Cabin of Clay

In 2005 The Irish Times reported on Irish vernacular houses as a new ‘endangered species.’^[1] As disheartening as this is, I like the comparison to a living thing. It flows with the idea that these cabins (as they were contemporarily called) soaked in the life of their inhabitants; a playmate to the many children raised there, a friend to an elderly man who has lived there all his life. This means that they should be afforded the same respect as a living thing. However, as other endangered species like orangutans and giant pandas can attest to, the brute force of modern life crushes many victims in its wake. Although I’m returning to the topic sixteen years after The Irish Times article, it appears that the current climate is no kinder to vernacular buildings. Irish cabins still verge on the brink of extinction.

I stumbled upon an upsetting sentence in the NI Buildings Database: ‘the building has been demolished and a modern bungalow now stands on the site.’^[2]

The building in question is simply listed in the database as a ‘former thatched house’ in Glenavy, Antrim. No other details abound, lost in a similar manner to the original, thatched house. I have spent some time combing through the NI Buildings Database looking for information about any listed and surviving vernacular and/or thatched buildings. As stark and impersonal as a database is, what became immediately obvious after the first few search results was that rural Irish cabins, with their thumbed looking whitewash walls and peeping windows, are increasingly lost, forgotten and abandoned.

Certainly, some vernacular buildings have been deemed worthy of protection and are listed as sites of architectural and historic interest. In a 2002 survey, several vernacular structures in the Creevy Townland, Castlederg (Co. Tyrone) were identified as buildings located on the former Abercorn Estate’s lands, making them of historic interest. A late eighteenth century map which depicted six houses in this area was correlated with the site. ‘Early vernacular features’ such as a ‘wickerwork chimney’ were identified on one of the surviving houses, strongly suggesting that the house surveyed in 2002 was one of the structures identified on the early map.^[3] The house was occupied until the 1960s, but since then it has lain unoccupied. The NI Buildings Database notes that the ‘fireplace, stairs and first floor were removed in the early 1980s to facilitate storage of hay’.^[4] The frustrating inaccuracy of Google Maps makes the house difficult to identify online but a quick survey of the Creevy Townland as pictured in 2009 reveals a relative ghost town, save for a muddy population of cattle. The buildings appear blind with windows gaping open or boarded up altogether. The house is not in a conservation area and being listed does not seem strong enough armour to shield this building from unfortunate circumstances and the relentless march of time. The Database notes that this building is a ‘rare example of a large tenant farmers house largely unextended from its original construction’ making it an even more upsetting loss.^[5] To a degree, the redesignation of the farmhouse’s purpose from dwelling to hay storage does become part of its history, and at least the building was repurposed. However, the removal of internal features disposes with it the building’s memory. It is unlikely that the closest things to being residents, some nearby cows, are going to cherish the building’s long legacy. I don’t think I am being sentimental when I say that this development is a huge loss because it is not just a one-off case. Similar events are occurring all over the country.

With the tricky nature of preserving a thatched cottage and the often-elderly inhabitants of them (the inhabitancy of Irish cottages is often part of a wonderful, continuous tradition), it is understandable that houses should fall into disrepair. It also seems that local councils are aware of this and provide grants to help homeowners care for their vernacular houses. The Ulster Architectural Heritage website does a brilliant overview of grants available for historic buildings. These grants apply to Northern Ireland where the examples of lost or crumbling cabins I have illustrated above also come from.

Heritage funds and organisations are engaged into conserving these buildings. However, as more fall into ruin than can be saved, it seems that the only answer to saving these buildings is to conduct such projects on a larger scale.

Researching this topic brought me to many useful handbooks for private owners looking for advice to care for their vernacular buildings. The 'Traditional Buildings in Ireland' produced by Richard Oram and Dawson Stelfox for the Mourne Heritage Trust is a really comprehensive guide to vernacular housing (and is also worth a browse just for the pictures!). SPAB Ireland have also recently held a series of webinars called ‘Conserving Irish Vernacular Houses’ which raised awareness of the issues of preserving vernacular buildings. These talks were also, for me, a crash course in learning about the finer details of Irish cabins. One particular talk by Claudia Kinmouth, which focused on original furniture, crystalised in my mind the issue of our vanishing vernacular. She had photos of vernacular houses she visited in the 1980s contrasted against pictures of them as recent as lockdown. Many were peeling, abandoned, damp-ridden sad creatures. A decline so recent and rapid, and in many cases irreparable. Even in the anonymous circumstances of a Zoom webinar I could just feel the ripple of disappointment. The helplessness, the ‘why don’t more people care!’. Ultimately, that seems to be the issue at heart. There are many brilliant people engaged in repairing, conserving, and researching our vernacular buildings but they are fighting a war with not enough troops.

It is therefore a mystery not too difficult to solve as to why Irish vernacular architecture is being neglected. Firstly, the burden seems to fall largely on private owners to keep in check their historic properties. This is not without financial aid, but it is certainly a task many would shy away from. As a result, we have more vernacular houses than people able to save them.

Secondly, and this is what I fear the most, I think people are losing interest in the Irish vernacular cabin. People are willing to visit their wonderfully preserved examples in the Ulster Folk Museum, but with a countryside littered with decay it seems that the wider publics’ interest struggles to leave the Folk Park’s gates. Save for some wonderful academics, volunteers and organisations, the Irish vernacular has dwindled from an established and thriving way of life up until the 20^th century to being regarded as a niche and antiquarian interest. However, we are dealing with houses rather than exhibits here. Adaptation is how species survive in new environments and the Irish cabin is no exception. A sensitive adaptation of an older cabin honours the Irish tradition of continually occupying their vernacular homes. Often their interiors were jazzed up with a bright coat of paint or fancy new wallpaper. I would argue that those who lived in Irish cabins adapted to the times and fashions whilst still preserving the integrity of their home. We can bring these houses into modern contexts and adapt them to our needs whilst still allowing the original flesh and soul of the building to survive. It is that, or letting those houses become crumbled biscuity remains scattered across a countryside lived in only by ivy and the wind.