Chapter 13 Chiefly Thatching 
NE afternoon I took a friend with me— 
a man brought up in a Sussex village 
—to see my uncle John Smith and the 
farm. The weather could not have 
been better—the hot and splendid end of July 
1906. At Mr. Smith’s farm we found thatchers 
at work, covering a new hay-rick. It was 
pleasant to stand and watch them. 
Drawing out and Straightening the straw 
looked an interesting process. First the straw 
was loosened and thrown up lightly with a prong 
into a large heap, and pails of water were tossed 
over and into it there, making it limp. Next, 
from underneath, handfuls were pulled out from 
the heap ; and by the very act of pulling the limp 
straws began to come straight. Being laid out 
on the ground, they were then combed out by a 
curious motion of the thatcher’s hands. One 
hand, knuckles outwards, formed a backing or 
steadiness; the other swiftly drew wisps of 
straw towards it with cunning alternate motions 
this side and that, the middle of the straws 
bending round the well-placed knuckles. Short 
pieces and rubbish seemed to separate themselves 
naturally ; and in a minute there was a big hand- 
ful of straw lying ready for the rick. 
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