
Walk down any high street in an old market town and you will see the tell-tale signs: a Georgian brick façade with a bright grey band of cement running along every joint, and the bricks beneath it quietly crumbling away. Repointing done badly is one of the most common ways historic brickwork is damaged in Britain, and it is almost always done with the best of intentions. The trouble usually lies not in the workmanship but in the mix.
Bricks fired before the twentieth century were made at relatively low temperatures, and they are softer, more porous and more absorbent than their modern counterparts. They were never designed to be waterproof. Instead, traditional buildings manage moisture as a system: rain soaks into the wall, moves through the brick and mortar, and evaporates away again when conditions allow. The mortar was always intended to be the sacrificial element — softer than the brick, slightly more permeable, and the first thing to give when the weather turns.
Lime mortar does exactly this. It is flexible, vapour-permeable and able to accommodate the small movements that happen as a wall warms, cools and settles. Cement mortar does none of these things well. It is hard, brittle and largely impermeable, so when water gets in behind it — and it always does — the moisture has nowhere to go. It sits in the brick, and in winter it freezes, expands and spalls the face away. A single hard repointing job can undo two centuries of weathering in a decade.
Before you touch a joint, spend time working out what was there originally. Historic mortars vary enormously by region and period, and matching the original is the whole art of the job.
A good conservation mortar is typically around one part lime to two-and-a-half or three parts well-graded sand by volume, though the exact ratio should follow what you find on site. Slightly weaker than the brick is always the safer choice.
The most common mistake is to cut joints too deep with an angle grinder. A disc can slice through the arris of a soft brick in a moment, and the damage is permanent. Use hand tools — a plugging chisel, a mortar rake and a lump hammer — and aim to remove only the decayed mortar, usually to a depth of about twice the width of the joint. Rarely more than 20mm is needed.
Brush out the dust, then dampen the joint thoroughly. Dry brick will suck the water out of fresh lime mortar and leave it weak and crumbly. On a hot day, keep the wall misted as you work. Pack the mortar in firmly with a chisel or pointing iron in thin layers, building up from the back of the joint rather than smearing it across the face. Finish with a wooden stick or a stiff brush while the mortar is still green, replicating the profile of the surrounding work. A flush, rubbed finish suits most brickwork; weather-struck joints belong on certain Victorian elevations and should be copied only where they already exist.
Lime sets by carbonation, absorbing carbon dioxide from the air over weeks and months rather than hardening in hours. That means the mortar must stay damp but not soaked, and must be protected from frost, driving rain and rapid drying.
Expect a full cure to take several months, and accept that the finish will never look as uniform as cement. That slight variation is the point.
Straightforward repointing of a garden wall or a sheltered elevation is well within reach of a careful DIY enthusiast who has read up on the subject and practised on a hidden patch. But some situations warrant experience: highly decorative brickwork, gauged arches, rubbers and moulded detail; churches and listed buildings where consent is required; and any wall already showing significant spalling, bulging or movement, which points to a deeper problem than the mortar alone.
Ask any contractor what mix they intend to use, and be wary of anyone who reaches for a bag of cement by default. A good conservation mason will talk about sand grades, lime types and curing times without hesitation.
Repointing is not a job you want to repeat, and with lime mortar you should not have to for forty or fifty years. Match the original mix, work gently, keep the wall breathable, and the brickwork will carry on doing what it has done for centuries — shedding water, drying out and standing firm. The reward is not just a sounder wall but the quiet, weathered character that makes British historic buildings worth preserving in the first place.
Hi, my name is Anthony kuber. I am artist and fashion designer.
I love to travel and writing blogging.
Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *