FIRST STEPS TO SELLING TO THE WORLD

I was probably about 20 years old when I decided to take my cheese iron and go out and sell some cheese to local shops myself. I loaded up the pickup truck with some of our finest cheeses, sixty-pounders, laid gently on a bed of clean straw. Perfectly hygienic, of course, as they were coated in muslin and sealed with a layer of fat, which hardens to a natural mould. Once everything was securely sheeted down, off I went.

My first stop was Lawrence H. Waite, the high-class family grocer on the raised pavement in Palmer Street, Frome. He specialised in local Cheddar and was well-known for buying prize-winning cheeses from local agricultural shows, especially of course, the Frome Cheese Show. He knew his stuff! Cheesemongers like Mr. Waite would cut cheese to suit each customer’s needs, stripping off the muslin and slicing a wedge with a cheese wire before wrapping it in greaseproof paper. Sadly, few supermarkets today offer that level of service.

I parked outside and walked in confidently. The shop had a rich, appetising aroma of mature cheese and freshly roasted coffee beans from the roaster on the premises.

"I’ve got some very good local cheese for sale. Would you care to come and have a look?" I said.

I was ready with my cheese iron. I gave him a taste and explained, "I’m from the Clothiers’ cheese farm down in Wyke Champflower."

"This is good cheese. We might be able to talk about it," he replied. "But how much are you going to charge me?"

At the time, wholesale cheese was sold by the hundredweight (112lbs, or roughly 50.8 kilos). I had already worked out my prices and had my trusty pocket invoice book with tear-out pages and carbon paper at the ready. Mr. Waite seemed to think the price was fair and said he’d take three or four cheeses. I had made my first direct sale!

My prices had to be competitive. I could easily undercut the cheese factories, as they needed to add a margin- so in effect, I was cutting out the middleman. I also knew I didn’t want to bring the cheese back to Wyke unsold. At this stage, I was focused on building the TW Clothier name and growing our customer base.

Encouraged by this early success, I decided to carry on toward Trowbridge, an area I knew well. My next stop was the Studley Superette on the outskirts of Trowbridge, which had opened a few years earlier as the town’s first independent convenience “supermarket.” I followed the same routine: pulled up outside and asked Mr. Perkins, the proprietor, to come and try Ivy’s cheese.

He was impressed, but didn’t buy on the spot. "I've already got enough cheese in stock," he said.

"But I’ll be ready for some in about ten days, and then I’ll consider it."

I promised to call him, and sure enough, when I did, he agreed to take a few rounds, provided he could taste more samples to confirm consistency.

"That’s alright," I said. "I’ll nip up tomorrow and drop them in."

Although I didn’t score the first time, I did on the second.

Feeling optimistic, I decided to broaden my net and carry on another 30 miles to Swindon, new ground for me. When I arrived, the town felt huge and daunting. After getting a bit lost, I decided to turn around and head for home. On the way out, I spotted a bustling convenience store and post office on the outskirts.

I pulled onto the forecourt, but the owner rushed out saying, "You’d better not park your pickup there, Son!"

"I won’t be here long. I just want to show you something," I replied.

He had a look, tasted the cheese, and liked it, but said he wouldn’t need any for a week or two. Again, I followed up, and sure enough, he placed an order later.

That day, I learned a valuable lesson, persistence is essential in sales. Don’t be discouraged if you don’t make a sale immediately!

I didn’t sell out that day, but I was ambitious. I soon built up a fortnightly delivery round and, before long, was taking TW Clothier cheese into Bristol!