If my barn had a belt, I would need to let it out a couple of notches. In times before, (before the war, before covid, before…everything) I’d buy in reed for the next job as I was finishing the one I was on. Because of the on going uncertainty of availability and price, I’m buying in what I can, when I can for the whole year ahead. The barn has been stuffed to the gunnels, and obviously the thing you want is always behind everything else … as were the bees. Daisy was throwing down bundles of reed for me to load, when she revealed a little hive of now very angry bees. I put on my very own bee suit, given to me by Martin and Karen of Chaffcombe, and moved the hive into a shoe box and put them high out of my way and theirs.

So we are off and running on a large water reed re-thatch in Honiton. There is a Georgian front added to a much earlier farmhouse at the back, and as we took off the thatch in the valley we could see all the old hip of the roof still in place inside. What we could not see were any timbers holding up the sheets of tin lining the valley (where one roof meets another at an internal right angle). How in the world it had held itself all in place was a mystery and lucky that neither of us fell in! A couple of days later and all the old tin was gone, new timbers in and a lead lined valley glaring at us in the rising temperatures. Pressure on a little bit as we were booked to go on holiday with Daisy’s girls and their friends, but with a day to spare we finished the first section. Just as well as the skies opened and threw several tons of water at it. We were soaked through. A change of clothes and we were off to retrieve one of Daisy’s cows from the Dartmoor Dating Agency. The cow decided she was quite happy on Dartmoor thank-you-very-much and went off with the rest of the herd to the farthest corner of the field. A hike through gorse and more rain had us soaked through again, but at last she loaded and we were off back home.

Daisy fetched her friend John to look after Jelly and Widget went to a friend of mine, under strict instructions not to let either of them onto the furniture, and then after what seems like years, of course it has been years, we were packed and on our way to Crete. This was Lulah’s choice for her 16^th Birthday, and what an excellent choice it was. We started off in the Old Town of Rethymno, solidly built by the Venetians in the 16^th Century, with narrow alleyways several degrees cooler than the beach, and great limestone arches bracing meter thick walls. It felt like up to half the houses were now guest houses, much like our own coastal villages I suppose, with the remainder split between local people hanging in there and derelict houses waiting for something to happen to them. These to us are the most fascinating as we peer through gaps in doors or missing stones to see which of them would be our hearts desire to restore. Very few are for sale though as most are firmly held by families waiting for either the time or the funds to reinstate them. 

The girls either window shopped or made for the beach,  while we tried and I think failed to walk every one of the alleyways. I’ll be honest we managed a fair bit of snoozing too. We needed it. Daisy’s not been so well of late, and I think the Cretan heat made us slow down and just rest a bit. Saying that, we also hiked two gorges, one small and full of natural pools to swim in in the shade and cool off, one claiming to be the deepest and longest in Europe at 16km long. A bus takes you to the top of the gorge and you hike to the sea past more beautiful natural pools and a lot of stern looking wardens reminding you that it’s drinking water and not to put your stinky feet in it! After 6 hours of fairly hard hiking you pretty much throw yourself into the sea to cool off and ease your aching feet. It was stunning though, definitely worth the effort and the day after, we did about the most touristy thing we could find and went to a water park. Daisy and I only discovered the pure, simple, childlike joy of water slides fairly recently. I think it balances out all the cultural things we visit and the hikes we do. It’s just great fun.

For our last few days we moved up into the mountains to Milia Mountain retreat. Built out of the ruins of a village uninhabited since the 50’s, it’s completely off grid with banks of solar panels, spring water and much of their own produce for the restaurant. Two local families whose parents had lived there decided in the eighties to get the right to enclose the land, I would guess between 5 and 10 hectares…hard to say when half of it is a near vertical mountain … and reduce overgrazing and manage the land in a more sustainable way. The difference between their parcel of land and their neighbours was stark, theirs being more lush and green, the neighbours while not barren at all was definitely the poorer.

It took us a while to get Daisy out of the restaurant each day as the list of delicious things to eat was as long as Daisy’s desire to try them all, but when we did, we headed to a secluded beach edged with 1000 year old Cedar trees, each lazily dripping sap into the shady sand. Instead of parasols each family had a tree to shelter under. The sea was as clear and blue as you could possibly imagine. We had a snorkel to share and there was shoal after shoal of fish of all sorts and sizes. Lulah and Emma each saw octopus too…and as it turns out, probably a bit more than any of us had bargained for as two young Greek gods took to the water with not a stitch on. Daisy and I laughed out loud as we watched the girls stuck on a rock looking in all of the other 300 or so degrees around, anywhere except there! 

The only thing that really riled me was as we drove to the beach through acres and acres of greenhouses, growing mostly tomatoes I think. There were goats on what at first I took for piles of old plants, which it partly was, but it was mostly old baler twine used to hold up the tomato vines. And then when we parked it was in a sea of litter, mostly from the greenhouses but of course a lot from the likes of us. There was just so much of it, I felt quite angry. Daisy just quietly got out and fetching a bag from the boot filled it with rubbish from next to the car, tied the top and walked it over to the huge waste bins left for the purpose. Baffled, I did say to her, “What good will that ever do, look how much there is?” Cool as a cucumber and already getting ready for the beach she just said, “Yes, but at least that bit is clean”. I admire her for it but struggle with that myself. I’d have to go back with industrial sized skips and a contract with a polypropylene recycling company in my hand. It says a lot about both of I s’pose, and it’s no different at work; I’m all about the big Italian gesture the grand sweeps of jobs done and jobs to do, while Daisy focusses on the small stuff, all the small things I just can’t be bothered to do. I’d spend all day walking awkwardly over something just to get on with the work, but Daisy’ll move it straight away, tidying it into the right place. She just smiles, and then I don’t walk awkwardly anymore.

So here we are, home again, back thatching in Honiton and living with Widget’s wistful eyes begging to be let up on the sofa as she had been with my friend….I guess she had a great holiday too.

A month on and the little wheat reed thatch at Tatworth is done, and what a finish it was. The customers had bought us each some lovely gifts: My very own bee suit! A beautiful travel mug and a book about apples for Daisy, and chocolates to share. Probably the best bit of our job is getting to know the people we work for. Every one has their own stories, their own take on life, and we are lucky to spend enough time with them to hear a good chunk of that.
We have however now ground to a complete halt.

On phoning my reed supplier to book delivery of the water reed for the fairly huge re-thatch in Honiton, I was told that there wasn’t a single straw to be had in the place as the reed is stuck on route. I phoned another and he promised me some of his…in the nick of time as he then had 5 others phone desperate for reed. Promised it may be, but that hasn’t arrived yet either, so it’s been two weeks now of seeing customers to explain the delays, repairing and sheeting those that needed it and mentally twiddling my thumbs. Daisy’s barn has seen the benefit as any extra time has been spent fixing up the stockboard and yorkshire boarding, so that’s looking more barn-like with every passing day. We’ve fetched the heifer back from the Dartmoor dating agency, so it’s fingers crossed for another calf next year. This year’s calf, named Benny by the girls, still hasn’t quite forgiven us and keeps his back to us while we check over the others. He looks well tho’ so his Ma is feeding him well. The pigs are shiny as washed pebbles as I’ve got them dowsed in pig oil to keep the lice at bay. Any timber at pig rubbing height is rapidly achieving the high gloss of French polish.

The hardest part of the month came from the Kraken, my little black yard cat. He’d not been back to eat his tea for a few days, so Tom and I went out looking for him and found him laid out dead on the verge up near Curtis’ old yard. Now I’m not much of a cat fan, but having saved the wild little thing from dying at the loss of his mother and getting used to his company at the yard, it turns out I was pretty attached to him. I’ll be honest it didn’t do me a lot of good for a couple of days, and I’m probably only just beginning to get used to him not being there now.
Speaking of people not being there, Daisy is off on a mission to sell cider at Farmers markets throughout Devon….Exeter and Dartmouth last weekend, Tavistock and over the border to Plymouth this weekend, probably just as well the thatching is delayed! 

Having all but finished the water reed re-thatch in Rawridge (just the porch to do now that the scaffold is down) we are now out at Tatworth re-thatching a lovely little cider barn in wheat reed. Not quite so lovely are the Tree Bumblebees nesting in either end of the old thatch, mad as hell that I’ve disturbed them and landing several good stings. Luckily another customer who lives nearby, is a bee keeper, so on the hottest two days of the year so far I could be found looking a lot like Buzz Lightyear, in a heavy white canvas suit with mesh visor. Filled with new confidence I was back on the roof, but the bees kept coming with a tick tick tick as they each hit the visor. Pretty disconcerting for all I was protected, if melting inside the suit. I was later told that you’ve got to calm your breathing, and this, together with the fastest bit of thatching on those ends that I could manage with reduced vision and heavily gloved hands did seem to calm me and the bees down a bit. I’m all for saving the wildlife, but that was all a bit much!

Not quite so wild are Daisy’s cattle. The new calf and his mother are doing well, although he was less than pleased to have had some items removed from his person and flippy flappy ear tags fitted…cue much shaking of the head followed by sulking amongst the bluebells. The pigs are well and fine, with one of the sows in pig again and the yard cat is proving to be a successful hunter, although he’ll still run to the gate when he hears the vans for his morning snuggle. If you try and forego the snuggle, you’ll have a near permanent attachment to your feet and ankles as he winds his insistent purrs around you. It’s quicker and safer for cat and man just to pick him up and give him some time.

We’ve been spending every spare hour building Daisy’s pole barn. It’s in a sheltered spot and funnels cool air through it which has been a mercy on the hotter days. The roof is on and the back wall built, so we are not far off being able to find some hay and get it stored ready for winter. Casting the concrete floor might take a while as it seems there is a national cement shortage. I hope it ends soon as Daisy has started talking about ‘doing things the old fashioned way’ and ‘…maybe we could cobble it’. As nice as that would look, we’ll be tied up till Christmas if we start cobbling floors.

Mind you, I’ve just been given, without doubt, the strangest gift in my 30 years of thatching….to help with time management. The Rawridge people made me a spread sheet, showing all the hours worked, the rainy days, the days off (we do have them occasionally!) in the hopes that I would be better able to manage my time and improve productivity. The chap who created it is clearly a talented man, valued highly in his place of work and I do believe that I will frame his spreadsheet and put it on my wall; but I’ll be honest there isn’t much that will move me from my pattern of work: I’ll get there when I do, and once I’m there I’ll remain until I’m done. It has served me well all my life and I see no reason to change. The Tatworth customers, however, went to Otter Valley Ice Cream for the first time and with a large amount of icepacks and cool boxes, and possibly being a little heavy on the accelerator brought me back my favourite combination…chocolate and vanilla in a cone…I’ll leave the reader to decide which of my customers gifts pleased me the most.

Life Cycles…

Our Thatching Life, featuring Ferrari the Thatcher, Daisy his apprentice and animals various…

It has been a bitter winter, not just raw hands and frozen sheets on the roof, but the deep chill of loss all round us. People who I’ve known as a boy growing up in the village or through working on their roofs over the years, who have been the fabric of village life, known for their exhaustive knowledge of moths and butterflies and joy at the natural world; or held in high regard by a generation for their herd of cows looking as good after winter as they did in summer, whilst nurturing a cricketing talent that in another lifetime would have been amongst the best in Somerset; someone else younger than us with children only just grown up, too soon, too young. A near miss of a much loved friend returned home and getting better by degrees, the relief felt more keenly when held against the losses. 

The old farmers used to say that we need a good hard winter to rest the ground, maybe to rest ourselves as well for as spring seeps in there are plans aplenty for filling lighter evenings. Daisy’s got one pile of telegraph poles, another of aggregate and a shopping list that includes, tin, timber and enough friends to build a pole barn. I want to finish the flint stone walls on my barn and finally cast a concrete floor in my workshop. Each day starts chilly enough but soon brings a couple of hours of warmth and then we are down to our shirt sleeves with a mountain of jackets discarded on the scaffold. Daisy’s watching for the grass to grow on her land better than last springs hard baked ground, and I’m probably not alone amongst thatchers needing a good harvest of wheat reed else we’ll all be up against it after last years failed.

So after a more than usually tough time for family and friends, we look back and raise a glass to the winter and turn our heads, hearts and hopes to the spring warmth and summer sun. We welcome new life whether it’s the burgeoning hedgerows or Daisy’s new calf, all shaky legs and nuzzling her mother, who all the while is singing him soft cow lullabies.

Much Huffing and Puffing…

Having scoffed at Daisy for naming her food, I now have to eat my words and introduce to you, Itchy, Scratchy and Sniffles. They might not be huffing and puffing, but my 3 little pigs are doing a good job of bulldozing the bit of ground behind Frank’s Dairy, unearthing all manner of buried scrap and creating neat piles of nettle roots that would have taken me days to pull out. I had forgotten what time wasters pigs can be; they are such characters and together with my youngest son Tom, a day can soon pass. So far he has built them a wallow, and the best of all, his ‘perfect pig massager’; a post driven into the ground with 3 old broom heads bolted to it. Watching each of them heave and scratch against it was the funniest thing and gave Tom’s shins a rest from doing the self same job.
I was out with Daisy checking her Galloways the other day. I turned to see her eyes closed with her hands to her face in what looked like a state of bliss. She looked up and caught my quizzical look, shrugged and said, ‘I like the smell of my cows’. It made me think  of all the smells of our year: The first washing out on the line in the weak spring sun; Summer’s lawns and hay mown and sweet like the first of the new season’s wheat reed; muck spreading, the wheat reed turning from sweet to something nearer cat pee once wet with rain…or actual pee from the owner’s dog marking each pile of reed as his own. Soon will come the first drifts of wood-smoke from chilly chimneys, and sometimes the smell of bacon wafting up from the customer’s kitchen, with the possibility that it might be a kind Saturday sandwich coming our way. With your eyes on the work and your ears on the radio, you could be forgiven for thinking time had stood still. But then you crank yourself back to upright, and with a coffee and maybe that kind sandwich in hand you can see the day’s work, and be content.

We have been thatching from early till late, these long summer days, working over in the Quantocks on a stone and cob house that is being completely redeveloped. Although there is a deadline that has to be met as some other trades can’t start till we  finish, it has been fun to work on a building site again. Usually it’s just me and Daisy on the roof debating this matter or that following whatever has just  aired on Radio 4, but with the carpenter’s radio set to ‘Heart’ and plenty of banter between all of us, we’re about 5 weeks adrift of any current affairs. Except the cricket, about which the builder is passionate, so we are more up to date than perhaps we thought we needed to be on that one! There are other differences from working for a private client: Health and Safety is more of a challenge with so many more people on site, and more coming and going on the scaffold, and although part of this means keeping everything tidy, it’s not the same as trying to keep a customer’s garden from the worst ravages of feet, tools and waste reed that seems to weave it’s way through every delicate plant. We can work whatever hours we like with no fear of interrupting a weekend’s peace, although conversely that means we’ve not had a full weekend off for some while. All in all it feels good to be part of a bigger team working to a common goal, and most days have in them much laughter and plenty of tea.
The wheat reed that we were lucky enough to find in April, has been very good to work with, with very little waste..so now we watch the weather with fingers crossed for a decent harvest and the opportunity to buy in some more. Daisy also her fingers crossed for Jelly, who she has just entered into the Lurcher and Whippet race at the upcoming Yarcombe Terrier Races. Having just chased every living thing from one end of Saunton Sands to the other, Daisy is optimistic, but for my money, it’ll be a miracle if Jelly can hold a straight line to the finish. Thanks to Yarcombe young farmers and the Meyrick family for continuing with this firm favourite in our country calendar, and we shall hope to see you all there.

Listening to a Wiltshire thatcher on the radio the other day I  was reminded of all the hidden treasures I have found in roofs over the years.   Generations ago of course there was much  to be done to ward off  witches and bad spirits. The cross spars on the ridges were a defence and the shape of the peaks were to allow the spirits to exit your house swiftly.  The circular buildings and roofs of the Roseland peninsula in Cornwall were built to prevent witches gathering in corners.  
We have found carefully wrapped mummified cats, an owl and otters feet nailed to the A-frames.  More recent stashes were a Dads Army cache of live ammunition and a hand grenade which caused the whole village to be evacuated while the bomb disposal lot dealt with it  
I have found an old bed frame and a bicycle frame used as part of the roof structure, and you’ll remember last year we found a whole roof perfectly preserved beneath the newer one. And once we uncovered a whole 12 foot square room completely hidden and unknown to the client  
Mostly these days it’s nests of birds, hornets and wasps we  find. The Wiltshire thatcher hides a time capsule in each of his roofs as I used to  and maybe I should again, the magic of a fragment of time, caught in a box for someone else to find.

The month to date has very much been the month of the motor. With my VW Transporter parked up in Wellington waiting for a tiny part that always seems to be, “…2 weeks away, mate, it’s in a factory in Germany”, my options for getting to work and moving reed to and from the yard are poles apart. I’ve got ‘The Old Girl’, a wonderful Bedford J-Type tipper, perfect in every way for transporting reed on a dry day, except that I need a lollipop person to get me across the A30 as there is little hope of achieving 0-60 in anything less than ten minutes, or in fact achieving 60mph at all!  At the other end of the scale Daisy has a super little car, bought for her eldest to learn to drive in. It’s comfortable, nippy and does 50 to the gallon, but obviously can’t carry any materials….so every day involves a juggle of keys and cars, from A to B, then B to C and back again. Some vital tool always seems to be in a different vehicle, in the wrong place…I can’t wait to get my van back! Meantime Daisy found herself musing on a very modern problem; with one daughter joining Extinction Rebellion, and the other starting to learn to drive. We seem to live lives of constant conflict and compromise. We comfort ourselves from 9 till 5 that the work we do and the materials we use have very low environmental impact. The reed we have just bought is grown with low or no inputs; the steel and twine are recyclable, the old reed compostable …… and then we return home in our combustion engines to a meal that seems to always involve half a dozen plastic packets. Mind you after a day trip to Dartmoor, Daisy’s steaks are about to arrive in much better packaging…and on cloven hooves, in the form of 3 Galloway store cattle; ‘Tips’ is all white with black ear tips and magnificent eyelashes; ‘Red’ is a nice little red heifer and ‘MandM’ is Black with a white patch. I have pointed out it might be a mistake to name your future food…we might end up vegetarian after all!

I am sorry we missed last month’s article, but our attention was suddenly diverted elsewhere. We were drifting along quite happily in the cycle of our thatching life; first visiting our reed supplier to choose the reed that suits our needs and style best; then working weeks pass as we thatch a house before visiting the supplier again. Just after Christmas we thought we’d better just check and see what was available for the next but one job which is wheat reed. Conversations were had; there was a vague sense that there might be a bit of a shortage; push came to shove, and before we knew it…. all the wheat reed was spoken for and there wasn’t a straw left to be had.

Yikes!

Our current re-thatch was, mercifully, water reed, but we still needed combed wheat reed for ridging, and a fair old amount for the next job after, which is wheat from eave to peak. Generally, replacing one type of thatch material for another, is at best frowned upon, and will often be challenged by planning, heritage and conservation authorities. There is an increasing weight given to the authenticity, integrity and significance of a building within the wider setting of it’s place in the landscape, in it’s community , and as affected by the history of agriculture, skills and styles particular to that area.

So swapping one for another…not an option. There followed a right old scurry of a couple of days, with both of us on the phone; a bespectacled Daisy peering at Google maps, searching out new suppliers; a day out on the road, meeting some new people, with reed of various types and conditions; some of last year’s Aquila, a bit short for us; some N59, longer but grey with age on one side of the bale. The common problem for all but one of the stores we saw was too many rats. They chomp through bundle after bundle taking off the ears of each stem. That’s not a huge problem for ridging, as the ears get cut off anyway, but for the main coat work it’s the ears that help anchor each piece of straw on the roof.

All the people we met were really helpful, and certainly useful to know for the next harvest…but the last visit of the day was nothing short of awesome. This chap had vast farm buildings, almost empty by his own standards; but still with stack after neatly piled stack of every kind of wheat reed; Widgeon, N59, Huntsman, Red Standard, Square Head Master together with Aquila and Triticale. Each bale was neatly trimmed, each bundle exactly as it’s neighbour. Heaven.

He was willing to sell us what we needed…thank goodness, so we returned home relieved and maybe a little gladdened knowing that the love for a job beautifully done can be found anywhere if you look hard enough.

We are off to a late start with our wheat reed re-thatch as we had a few ridges and repairs to finish before winter really sets in, but we are settling into it now. I’m content as I like working with combed wheat reed the most. Your hands are constantly working it, teasing each stem to sit well by it’s neighbour, then binding each handful on the roof with a few stems of the last, pulling them across and fixing with twisted  hazel spars.

To begin with though, we must tie in the eaves wads. As with slate or tile, the eaves must be made to withstand all the weather from all the roof, making sure there is no water ingress to the timbers beneath and shielding the upper parts of the walls.  Each bundle of wheat reed is divided into 5 or so ‘handfuls’, roughly 5″ in diameter when held tightly between both hands. Each handful is worked to separate the stems, making them lie evenly throughout and to knock the stems all down to the end, then tied with a few spare stems just beneath the ears of wheat. Each individual handful is then tied tightly onto the timbers of the roof, one beside the other, ensuring that the eave stays in place for the life of the thatch. By tying on each one, we also ensure that if a rodent does chew through a string it will only mean that one small piece of the eave is dislodged, rather than a larger section.

These days we tie on with baler twine, currently available in bright pink. Before the 1950’s a hemp string fortified with tar was used, and we still often find pieces of it amongst the old base layers of thatch that we thatch over. Earlier ties would have been made out of whatever was to hand, often soaked willow withies, that would tighten as they dried.

As I look over the scaffold I see that Daisy has made a new alliance with ‘Sticky’, the client’s dog. Looking like a smaller blacker version of Stitch, and lying very comfortably in the back of my van, (on my coat!), I sense that the Year of the Dog is not quite done, and spring may yet bring the chaos of a new puppy.

In the meantime, let me wish you peaceful season’s greetings.

Oh, and one more thing, non-believers of Churchinford Village Shop…..I can make my own puff pastry, topping off a very fine pie…it’s all in the folding!