I’ve found a new obsession: rainwater gutter brackets. To be honest, it isn’t really new—more like a pot of coffee left simmering on the back burner. Everywhere I go, I find myself looking up at people’s guttering. And truth be told, I’m not impressed.
Why? Pull up a chair. I’m ready to pour. (Or you can skip my monotonic prose and just look at the pictures—they tell their own story.) And I’ll spare you the 23-paragraph backstory that recipe blogs seem to love. You’re here for brackets, not nostalgia.
The Decline
The history of rainwater guttering brackets is a familiar one: skilled manual labour usurped by mass production, followed by company mergers, offshoring, and the inevitable race to the cheapest materials. The result? Less beauty, less strength, less lifespan. But no matter—there’s always another flimsy replacement to be bought. Bonus!
In the gallery below, every bracket except 18–20 is mass-produced. You’ll see the whole arc of decline: modern galvanized flimsy types (7–11), a few transitional examples (12), and the older pressed and cast iron pieces.
Notice what’s missing? The plastic ones. I’ve left them out deliberately. This isn’t an obituary—it’s a criticism of the bollocks we’re accepting as “stylish.”
Margarine Metal
Let’s talk about the soft stuff. Modern galvanized brackets feel like they’re made from some kind of margarine-tin alloy—decaying faster than a politician’s promise and just as slippery. It’s as though manufacturers have invented a metal that evaporates on contact with weather. And this is meant to be “as good as it gets”?
Well, no. No, no, no.
Craftsmanship
Look at images 18–20. Handmade, blacksmith-forged, probably 50–60 years old. The smith took the time to taper his scrolls before curling them. That’s class. That’s craftsmanship. Little works of art crowning the cottages they cling to.
Now compare them to 14 and 21. Better than the margarine moderns, sure. The square nuts are charming—more timestamp than design choice—but still, mass-produced substitutes are no substitute for the handmade.
To be forged by hammer and heat, spark and flame, sweat and passion—that’s to be made unique. Loved. Regarded.
The Grammar School Shame
Image 24: the 17th-century Tuxford Grammar School, a listed building.
Image 23: the bracket it’s been saddled with.
Yes, it’s beefy. Probably custom-made. Galvanized M12/M10 threaded bar, robust cradle. But it isn’t bold—it’s compensating. And the whole thing is held up by a couple of wood screws. That’s not confidence. That’s compromise.
My guess? A shotgun marriage between listed-building restrictions and a stingy homeowner who would’ve fitted fake-butter alloys given half the chance. And in some ways—they did.
