and general manager of the old Skipton Auction Mart when it stood on the present Morrison's site, came from a long established farming family in County Durham.

As a young man during the war, mixing farming with learning the auctioneer's trade, he and a colleague were trapped in a terrible snowstorm whilst out inspecting cattle in his native county.

With their car bogged down, they struggled through huge drifts to the nearest railway station. That, too, was closed because of the snow so they staggered on to the next.

On the way, they had met two soldiers coming home on leave, but they lost contact. Only later did they discover that one of the soldiers died of exposure that bleak winter's night.

But it was that stroke of fate that brought Matt Pallister to Craven ...

"Although I survived, I was in a pretty terrible state when we finally got to safety," he recalls now at his home in the one-time temperance hotel in Hellifield.

"I went down with a pretty severe chest complaint which left me with asthma. My doctor advised me that I was not fit enough to continue farming so I thought the best thing to do was to make my part-time work as an auctioneer and valuer become my full-time career. And here we are..."

He came to Yorkshire to join Wharfedale Farmers at Otley and then moved to Skipton in July 1945. He married fiance, Mary, in 1946, but she was still living in the North East and visited when she could by train.

One day, getting off the train, she was in for a major surprise. "I've bought us a house," said Matt. "Don't be silly - you wouldn't buy a house without me seeing it. Where is it?"asked Mary.

Matt scratched his head: "I don't know really. It's at a place called Barlick. But I can't find it on the map."

So they set off into the night to find their new home - it had cost just £200 - not realising that they were now residents of Barnoldswick. Matt had never heard anyone pronounce the town's full name.

They later lived in Stainforth and Skipton before moving to Hellifield as Mr Matt built himself a huge reputation throughout the Dales: he also worked at the Masham mart where he once sold 18,000 sheep in a two-day sale.

The stories of the old days in the marts roll from him like gems.

He remembers old Dales farmers like the splendidly-named Moses Thackeray, one-time Hetton farmer, who would rise at 4am to drive cattle - both his own and neighbours' - to market on foot.

"There were no Land Rovers and trailers in those days," he laughs. He picked up his trademark bow tie habit when challenged to put one on as he actually stood on the rostrum knocking-down cattle.

"It was a dare from another old farmer, Tom Bowness from Hellifield, who always wore dickie bows," Matt grins as he remembers. "Tom thought I wouldn't do it. But I did - and wore one more or less non-stop for the rest of my life."

It was not all fun and games, however. One day, a cow which had had its ear tagged was not at all happy and managed to leap the wall out of the mart into Broughton Road - where it landed on the bonnet of a passing Reliant Robin.

"The little front wheel was squashed flat," he goes on. "The driver was pretty dazed so we brought him in and gave him a cup of tea and glass of brandy.

"All he could say was that there was nothing in front of him, nothing behind him, and suddenly this bloody great thing came out of the sky. It caused some trouble with the insurance company, that one."

Matt and Mary brought up three sons and a daughter, who became part of the local business community, and he retired in 1979.

He stills maintains close contacts with old farming friends but, as he says sadly at the ripe old age of 87, "There are not all that many left."

Mr Matt was, in fact, lucky to see his 30th birthday. But it's an ill wind, as they say. That terrible storm all those years ago could have robbed Craven of one of our most colourful characters.