I started on the tools at sixteen, sweeping a banker mason’s yard in Otley and watching men
who had been cutting stone for thirty years. Four years later I came out of my apprenticeship with
an NVQ Level 3 and a fairly clear idea of how much I still had to learn.
Most of that learning happened on scaffolds across the Dales and the North Pennines — mill
conversions in Saltaire and Shipley, farmhouses above Settle that hadn’t been touched since
the war, church walls in the Eden Valley, and a long stretch of estate boundary wall near Richmond
that took the better part of a summer. I went out on my own in 2012.
What I care about is simple, and it is the reason I turn work down. A solid-wall
building put up before about 1919 was designed to get wet and then dry out again. Cement pointing
and gypsum plaster stop it doing that, so the damp sits in the stone instead of leaving through the
joint. The joint is meant to be the sacrificial part — softer than the stone around it —
and once you make it harder than the stone, the stone is what spalls.
So I use lime. I match mortars by sample taken off the building rather than out of a bag, I keep
the arrises of the stone sharp instead of smearing mortar across the face, and I photograph
everything before it comes apart so it can go back the way it was.
I work on my own for most jobs and bring in a second pair of hands for lifts and larger rebuilds.
If a job needs a structural engineer, a conservation-accredited architect or a roofer, I will say so
and tell you who to ring — including the times when that means the job isn’t mine.
I’m based in Harrogate and I’ll travel anywhere from Leeds to the Scottish Borders.
Happy to come and look at one cracked cill or a whole elevation.