For centuries, thatch was the commonest roofing material in Norfolk. It is light to work with and a better insulator than tiles, and people think it is beautiful. There are still thousands of thatched buildings in the county, including more than 100 thatched churches.
Thatching is deeply embedded in the economy of the region. People work in the Broads and the coastal marshes producing sedge and hazel rods. And Norfolk still produces water reed, harvested annually between January and March. But the supply is limited, and much is now imported from Eastern Europe and China. And straw for thatching has become scarcer, since modern farming practices often produce straw too short to use
How is it constructed?
A reed thatch is typically 12–14 inches thick, warm and waterproof. The whole roof is covered with bundles of water reed, beginning at the eaves and laid in overlapping layers, secured to the rafters. At the exposed top there is a special ridge layer of reed, straw and sedge, secured with ‘brotches’, sharpened hazel rods bent double and inserted like staples into the layer below.
When the base layers are still sound, a straw thatch is often renewed by replacing the top layers, meaning that some thatched roofs still have medieval layers underneath. A reed thatch, on the other hand, will usually need complete replacement in about 40 years, and its exposed ridge needs renewing after about 20.
Maintaining the roof
My house, in North Norfolk, was built as a row of farm cottages, sometime in the 18th century. It has almost certainly been thatched ever since.
When I bought it in 2008 it had been recently completely rethatched with imported reed from Ukraine, and the loft smelt wonderfully of fresh cut reed. But twenty years of weather, dripping from overhanging trees, and moss have taken a toll. There were patches of rot, and the ridge was very worn.
So, it was time to repair the roof and renew the ridge. And last month two brothers, Ben and Marcus, arrived with their assistant Max, with trailers loaded with scaffolding, ladders, netting, straw and sedge. For a fortnight they worked, scraping, heaving and banging on the roof. On sunny days it is thirsty work. In the course of plying them with tea and conversation at regular intervals, I have learned a lot, about thatching and other things.
First they combed away the crumbling surface, and pulled out and replaced rotten patches. At first this seems alarming, as the air fills with dust and debris, but since most of the reed stems are longer than 5 feet, they can afford to lose some length to weathering.
When decayed old ridge material had been removed, a reed roll was laid lengthways along the ridge, supported by reed and straw on either side, with a layer of flexible sedge laid across the top. This was then secured with hazel rods and trimmed to a decorative shape. Lead sheet was laid to protect the areas where the thatch meets the chimneys. The straw was then trimmed to produce a decorative pattern, and the whole was covered with wire netting to keep it in place, and deter the birds, which love to pull bits out.
The thatchers
Ben and Marcus both have more than 30 years experience. At one time each led their own team, but like many craftsmen, they found the paperwork involved in employing people tedious. So now they prefer to work together, with just Max to help. Since there is a shortage of thatchers, the work pays well, and they have a full order book a couple of years in advance. Although the materials are light to handle, it’s hard work, and they carried on unfazed through heatwaves, and downpours. I watched amazed as they ran up and down ladders carrying loads of reed and straw, while Max sat in our cart shed whittling hazel rods with a cutlass to make the brotches which pin the layers. They divided the work: Ben on the front of the house, Marcus on the back, each working at his own pace, Ben works faster, Marcus longer. When I asked Marcus why he was still working on the roof at 6pm, his response was ‘because I enjoy it,’ and ‘I like to take my time’.
They are clearly very proud of doing a good job, and happy to explain it. Like many craftsmen in similar occupations, they are in sight of state pension age, with the prospect of winding down gradually, but neither expects to stop altogether. Marcus says ‘you want to go on doing something useful’, and Ben says, ‘it seems a pity to just give up’. After ‘retirement’, both expect to keep their hands in, with a few months a year working for favourite old clients.
Thatching: an endangered future
All of us living under thatch need a continuing supply of thatchers, but it is a highly specialised and skilled craft, with no formal training. Knuston Hall residential college in Northamptonshire used to run courses, but they closed in 2022. So new thatchers are usually recruited by word of mouth by thatchers looking for more workers. There are formal NVQ qualifications at levels 2 and 3 but since the level 2 qualification was approved in 2022, nobody has actually started a formal apprenticeship.
Sometimes those of us who study the labour market talk in airy generalisations about the problems of small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) and the self employed. But it is instructive to see it face to face. This is what it means: a couple of dedicated, hard working individuals passionately committed to their craft and the quality of their work. AI may be about to transform the labour market, but it will be a very long time before a robot can do what Ben and Marcus do. And that is true of a host of skills. Without thousands like them, our houses, and our economy, would slowly decay.
A coda
On the last day of work I asked Ben to check the facts in this article. And I found myself in a three way debate about the use of the comma in English writing. When I commissioned the project, I never expected to have to revive my long dormant skills as an English teacher. Life is full of surprises!
