Dry-stone wallers perform an ancient, essential craft that has enjoyed a renaissance in recent years.
From graphic designers to yoga instructors, more and more people are changing careers to learn the skill.
Artisans en pierres sèches, as they are called, now have access to a training school with a state-certified diploma, and public officials are keen to employ them for departmental reconstruction projects. Behind this return to prominence is a British woman who began her career in Cumbria and who fell in love with the Lozère landscape while on holiday.
“It is geologically diverse in the Lozère. You have limestone, granite, schist (a shiny, flaky type of metamorphic rock) and sandstone. It is strangely similar to Cumbria in a way. Driving through the French landscape, I thought: “This is where I want to live,” Cathie O’Neill said. That was in 1989.
Cathie plans training courses in this ancient craftCathie O'Neill
At 23, she left London and her job for an entirely new life, coming to France on a four-year visa. She never went back. She met her husband, settled in Saint Germain de Calberte (Lozère), built her career as a dry-stone mason, and had two sons along the way.
Ms O’Neill headed up the Association Artisans Bâtisseurs en Pierres Sèches (ABPS), an organisation dedicated to dry-stone masonry, between 2006 and 2023. During her tenure, she helped restructure the entire sector, from top to bottom.
“She presented the craft in a very instructional way and gained the trust of many mayors and public officials. She was very respected,” said Sébastien Heurtevent, a prominent dry-stone waller and roofer.
She now focuses on consultancy work, helping dry-stone masons to apply for public tenders. She talked to The Connexion about the dry-stone mason’s way of life, the humility and community spirit of its workers, what makes her proud, what can still be improved, and how the craft helped her to integrate into French life.
How did that life come about? What drove it? What was your intent?
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I was given a study assignment called ‘Dry-stone walling in the Cévennes and Lozère: Could it be an economic lever for farmers and masons?’ That was a burning question around 2003 and 2004. I met a lot of people and the new members of ABPS through that assignment, and I thought that craftworkers in the field ticked all the boxes. They had passion, technical skills, energy, and an admirable work ethic. What drove them the most was the urgent need to transmit their knowledge to the next generation before it was too late. I thought that was amazing.
They created a part-time job in the ABPS. I thought that if I could fill that role, I would be able to put into place the recommendations I had made in the study. I was growing tired of developing ideas and recommending actions without being able to act on them, and of finishing one study before moving on to the next.
The association agreed with the results of my study and recommendations and offered me the job. I became an animatrice [a trainer]. The goal was to create the first dry-stone walling school, plan its training courses before eventually creating the diplomas, and then take it to a European level. All of that was very exciting.
Has language ever been a problem?
The fact that I was British, and that the only dry-stone walling certificate was British at that time, was an advantage. I had to set up visits to England, act as translator for the French, and set up meetings with everyone. French masons even took the British exams – in Cumbria – because we wanted them to learn the information they had about the culture there, which is very different to the savoir-faire of the Mediterranean.
By that time, French was no longer a problem for me because I had been living here for more than a decade. I probably know more technical terms in French than I do in English.
They are called baracous on the Larzac, oustalets in the Cévennes, cabotes in the Bouches-du-Rhône, paillers in Corsica, bories in Provence, cabornes around Lyon, tutte in Alzen (Ariège) or mergers in the Avallonnais (Yonne)...
You forgot to mention terrace walls because they also have their very own words! But yes, it’s true. It is vernacular architecture, so some of the words are very specific to a shape or a specific usage. That comes from the Occitan language. The words used for the different types of buildings depend on these factors.
ABPS members call themselves masons rather than wallers – bâtisseurs en pierre sèche rather than muraillers en pierre sèche – because we want to promote the idea that it is not just walls they build. They are rural structures in general: barns, caves, and bridges.
The variety of words used was a good way for me to learn the language. Also, part of my job was not only about being on site, but about meetings with complex French institutions, national certification, bureaucracy, and working with unions. We had to work with all sorts of organisations that each used different vocabulary. For each job and network there were new words and a variety of acronyms. You have to learn all that. We did a lot of work obviously.
Does it make you proud?
Proud is probably not the word I would use. It is more a feeling of accomplishment of what we did collectively. I was actually awarded the Chevalier de l’ordre national de Mérite. I only accepted it because I felt that it was not my work that was being acknowledged but that of ABPS. I think that was an important moment for us. It was a collective recognition. I hold the medal on behalf of many, many people who worked for many, many years.
When you look back at your 35 years living in France, how much did dry-stone building help you to integrate?
That is probably a good question to ask because dry stone has a certain kudos where I live in the Cévennes national park. It is something that Cévenol people have always valued.
The fact that I was immersed in a field populated by highly motivated craftworkers and curious locals helped immensely in terms of social integration. I definitely felt that I was giving something back to the place I had moved to. That was the energy of it.
Having to work alongside both masons and public organisations helped a lot as well.
Googling ‘Cathie O’Neill pierre sèche’ results in lots of PDFs of conferences you have given...
I was setting up courses, not running them. But for any conferences, I would always ask a French professional to be with me, because I would often get asked really technical questions.
Another aspect is that dry-stone projects are photogenic and well-received, which helped me to build up a professional network. And there are more and more women coming in as well, something we are keen to encourage. We tell people that anyone can do this job. It is collective work, and does not have to be muscle-bound male-only. You do not have to be a big guy.
The dry-stone mason Sébastien Heurtevent told me during a recent interview that he was very lucky to have benefited from British expats in the region, particularly during the recession when jobs were scarce. Many British people employed him to work on their houses.
I do believe that people who come from elsewhere, specifically those originally from charming rural areas, will be sensitive to local architecture and building materials. British people certainly have that sensibility.
Dry stone and hedge-lay culture has been around for longer in Britain than in France. Hedge laying, where stems of shrubs and small trees are cut and bent to form a hedge, is now becoming more popular here thanks to British hedge layers. Certainly Mr Heurtevent has seen that.
Both my sons work with stone. It goes down the generations. It is definitely a passion as well. There is great energy in this craft. And when you are part of it, you get so much back from it, such as knowledge and self-development. Manual work is good for both the community and the individual.
