So, aged 27, he threw it all in and moved home to the Scottish Borders where he took up hedge-planting and then an unpaid internship in conservation with the National Trust – in Devon. It was here that someone suggested he take on an apprenticeship in thatching. He almost turned them down.

‘It wasn’t something I’d ever considered,’ he says. ‘I had barely given a second glance to the thatched roofs I passed every day in Devon.’ He found though that, compared to all the CVs and performance plans of his desk job, this skill ‘somehow made sense’.

So, ever since that day in 2012, and after serving his five-year apprenticeship, he’s to be found on rooftops, in sun or rain, stripping off the old reed, laying on the fresh, repairing any decay, tapping in hazel spears and batting the reed tight.

Wally Mason cutting reed on Haddiscoe island. Photo: Tom Allan ‘The materials we're using are shaped by the environment and the elements. The wheat might be tall and golden and waxy one year, then the next year it could be stunted and grey. That's the direct effect of the weather and I love all that.

‘I think you need a certain eye for it,’ he says of the trade. ‘You need to be able to see when the thatch is sitting in the right place, see the lines of the roof and so on, because you can't get your measuring tape out most of the time. A lot of it does come from the eye and having a steady hand.

‘In order to persist, you have to enjoy it. You have to love the craft, love working with the materials and working on old buildings. There needs to be something that keeps you there.’

Reed beds on Haddiscoe Island. Photo: Tom Allan For Tom, pursuing this ancient........

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