Back to the roof

It is not yet 4pm,but already dusk is descending. It has been that sort of day when you feel it has not really managed to get light at all, with a low hanging cloud delivering the occasional flurry of rain. Not a good day to be on a roof. In fact, over the last month and a half, I have not spent a great deal of time on the roof. I finished the roof on which I had been working at the start of December, which coincided with my move into a new house. Sadly not a thatched dwelling, but a rundown although rather lovely Victorian end terrace.
Three very solid weeks of work saw walls knocked down, a toilet installed, a new kitchen and an awful lot of decorating. I enjoyed the work-a little different from my usual occupation, but actually very fascinating to see how houses were built 120 years ago. In this case, very well. Well proportioned rooms, natural materials such as lime mortar and pamment floor tiles and an overall sense of a good aesthetic lead to the house being very pleasing on the eye, as well as a fantastic place to live.
With the majority of the work done, I have returned to the roof, this time thatching a building next to Oulton Broad which houses the Harbour Master and other broad related staff. However, the general weather pattern seems to be heading toward the unsettled, so progress may be more patchy than I would wish. It looks likely that at some point this week I shall be able to get out to the woods to begin coppicing hazel, one of most pleasurable seasonal tasks.

Money Money Money

It appears impossible to avoid talk of money at the moment. Seemingly, every time I turn the radio on, the news is of impending financial meltdown, of wages dropping, living costs soaring, economies shrinking. I have never taken a great deal of interest in such matters, although I probably should. The man from whom I buy thatching fixings from encapsulated it nicely when he said that, as long as he had no debts and a pound more than he needed, he would be happy. If only captains of industry thought along similar lines, the world would be a less cut-throat place.
 It may seem slightly incongruous to hear a thatcher say the above, as the trade has a reputation for being highly expensive. In fact, it is one of the questions most often posed, along with the lifespan of a roof-how much does it cost? The answer is of course as varying as the number of thatched roofs-as each one is unique, so each price is unique. I always try to charge a price that is fair for all concerned-fair to the owner of the roof so they get a quality roof for a reasonable price, and fair to myself so I can use the best materials, not have to rush the work, and still make a living.
 One must look at what thatching a roof entails to get a true sense of it's worth-firstly, the materials are either grown or harvested in a labour intensive manner, which means they have a great deal of embodied value. A single bundle of reed can cost over £3, and a large roof could require 3000 bundles. Next, the effort involved in thatching a roof can be staggering-every piece of material has be transported to the roof, carried up, put in place and fixed down. A bundle of reed will have been handled an average of six times before it becomes part of the roof, and that is not including the harvesting process. Each roof is a handmade, bespoke piece, crafted out of natural materials by someone who will have trained for perhaps eight years. It should last for generations, not only keeping the house warm and dry but providing a great deal of pleasure and pride for the owners. When you consider that, at a cost of twenty to thirty thousand pounds for a three or four bedroom farmhouse, the roof may very well be cheaper than the car in the driveway, you start to get a sense of the true value of thatch.

Connections

It is our connections with the world around us that gives us our perspective on where we stand within that world. Connections are everywhere, between everything-I am talking here in a metaphysical sense, as opposed to the more obvious physical ones, although the picture here neatly encapsulates both. As I have been removing the old thatch on a building before replacing it with new, I have had a chance to look at the work of another thatcher, and think deeply about how this connects us. The old thatch is somewhere in the region of 75 years old, maybe a little more, and stands testament to the skill of the man who put it on, sometime in the 1930's. The hazel wood used to secure the reed is still strong, and the cord which attaches it to the roof frame has not rotted. The physical connection is intact. The metaphysical connection is between myself, the man who, all those years ago, originally thatched this roof, and even the person who, in seven decades from now, will be replacing my work. I cannot help but feel the link between us all, past, present and future, and I feel reassured with deep sense of continuity that for a long, long time, men have done what I do, and that they will continue to do so into the future.
My work connects me not only with the depth of human experience, but also with the natural world. Simply being outside is the first and most basic degree of this connection, for the essence of a building is to provide a barrier from the elements over which we have no control-the wind, the rain, the sun and the cold. But I also work using natural materials, and as is usually the case with such materials, it is a matter of working with them rather than trying to bend them to your will. I am currently using reed, which comes in bundles that, to the untrained eye, look identical. They are not-each has a subtle variation of shape, length or taper. Each will fit snugly into a certain place upon the roof, but try putting it into the wrong place and you end up struggling, cursing and losing the clean line you are aiming for.
There is a certain seasonality to thatching which again brings home our inescapable connection with the world around us. The reed is harvested in winter, when the flag or leaf has fallen and the reed becomes hard and dry. Winter will also find me in the hazel woods, coppicing the stools of seven year old hazel, to be split and used to form the decorative woodwork lattice on the ridge of the roof. Come high summer and I will be involved with the harvest of the long straw used in thatching, and cut in a manner our grandfathers would be familiar with. All these events happen when they do because that is when nature dictates they must happen-we cannot fight against this.
In the modern world, connections are now more likely to refer to the strength of a mobile phone signal or broadband capacity, but there is always scope to connect to the world around us, and the people in it. Sometimes though, one has to look a little bit deeper to truly appreciate the level of that connection. It could be by eating food that is only available at a certain time of year, it could be by thinking about the person who came before you in your work and the person who will follow, it could simply be by stepping outside and breathing deeply. However you do, it doesn't matter, it only matters that you do it, for without these connections we are set adrift, and lose our true place within this world.

The Wind

It sounds almost like a piece of Zen wisdom-it is pointless to be angry at the wind. And yet, when one is perched atop a ladder, holding light though bulky material of a decidedly un-aerodynamic nature, the feelings experienced tend to oscillate between anger and something like fear. Your grip on the ladder is tighter, your bracing against the buffeting gusts leaves you exhausted and yet still you work. You work because you can, just. Heavy  precipition stops play, as do true gales but in the case of high winds, the line between workable and unworkable is blurred.
The UK is the windiest part of Europe, and whilst East Anglia cannot top the Hebrides for sheer wind speed, it can still blow. And blow hard. As bad as the gusts and blasts of autumn can be, they have nothing on the Lazy Wind of March. At this period in most years a bitter east wind gets up, forcing it's way from the cold heart of Russia and blowing for weeks at a time. They call it the Lazy Wind here on the east coast because it doesn't go round you, but straight through you. Few feel the wind in all it's moods as much as the thatcher.

The Start

As I spend a great deal of time perched upon a roof,with only myself for company, I tend to let my thoughts run wild. Unconstrained by conversation,with wide horizons in both a literal and metaphorical sense, a medium is needed to convey these thoughts. Hence the creation of this blog, to perhaps give an insight into the mind of a solitary artisan in modern England, to maybe inform and inspire those of you who have a passing interest in such things and mostly to allow me an output for transient ideas and musings.