Just blame it on the weathervane

EVERY weathervane tells a story,’ declares Karen Green, who has been handcrafting them for most of her adult life. An American, she was apprenticed to the US’s best-known maker, in Martha’s Vineyard, before relocating to the Herefordshire countryside in the 1990s. ‘In the US, each small town would commission elaborate, three-dimensional copper weathervanes as a means of establishing an identity,’ she explains, ‘whereas, in the British Isles, you had the old tradition of the cockerel silhouette, usually made from wrought iron.’

Although this might have led to some dull and predictable designs, the opposite is true, as Mrs Green explains: ‘Each British weathercock was made by a local blacksmith, so you get this wonderful, quirky variety—some are incredibly accurate depictions, others look like boats with a ragged sail or have great fat bodies and tiny heads. They are the product of the imagination and craftsmanship of the people that made them. Most have been battered by the elements and restored. Bits have