Dr John Kirk, 90, is a winemaker and leading Australian scientist. Tim Kirk, 59, is the fourth of his six sons and chief winemaker at the family vineyard in Murrumbateman, north-west of Canberra.
Tim: One of my earliest memories of Dad is of us kneeling beside the bed and saying prayers together. It’s a memory for which I’m grateful. My father was the strongest man in my universe, and to see him kneeling in prayer gave me a sense of reverence that continues to this day.
He was always busy. He wrote a number of books and ended up as a chief research scientist with the CSIRO. But he’s also very creative. He’s deep into Irish music and used to make traditional instruments. I can still remember him singing Whiskey In The Jar by the Dubliners to us.
As a devout Catholic, he’s very interested in this question of science and faith and has written extensively about why there’s no contradiction. He sees the hand of God in the mysterious unfolding of the physical universe through evolution.
Growing up, there was always a glass or two of wine on the table at dinner and Dad would offer it to us boys to have a taste. Like most kids, I didn’t much like it.
On weekends, we’d come out to the vineyard at Murrumbateman [near Canberra]. My Saturdays would be spent here with my brother, Jeremy, and we’d run amok, building cubby houses and chasing the sheep; we had a flock of Wiltshire Horns. Occasionally, I’d give Dad a hand, banging a post in. I loved it.
It was Dad who taught me how to make wine. I’d watch what he did and give him a hand. Our very first wines were made in the garage under our home in Aranda, Canberra. In 1996, I became a full-time winemaker.
Dad’s a fine winemaker. He approaches the task with great precision, taking careful notes; everything is meticulously documented. My own winemaking is perhaps less scientific and somewhat more artistic: I want to find all the complexity and beauty that’s hidden in a particular landscape and capture it in liquid form.
One of the great things about Dad is his openness to some of my crazy ideas. The craziest of all was mixing these rare, white viognier grapes, which he’d been nurturing to make a white wine, with some shiraz, like they do in Côte-Rôtie [in France’s northern Rhône wine region]. To his eternal credit, he said yes. We went on to develop our Clonakilla Shiraz Viognier, which is now celebrated all over the world.
Dad comes over to my house every Monday night and we have a family dinner with whichever of my five kids and grandkids are around; it’s the highlight of my week. We’ll have three or four bottles of some new wines we’re working on at the vineyard or something from Europe.
My mum’s journey with dementia was very difficult, but Dad was brilliant in how he rose to the challenge, carrying her through those last eight years with grace and tenderness. She died at 82 in 2018. Losing her is a wound that doesn’t heal for him.
As Dad’s aged, he’s become gentler and more world-embracing. It’s an honour to have this time with him. I’m not frightened of losing him because we’re men of deep faith and are confident it’s not the end. I love my dad and am immensely proud of him, not only for his achievements but also for his love of family. He’s hit 90 and drinking his best about now.
John: Tim was just a baby in 1968 when we came to Australia from Wales, where I’d been working as a university lecturer in biochemistry. I was headhunted by the CSIRO to come to Canberra and we travelled by P&O liner. Tim has no memory of it but, if he had any interest in rugby – which he doesn’t – he could play for Wales. He was a warm and affectionate child, perhaps a bit more sensitive than some of the others – more easily upset. He took an interest in wine from an early age.
In 1971, I came across this property in Murrumbateman: 44 acres [about 18 hectares] of volcanic soil. I bought it for $9600 and immediately started planting vines. Tim loved coming with me to the property and I’d find little jobs for him to do. I built the first part of the winery from Besser blocks and Tim helped me put on the hardwood roof trusses. I remember him teetering on the top of a step-ladder holding this very heavy beam, terrified of falling off: it was no job for a child!
I liked having him at the winery: it pleased me that he was taking such an interest. He learnt on the job. He’s gregarious, so he was able to visit other winemakers and learn from them, too. I’m so proud of what he’s achieved. It was Tim who suggested we make a shiraz viognier, as they do in France, and I thought, “What a great idea!” His wine has gone on to win great acclaim.
Tim’s shining quality is how open and friendly he is. He found it very easy to get on with girls: in fact, he found it easy to get on with everybody, unlike his more reclusive, mathematically-minded father. We always talk in an animated fashion about wines and vineyards. I was very proud of Tim when he became Winemaker of the Year in 2013; that was a big thrill. I feel that the vineyard is in safe hands.
I’m probably more left-wing than him, but neither of us think it’s worth arguing about. I’m not an ardent socialist: I just tend to dislike a lot of what I see in the people on the other side.
I look forward to our dinners on a Monday night. We mainly talk about wine and how the children are getting on. He does the cooking. He’s a good cook – meat and three veg – but he’s a better winemaker.
I know he wishes that I were more demonstrative, but when I was four years old, my parents suddenly sent me away to boarding school and that left its mark on me. Certainly, I love him; I love all six of my sons.
The happiest I’ve ever seen him is when he became a father [in 1995]. I wouldn’t have minded if he’d become a priest – there were times in his life when I thought that was quite probable – but this place, this vineyard, captured him. His love of the vines and the wines won out.
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