There are the standard Working-Holiday-in-England options: behind an office desk or a bar in London, or assisting at a boarding school.  Been there, done them, writes Jane Matthews. And then there are the others.  Thatching is one of those.

You’ve seen the pictures.  Quaint chocolate-box cottages with neat thatched roofs, scattered about the English countryside.  Have you ever thought, though, that someone actually has to put that picturesque roof on? 

Ritchie’s my Other-Half’s best mate.  They’ve known each other since they were in kindergarten together.  Ritchie became a thatcher.  The Other-Half moved on to warmer climes, but goes back to England every year to see the folks, catch up with his friends, and earn enough to finance the rest of the year.  This time I went with him.

Thatching can be a lucrative profession.  The reed (that’s what they call the straw) has to be replaced every 15-25 years, depending on the climate, the quality of the previous job, etc.  It’s not cheap (about AUD$20-30,000 for materials and labour for an average roof), and good thatchers are rarely short of work.  Sometimes the job is just to replace part of the thatch to extend the life of the roof.  Sometimes it’s the whole lot.

This house was the whole lot, and the old roof had to come off first.  They spent a week coming home filthy from a quarter of a century’s accumulated dirt and animal inhabitation.  They even found a long-dead mummified cat, which the cottage owners’ children took to school for Show-and-Tell.  At the end of the week it was time to start thatching.

Well, not quite.  You never know what you’ll find under the old roof.  The roof structure will probably need some repairing.  Most thatched cottages are ‘listed’, and there are heritage guidelines to be followed, though thatch is also being used now as a roofing material for new houses.

Finally the thatching can begin. The glamorous bit.  Well, not really, if you’re the thatcher’s mate.  Thatching is a skill that takes years to learn.  As thatcher’s mate, don’t expect to be proudly showing round photos of your handiwork at the end of the working holiday.  You’re there to do the un-skilled stuff, the labour.

And it’s hard work.  You’re up and down ladders and scaffolding all day, fetching and carrying bundles of reed, and holding tools.  The days can be long.  My boys were out at 6am and often didn’t come home till after 8pm (later if they stopped at the pub!).  Then again, they got a workout, companionship, and sunshine (yes, there was some!)

Interested? Try checking out the national guilds and thatchers’ associations for a list of their members.  Or, if you’re in the area, check out the village shop windows for notices, try the local pub, or look around for a thatcher on the job (he’ll be the one up the ladder with straw in his hair).  Thatching can be lonely work, and having a ‘mate’ around can liven things up as well as free him up to work on the actual craftsmanship.

Thatchers are all very different individuals, in terms of method and business-practice, as well as personality. Every experience is unique, but one thing’s for sure - you’ll get an insight into an ancient but far-from-dying craft.  As a bonus, you’ll get a taste of English village life – there are still places where people will say hello to you in the streets and stop for a chat (invariably about how bad the weather is).

Even if you can’t find a thatcher in need of a hand, there may be other rural jobs that will appeal to you.  Keep your eyes, and your mind, open.

As for us… this was a big job, and the snow arrived before the thatch was complete.  Finally it was done and Ritchie carved his trademark cat-and-mouse signature into it before heading off to Thailand for Christmas, leaving us to relax and enjoy the novelty of a cold English festive season for the first time in years.