THE BARN

Lamps, tinware and furniture for The Barn were carefully sourced by Joseph to enhance its rustic atmosphere. His mother Leonie made the soft furnishings.

Garden designer Joseph Corkhill understands the magic potential of dilapidated outbuildings like The Barn.

Photography Lean Timms Words Joseph Corkhill

My very rst memory of life is sitting in The Barn at my home, Rock eld, and it is one of absolute contentment. Surrounded by birds and animals, the smell of hay and grain mixed with the old structure of the building itself, brought much excitement to me and my siblings. In the spring of 1968, my father and grandfather were busy erecting a silo and as I sat there and imagined that this was the place where all the animals met up, fed, socialised and went about their daily business. Life could not be better.

The Barn (after being rebuilt in 1926 from a slab house on the river) continued in this vein for many years, nestled among the other sheds, old pine trees, yards and dog kennels. It was not part of the garden as such, just over the hedge, but it was often admired for its rusticity and character.

Throughout my years designing gardens, I’ve seen many such outbuildings scattered round properties and have suggested to the owners that they restore them, even in a basic way. I hope that when they have a little more time to think about it, they will want to use these charming old buildings in the layout of the garden, weaving them into the design and giving it enormous character. Barns, slab sheds, blacksmiths’ workshops and rusty garages can all be used.

Many of the gardens I have worked on over the years had old timber slab, mud or tin dwellings that were saved and renovated, adding that extra element to the garden, creating the feeling they have been there forever. It is a worthwhile pursuit to encourage people to save these old dwellings and to use their skills and imagination to create a place that has both purpose and soul.

This thought, of course, came into play when my mother stated (after looking at the dilapidated state of the building) that she’d like our barn to be ‘brought back to life again’ in memory of our beloved nephew and uncle who had died recently. My father told her it was a hopeless idea and he was about to put a match to it. In the end my mother got her way and engaged my accomplished brother Marty to restore it. I happily became his unskilled, yet at all times enthusiastic, apprentice.

Right from the beginning, the building started to come back to life: it was as though it had been waiting for a someone to give it the love and attention it deserved. Stories started to unveil themselves as The Barn took on a new life. One century-old tale told how Jack O’Connor, who played cricket for Australia, spent his nights camped there when visiting his brother, as there was allegedly ‘no vacancy’ in the main house.

There was no overall plan with The Barn, just as there are often no overall plans for my gardens: it all comes into play as we go along, and the story organically unfolds. Together we imagined, created, rebuilt, then stood back and went at it again. Posts were replaced, a verandah was added and windows, facing north and west for wind protection, made for a cosy winter spot. All family members helped along the way, including my father, who declared, ‘I think that’ll do now, don’t you? It is a barn, after all.’ Yet we ventured on and while my brother tended the building, I worked on the garden layout.

As the structure of the building came together, the character and atmosphere of The Barn itself intensi ed. The oor, which originally was to be gravel, changed to large handmade cobblestone >

Opposite The portrait of Joseph by Elisabeth Cummins was the product of a seven-hour session with a bottle of wine.