The shop on view in this photograph, dating from the 1890s, became the Bay Café in more recent times. It sold everything from ice cream to petrol and served as a hub for the people of the village. This was where passengers gathered before boarding the bus to Waterford, and it also functioned as a popular meeting spot for the local youth.

I seem to remember their fresh orange juice machine, with oranges floating inside, though I can’t remember ever getting any of it to drink. It’s possible that I preferred Squash Orange at the time. It was also where I used to pick up my weekly comic and the RTÉ Guide. Sometimes, if I hadn’t collected the comic for a few weeks, a small stack would be waiting for me, as it was kept on order.

The café also had a few small tables where people could enjoy a cup of tea and maybe a bun. Their ice cream even rivalled Gertie’s—a high compliment in those days! I can’t recall a single thing I disliked about the place; it was a memorable part of my childhood.

Today, the building has been converted into a private house, but the memories of its commercial past live on.

Even with all the new changes that Dunmore has seen in recent years, the view from the spot where the man is standing has changed very little in the last 140 years, apart from an extra house here and there. Many a person has stood in that spot, taking in the view and the sea air, since the photo was taken in the 1890's.

Beneath the wall of The Strand Hotel—or Galgey’s, as it was called when the photo was taken—you can see stakes stuck in the sand. I’m not sure what they were for, but I remember some of them still there in the 1960s.

The shortcut to the top of the Terrace, going up beside the Strand, has a wall in the photo. By the time I used it as a child (on my way to Councillor’s Strand), most of the wall was gone, apart from the base. There was always a chance you could fall onto the rocks below, but that just made it more exciting.

On the corner of the Terrace, you can see the gateway to what is now the Dispensary, along with a couple of trees I don’t remember. They were likely removed when the Dispensary was built.

Back then, the village seemed to end at the Anchor Bar. There was no Marian Terrace, Seaview Park, or Woodview Estate—none of the hundreds of houses that now line the Killea Road.

The village water pump is visible halfway between Hope Cottage and the corner of the Lower Road. I suppose the council hadn’t yet installed the state-of-the-art water supply Dunmore has today.

When I was in Dunmore recently, I noticed a man looking over the wall in the exact same spot as the man in the photo. Chances are, in another hundred years, people will still be standing there, admiring the view.

"You may need to zoom in on the picture to see some of the described features."

Judging by the number of fish boxes stacked on the right-hand side of the pier, Dunmore East was clearly a busy port in the 19th century. Boats were coming in, others were heading out, and some were undergoing repairs—it was all go, by the looks of it.

Two of the men observing the boat being repaired appear to be in uniform, possibly constables ensuring nothing underhanded was going on.

If all the boats visible in the harbour were moored there, you could almost walk from the pier to the Island—much like in the 1960s and ’70s.

In 1897, there was talk of running a light railway to Dunmore. Given the sheer volume of boats present, it’s easy to see why the idea was floated. A newspaper report from the time stated:

Reliable sources confirm that efforts are underway to establish a company for the construction and operation of a light railway from Waterford to Dunmore East, with stops at Cheekpoint, Passage East, and Credan. It is reported that influential and wealthy backers are leading this initiative, and they are fully committed to ensuring the project’s completion, regardless of cost or other obstacles.

The railway is intended to operate as a private venture, with no request for public guarantees. The promoters are confident that the project will prove financially successful, supported by holiday traffic, the substantial trade in fish transportation, and improved connectivity between South Wexford and Waterford via rapid steam ferries from Duncannon and other locations. The public views this initiative with goodwill, and there is widespread hope that Dunmore’s scenic beaches and pier amenities will soon be easily accessible not only to the people of Waterford but to visitors from across the south of Ireland.

Perhaps this initiative should be revisited—it would be wonderful to travel to Dunmore by steam engine!

This striking photograph, taken from above Councillor’s Strand in the late 19th century, captures Dunmore East at a moment of picturesque perfection. The scene unfolds like a carefully composed painting—with the woods, the park, a sheltered harbour, and the still sea. The thatched cottages, clustered together in harmony, seem to grow naturally from the landscape.

This is how you would design the perfect village if starting from scratch. Every element is in its right place: the balance between land and sea, the harmony of human settlement and nature. Someone should have shouted, Stop—it’s finished now! at that point in time.

Yet Dunmore East was never frozen in time—it lived, breathed, and evolved. Still, this photograph preserves a moment when the village appeared as if it had reached its perfect form: a seaside idyll where nothing more needed to be added or taken away. It’s a reminder that beauty lies not in grand designs, but in the quiet, unassuming balance of a place that simply feels and looks right.

This evocative photograph captures a scene that has altered almost beyond recognition over the years. Where once small craft rested in the calm waters near the Island, a quiet roadway now winds its way down, carrying little more than the occasional passing car. The island that bestowed its name upon the road has long since disappeared, claimed by the persistent forces of the Board of Works.

Thanks to the careful lens of Robert French, however, this moment has been preserved. We can see the punts drawn up close to the shore, their position suggesting that they could be reached with ease from the island itself. In the background stands what had been the Bay Hotel, which by 1883 had been taken over by the Sisters of Mercy from Clonakilty. Their vision was to establish both a convent and a school to serve the children of the village and surrounding district. When this photograph was taken, their mission in Dunmore East was still in its infancy.

The absence of kittiwakes in the picture is notable. In later years they would arrive in great numbers, establishing themselves noisily on the cliffs around the harbour. At this time, however, their presence had yet to be felt. Perhaps they followed the nuns to the village once the sister’s colony was fully established, as the old saying says, where penguins go kittiwakes follow.

Time has a way of reshaping even the most familiar of places. Within the span of a century, Dunmore East’s only island has disappeared from the map, while cars now travel where boats once floated. Yet this photograph preserves a moment from that vanished world—a fragment of the village’s layered past.

Loss is inevitable, but through images such as this, memory is kept alive.

Between 1818 and 1824, Scottish engineer Alexander Nimmo designed and oversaw the construction of Dunmore East’s lighthouse—a beacon that has been flashing away ever since, steadfast through two centuries of storms and changing tides.

But Nimmo’s impact on Dunmore East extends far beyond this solitary flasher. His harbour, a masterpiece of early 19th-century engineering, is more than just a workplace for fishermen or a scenic backdrop for visitors. It stands as a monument to vision of a man whose brilliance shaped not just this harbour, but in at least thirty other harbours in coastal communities across Ireland.

Solid, functional, and still admired for its elegant design, the harbour is a perpetual reminder of Nimmo’s genius. A Scotsman by birth, but an adopted son of Ireland in legacy, he combined practicality with artistry, creating infrastructure that endured where lesser works might have crumbled.

Today, as boats come and go against the same stone quays Nimmo once mapped out, his influence remains unmistakable. The lighthouse still casts its light, the harbour still shelters those at sea, and Dunmore East still thrives—a living tribute to an engineer who built for the ages.

Some men leave their mark in history books. Alexander Nimmo left his in stone, water, and flashing light.

An article on the life of Alexander Nimmo can be read here: Alexander Nimmo – The Engineer Who Shaped Dunmore East 

This striking late-Victorian view of Dunmore East shows the harbour and bay alive with sail. Dozens of fishing boats crowd the water, their tall gaff-rigged sails rising in dark triangles against the blue sky. Close to the quayside, vessels are rafted side-by-side, their canvas partly furled after returning from the herring grounds. Smaller rowing craft gather in the inner water, while beyond the sheltering piers the bay is dotted with boats beating across the horizon.

The red sandstone island, with Nimmo’s arch and a natural one, frame the harbour, surrounded by a forest of masts. On the pier, Nimmo’s distinctive white lighthouse stands tall, marking the entrance to one of Ireland’s busiest fishing ports of the period. At this time, fishing in Dunmore East was flourishing, with catches landed daily and the harbour thronged with activity.

You didn’t need a “Tall Ships Festival” in the 1890s to create a spectacle here—everyday life on the quayside was a pageant of sails, sea, and industry.

Another great view of the dock end of the village. There's a guy wearing what looks like a witch's hat doing his business against the wall in the middle of the left hand side of the picture. There must have been no public facilities back then. The photo would need to be downloaded and zoomed upon to see this man in action.

This photo was likely taken either from the Shannon or by someone very tall. Notice the rail track running along the top of the wall, which was used to transport large stone slabs from the quarry during the construction of the breakwater. 

I’d imagine that fish is being landed in this photo. There’s a lot of horse and cart transportation lined up to take away the catch. Much more eco-friendly than the 40 foot containers.

This photograph suggests that even in the 1800s, “illegal parking” was an issue in Dunmore East, with the donkey seen here clearly obstructing the footpath. The image predates the construction of the Fisherman’s Hall by the Malcomson family. Their decision to build the hall would prove transformative, as it became the venue for dances, cinema showings, youth clubs, and the much-anticipated Christmas jumble sales—an enduring legacy of their foresight and community spirit. 

Long before the harbour walls were built, and before Dunmore East became established as a fashionable seaside resort, a small fishing settlement had already grown up around the strand beneath the cliffs. This was the old Lower Village, and it was here that much of the earliest life of Dunmore was centred.

The fishermen who occupied the cottages above the strand worked from an open shoreline, launching and hauling their boats directly from the beach at a time when there was no harbour to shelter them. Their houses stood close together, overlooking the water upon which their livelihoods depended, while immediately behind them the land rose steeply towards the surrounding fields.

The origins of Dunmore itself reach much further into the past. Its Irish name, Dún Mór, meaning the “Great Fort”, recalls the ancient promontory fort traditionally associated with the headland now known as Shanoon, close to Black Knob and the old Pilot Station. From this commanding position above the entrance to Waterford Harbour, the fort gave the place the name by which it would eventually become known.

Many centuries later, during the Second World War, the strategic importance of the same general area was again recognised when defensive positions were established at Dunmore as part of the measures taken to protect the approaches to Waterford Harbour during the Emergency.

The settlement that later developed around the “Great Fort”, however, was essentially a fishing community. By the eighteenth century, fishing was already well established at Dunmore, and a contemporary reference from 1774 records that some eighty fishing vessels belonged to the small port.

Without the protection of a harbour, the strand was of vital importance. Boats were launched whenever tide and weather permitted and hauled back onto the shore for safety. It was a demanding existence. Generations of Dunmore fishermen learned to judge sea, wind and weather with an accuracy born not from study, but from necessity.

Many of the earlier dwellings were modest cottages constructed from locally available materials, with whitewashed walls and thatched roofs. When the Waterford historian R. H. Ryland described Dunmore in the early nineteenth century, he wrote of cottages scattered down the valley towards the sea and remarked upon the unusual manner in which many appeared to face towards Hook Lighthouse on the opposite side of the harbour entrance.

By then, another influence was also beginning to make itself felt. Visitors were coming to Dunmore during the summer months. Long before the development of modern tourism, families from Waterford and further afield were taking cottages in the village to enjoy sea bathing and the fresh coastal air. The beginnings of a relationship between the working fishing community and the seasonal visitor were already apparent, and it was one that would become a defining feature of Dunmore for generations.

The great transformation came in the early nineteenth century with the decision to construct a harbour. Alexander Nimmo prepared plans for a new harbour in 1814, intended principally to accommodate the Royal Mail packet service between Ireland and Britain, and construction commenced shortly afterwards.

For so small a settlement, the undertaking was immense.

The harbour permanently altered the course of Dunmore’s history. Roads were improved, new buildings appeared and employment increased. Although the packet service did not remain at Dunmore for as long as had originally been intended, the harbour itself proved invaluable and, in time, helped to establish the village as one of the principal fishing centres on the south-east coast.

The older settlement around the strand nevertheless retained a character of its own.

During the nineteenth century, Dunmore grew steadily in reputation as a bathing resort. Visitors came for extended summer stays, renting cottages or lodging in houses overlooking the sea, and contemporary descriptions increasingly referred to Dunmore both as a fishing village and as a fashionable watering place.

It was an unusual combination, but one which appears to have worked remarkably well. In the same streets one might find fishermen repairing their gear, visitors making their way towards the strand, children playing around the cottages and local women preparing rooms for summer lodgers.

Dunmore became, in many respects, a village of two seasons. Winter belonged largely to the permanent community, while summer brought an influx of visitors who, in many cases, returned year after year.

One of the buildings most closely associated with this part of the village was the Strand Hotel. Standing above the strand, it became a familiar landmark and, through its association with the Lawlor family during the twentieth century, helped give rise to the name by which the beach was known to generations of local people: Lawlor’s Strand.

Photographs showing Lawlor’s Strand and the houses above it are particularly valuable records of this earlier landscape. Behind them stretches open farmland, demonstrating just how sharply the settlement once ended. There was little gradual transition between village and countryside. The houses stopped and the fields began.

Around the turn of the twentieth century, Dunmore East itself probably had a permanent population of somewhere between 400 and 500 people. The wider Killea district was considerably more populous, containing perhaps 800 people or more, although many of these lived on farms and in scattered houses throughout the surrounding countryside rather than in the compact settlement around Killea Church.

That detail tells us something important about the character of Dunmore. Although the sea provided a livelihood for many families, agriculture remained close at hand. Fishing and farming existed side by side, and the village was connected as much to the land immediately behind it as to the water stretching out before it.

By the beginning of the twentieth century, Dunmore East had become a significant fishing port. Boats from other parts of Ireland and from Britain regularly appeared during the principal fishing seasons, while the harbour became particularly busy during the herring fishery.

The pier, lighthouse and fishing fleet naturally came to dominate the maritime story of the village, but the Lower Village belongs to an earlier chapter. Before the harbour there was the strand, and before sheltered berths were available, open boats were hauled ashore for protection during bad weather.

The people who lived in the cottages overlooking that shoreline belonged to a community whose daily existence was directly tied to the sea beneath their windows. Their Dunmore was smaller, quieter and considerably more isolated than the village we know today, yet enough of its physical outline survives to make the old photographs immediately recognisable.

The cliffs and the strand remain, and many of the older houses are still standing. Today, if we strip away the traffic, later buildings and other changes brought by time, it becomes possible to see something of the village that existed before the harbour transformed Dunmore East.

It is in the Lower Village, perhaps more than anywhere else, that the earliest character of Dunmore can still be traced.

During the 1890s, visitors to Dunmore East often found their way to Power’s Tea Room, where a pot of tea and freshly baked scones offered a touch of refinement and comfort. The café was a popular meeting spot, so much so that on busy afternoons latecomers were sometimes turned away. Just further along the same street stood the local pub, where the same horses and carts could be seen lined up each day, their owners inside raising their voices in song or argument — sounds that occasionally drifted as far as the tea room, much to the amusement or dismay of its patrons.

In the photograph, a young boy stands between the two establishments, perhaps already wondering which world would claim him when he was older — the genteel calm of the tea shop or the raucous energy of the pub.

Also in the picture are two young girls, absorbed in conversation and appearing to pay little attention to their surroundings. Their talk, most likely of the newly opened convent school, or possibly a playful quarrel about the proper rules of hopscotch.

This scene depicts an ordinary afternoon in 19th-century Dunmore East, a village where genteel respectability, youthful chatter, and everyday merriment all mingled along the same narrow street.

A good view of Ladies’ Cove, taken in the 1880’s.

The original version of this photograph dates from around 1900. One detail that catches the eye is the submerged punt lying close to the water’s edge. I suppose it may have come into the harbour so heavily laden with mackerel that it sank before it could be unloaded. Fish were plentiful off Dunmore East in those days, and events like this wouldn’t have been unusual, most likely it’s been salvaged by now.

In this photograph, taken in the closing years of the nineteenth century, the Lower Village of Dunmore seems to have paused for a breath. Up on the corner of the hill above the strand, two women stand in conversation. You could nearly hear them if the years were not in the way. Perhaps it was the price of fish, a child with a cough, a neighbour’s bit of news, or some small domestic trial that would have been understood without too much explaining. They have the look of women who knew one another well, the easy stance of people used to meeting in the same places, with the sea below and the village around them.

Below them, by the wall near the Charles Galgey Inn, a few men have gathered in that patient fashion men had when they wait for something worthwhile. The Inn door appears to be closed, though that has not discouraged them in the least. They wait as if waiting itself is part of the ritual. Caps are set, hands are in pockets, and there is surely a remark or two being passed along the wall — not too loud, not too urgent, but enough to keep the company warm until the door opens.

There is a quiet humour in the scene. The women have the business of the day in hand above, while the men below seem to be keeping watch on the inn with the seriousness of harbour pilots awaiting a signal. No doubt they knew well enough that all doors open in time, especially the important ones.

At the centre of this photograph is Stapleton and Harney’s grocery shop and bakery, a name that would have been well known to generations of Dunmore people. In its day, it served the needs of countless families in the village, stocked with the sort of everyday essentials that kept households going long before the convenience of modern supermarkets and quick trips to town.

This area, at the top of Long’s Hill, had an identity all of its own. It was almost a middle village, sitting between Lower Dunmore and the Dock end, catching people as they passed up and down the hill on their way to and from the harbour. You can imagine the comings and goings — messages being delivered, loaves being bought, groceries collected, and news exchanged at the shop door, as important in its own way as anything printed in the papers.

Through the trees, the steeple of St. Andrew’s can be seen, along with Villa Marina, giving the photograph that familiar Dunmore layering of houses, trees, church and sea air. Grove Cottages also stand out, looking as if they had recently received a fresh coat of paint. There is a neatness about the scene, a sense of pride in the place, and a hint of the order that villages once seemed to carry naturally.

One telegraph pole can be seen standing at the top of the hill, though there is no obvious sign of any wires. Maybe it was still waiting to be connected, or maybe it had found a secondary use holding election posters and notices for dances, meetings, and whatever else needed the attention of the passing public. In a village like Dunmore, every pole had multiple uses.

The trees are also a big part of the scene. Fine in summer, no doubt, but you would wonder about the autumn. It must have been a fair job clearing the leaves from the road and paths when they started to fall. There were no leaf blowers then, roaring away on a Saturday morning. Just brushes, shovels, strong backs and patience. How they managed to survive such hardship is one of the great unanswered questions of old Dunmore.

Captured by the lens of Robert French in the 1890s, this image reveals a moment of quiet observation in a harbour poised between centuries. Standing near Nimmo’s Lighthouse, a man holds a telescope to his eye, scanning the calm expanse of water in the bay. His posture is deliberate and steady — the stance of someone accustomed to looking seaward, perhaps a coastguard, a ship’s officer, or simply a curious watcher drawn to the horizon.

Behind him, the harbour lies in gentle repose. A number of sailing vessels and punts lie anchored near the Island, their reflections soft in the sheltered water. In the background, a cluster of whitewashed houses, neat and orderly, overlooks the scene.

The photograph captures a balance between human watchfulness and maritime stillness. It is easy to imagine the faint clink of rigging, the distant call of gulls, or the low hum of conversation carried on the wind from the pier below. The man with the telescope, anonymous yet central, becomes the silent witness to it all — to the timeless habit of those who have always stood here, looking out, measuring distance, and waiting for the next sail to appear on the horizon.

There was a time when a day at the seaside had very little to do with swimming, surfing or stretching out on a towel to alter one’s skin tone. In the late nineteenth century, families came to the shore with a very different purpose in mind — health.

Victorian mothers, practical and determined, believed firmly in the healing powers of nature. Sea air was good for the lungs, salt water strengthened the constitution, and seaweed — dark, glistening and plentiful along the tideline — was thought to be particularly beneficial for the eyes. It was widely held that the iodine contained within the seaweed could somehow be absorbed simply by looking at it. So children were encouraged to stand quietly on the rocks for hours, their gaze fixed upon the wrack and kelp as it lay drying there.

In an era when families were often large, spectacles were an expense few could afford. If there were six, seven or eight children, prevention was far more practical than cure. A day spent “improving the eyesight” cost nothing but time and patience.

This photograph from the 1890s captures one such family at the seashore. They are not here for leisure in the modern sense, nor for sport or sunbathing, but for wellbeing as it was understood then. They became known locally as one of the families who stared at seaweed. It’s a gentle reminder that the seaside has always been a place of hope — whether for stronger lungs, clearer vision, or simply a healthier life shaped by the rhythms of the sea.

Sean Murphy remembers: "That section of rocks, (next to Lawlor’s and before the ‘cave’) when the tide is out, is my dearest childhood memory of Dunmore. I loved it there and spent hours on my own, just ‘being’ there. I knew each pool individually like it was my own little garden and I had my favourites. Some would periodically fill with sand; other times they were deep and clean and full of ‘cobblers’, which would dart into the small seaweed growth when I’d approach the pool. We were blessed growing up in such a natural environment and... we had it all to ourselves. Heaven to a ten-year-old."

It came as a shock to this band of jolly mariners when they found the Ocean Hotel closed one cool sunny morning in 1910. None could remember the bar ever shutting its doors before. The youngest, looking more like a cabin boy than a sailor, stood there barefoot—such was his need for an early beverage. The oldest complained that the light stung his eyes; he hadn’t been out of the bar at this hour in years. A rumour spread of smoke in the night, perhaps a fire out back. “We never valued the Ocean when it was open,” one sighed, “and now look at us—thirsty, cold, blinded by the light and stranded on dry land.”

This photograph appears to show two men and their sons on the Dock Road in the early years of the 20th century. The two men seem deep in conversation, with one of the boys taking an interest in what is being said, while the other looks rather more eager to continue the journey across the village — perhaps on the way to the shop.

It is a simple everyday scene, but one that feels remarkably familiar. More than a century later, the same sort of roadside conversations, chance meetings and impatient children are still part of village life.

This photo most likely dates back to the late 1890s, an era when horse and cart ownership was fairly common. However, a carriage like the one shown here was more of a status symbol. Having a pair of horses pulling your rig was the equivalent of driving a four-wheel-drive SUV today—it sent a clear message: “I’ve arrived, make way!” 

This may well have been the first outing for the couple in this photo with their new baby. Both parents look a little uneasy, checking every minute that baby was okay,—and no doubt the baby was nervous too. One can almost imagine the child thinking, “Why are we walking in the middle of the road, and how did I end up with such cuckoo parents?” 

In truth, there was little to worry about. In 1930, the greater danger was a fox darting out from the Villa Marina or a badger wandering up from the cove beneath the park, rather than any passing motorcar. It was a time of calm and quiet on the streets of Dunmore East.

This photograph is a reminder of just how angry the sea can be. It was taken during the great storm of March 7th 1962, a storm that was described at the time as the worst in living memory. Dunmore East alone suffered more than £50,000 worth of damage, a huge sum in those days, while across Waterford the destruction was widespread and almost impossible to fully count.

This is another photo of the Lower Village, this one shows a somewhat calmer day than the one captured in the previous picture. No waves are breaking over walls here, no spray climbing the buildings, the village looks to be enjoying one of those quiet settled days of summer when Dunmore appears at its best.

The photographer, whoever he or she was, became a little creative for this shot. Rather than taking the usual view from the High Road, they appear to have gone up into the woods, and possibly even climbed a tree, before taking the photograph. The result is an unusual view down over the Lower Village, taken from on high.

Curraghmore Terrace can be seen below, that familiar row of houses which has remained remarkably unspoiled since 1835. There is something very reassuring about that. Generations have come and gone, storms have battered the Strand, cars have replaced carts, and fashions have changed, and yet the shape of those houses still holds its place in the village.

I would imagine the photograph dates from the late 1940s or early 1950s. The cars, the quietness of the road, and the general feel of the scene all seem to belong to that era, when Dunmore East was already well known as a seaside village, but still had much of its older character intact.

I don’t remember where I got this photo from. It has been sitting on the computer for a good few years. It's a peaceful picture in which nothing dramatic is happening.

This photo dates from the late 1800s and shows what had been the Bay Hotel for a lot of the 19th century. The nuns had taken over the building in 1883, so it’s possible that they were already in residence when this photo was taken.

In this picture, a seafaring man can be seen casting his weather eye out across the bay, no doubt trying to decide whether he’d go out on the ocean to fish, or turn around and go up to the Ocean Hotel to quench his thirst.

I remember hearing that, by the 1970s, fishermen had perfected their weather-prediction skills. By then, they could tell that if there were ripples on the water in the Candlelight swimming pool, it was too bad to go fishing. It was probably a more exact science than listening to Met Éireann.

This is yet another view from the 19th century, an era of masts and canvas. There wouldn’t have been any smell of diesel coming from the dock in those days, and I'm sure the water would have been clean enough to drink. 

This old photograph which was taken around 1905, captures the village of Dunmore East at a time when the twentieth century was still in its infancy and many of the changes that would transform everyday life had yet to arrive.

On the left stands the Fisherman’s Hall, then a relatively new addition to the village. The building had been provided by Nanette “Nannie” Malcomson in memory of her son Joseph and was intended chiefly as a reading and recreation room for the fishermen and seafarers of Dunmore East. In time, however, it would become much more than that, serving as a familiar meeting place and social centre for generations of local people.

Further along the road can be seen the red-brick building which many people will remember in later years as the Bay Cafe. At the time this photograph was taken it was known as Power’s Tea Rooms. Beside it stands a low thatched cottage, another reminder of an older Dunmore, it belonged to Bunny Murphy at one time.

To the right of the photograph, partly hidden from view, is the house once owned by Arthur Westcott-Pitt and later by the O’Dwyer family. Despite the passage of more than a century, the general shape and layout of this part of the village remains surprisingly familiar.

The road itself tells another story. There are no motor cars, no road markings, no traffic calming measures and none of the street furniture we now take for granted. Instead, a wide unpaved roadway curves quietly through the village, giving the scene an openness that has long since disappeared.

But it’s the people who make the photograph somewhat puzzling.

Four figures stand in the foreground, all unidentified. Beyond them, in the centre of the picture, a considerable crowd has gathered. Men and women are dressed in their best clothes, and there is every indication that this was no ordinary day, though what brought them together isn’t known to me.

One possibility is that the photograph was taken on a Regatta Day. Dunmore East’s Regatta was already a well-established event by this time and would have brought large numbers of visitors into the village, turning the harbour and surrounding streets into a place of colour, competition and sociability.

Another possibility is that the gathering was connected with some function in the Fisherman’s Hall, then known as Malcomson’s Hall. It may have been a sale of work, a concert, a social gathering or one of the many community occasions for which such halls were used. 

It was also common place at the time for groups to get the ferry from Waterford to Dunmore. These trips were like going on a foreign holiday for the big city dwellers.

The woman in the foreground of the photo, dressed in white and wearing a fancy hat, might at first glance suggest a wedding party, but white and cream dresses were common summer wear for women at the time, so it may not have been a wedding that was taking place. For the moment, the occasion remains a mystery, maybe someone reading this post will remember the day. 

DUNMORE EAST, AND THE RAILWAY BY THE SEA:

In the early years of the nineteenth century, Dunmore was still a small village lying close to the entrance of Waterford Harbour. Its position, however, was about to give it an importance far beyond its size.

The Post Office was seeking a suitable Irish terminal for the mail packets crossing from Milford Haven. Sailing vessels making their way farther into Waterford Harbour could be delayed by bad weather and tides, and Dunmore, lying close to the open sea, offered an obvious advantage. In 1814, the Scottish engineer Alexander Nimmo prepared plans for a new packet harbour there, and the works that followed were to transform the village. The Dictionary of Irish Architects records the Dunmore harbour and lighthouse project as dating from the period 1814–1821, with the harbour substantially completed by 1822.

Nimmo's undertaking was on a considerable scale. A great stone pier and breakwater were driven out from Dunmore Head to provide shelter from the heavy seas entering the bay. Richard Hopkins Ryland, writing in 1824, described the breakwater as extending approximately 800 feet into the sea, with a quay some 600 feet in length constructed inside it. Much of the masonry below low-water level was laid with the assistance of diving bells. One of the more remarkable features of the construction was the railway used to move the stone.

This was not a railway in the later passenger-carrying sense, and there was no locomotive steaming down through Dunmore. Ryland described immense blocks of rock being transported to the harbour works by inclined planes and iron railways. Few of the stones, he wrote, weighed less than five or six tons, while some exceeded ten tons. Once brought to the works, they were squared and fitted into position to form the massive harbour structure.

("The inclined planes were steep railway tracks that allowed heavy wagons of quarried stone to be lowered in a controlled manner from the higher ground to the harbour works below. They weren't aeroplanes.")

It's a fascinating glimpse of Dunmore at a time when railways themselves were still in their infancy. Years before the railway age transformed Ireland, iron tracks were already being put to practical use beside the sea at Dunmore, carrying stone rather than passengers.

The harbour was being built from local stone. Records of the Commissioners of Irish Lights state that Nimmo used the area's Old Red Sandstone in its construction. The lighthouse, designed as part of the harbour scheme, took the unusual form of a classical Greek column, with vertical grooves running up its sides, a feature that still gives Dunmore's East Pier its distinctive appearance.

By the summer of 1818, the harbour was sufficiently advanced for its intended purpose. On 1 July 1818, the General Post Office was expecting the first mail packets to be stationed at Dunmore and sought permission from the Ballast Board to establish a temporary light at the end of the unfinished pier. The permanent lighthouse was completed later, becoming operational during the latter part of 1825.

The establishment of the packet station brought Dunmore directly into the communication network between Ireland and Britain. Mail packets crossed between Milford Haven and Dunmore, while passengers arriving at the harbour continued their journeys overland.

It is recorded that the crossing was normally completed in about nine hours and that the mail journey between London and Waterford rarely exceeded forty-eight hours. On arrival at Dunmore, passengers were taken by mail coach to Waterford, where coaches continued towards Dublin and Cork.

The change from sail to steam on the Milford Haven–Dunmore route came in 1824, only a few years after the packet station had opened. The original mail packets serving Dunmore were sailing vessels, but advances in steam navigation soon offered the Post Office a faster and more dependable alternative. From 1824, Post Office steam packets were placed on the Milford–Dunmore service, replacing the older sailing packets and making the crossing less dependent on favourable winds. These vessels were early wooden paddle steamers and formed part of the Post Office's developing steam packet network around the British and Irish coasts. Their arrival meant that, within a remarkably short period, Dunmore had progressed from receiving traditional sailing packets to becoming a regular port of call for some of the earliest government-operated mail steamers.

Steam had therefore become part of the Dunmore scene remarkably early. It was around this time that the name Dunmore East came into official use, largely to prevent postal confusion with Dunmore in County Galway.

For a village that only a few years earlier had been chiefly associated with fishing, the change must have been considerable. Ryland described Dunmore in 1824 as a post town and packet station, as well as a fashionable watering place. The harbour had brought regular communications, passengers and commercial activity to a place that had previously occupied a much quieter position on the coast.

Steam power, however, eventually removed one of the principal reasons for maintaining the packet terminal at Dunmore.

Sailing ships had benefited from being able to land their passengers and mail close to the entrance of Waterford Harbour rather than struggling farther upriver. Steamships were less dependent upon favourable winds and were increasingly capable of making the passage to Waterford itself.

In early 1837, the Admiralty assumed control of the service and transferred the packet base from Dunmore East to Adelphi Wharf in Waterford. Dunmore's brief but colourful career as an international mail terminus was effectively over. The Milford–Waterford packet service itself survived until 1848.

The railway tracks used during the harbour's construction are a smaller part of that story, and there is no record of when they were removed. What can be said with certainty is that, in the years when Dunmore was becoming a Royal Mail packet harbour, great blocks of local stone were being carried towards the sea on iron rails.

For a brief period, Dunmore stood at the meeting point of several new technologies: large-scale harbour engineering, primitive industrial railways and, soon afterwards, steam navigation.

The sailing ships and packet steamers moved on, the construction railway disappeared, but Nimmo's harbour remained. More than two centuries later, the lighthouse and great stonework of the East Pier still provide one of the clearest reminders of the years when Dunmore was being reshaped to meet the needs of the Royal Mail. 

Photo 30 - Stapleton & Harneys 

This photo shows the shop once known as Stapleton & Harney’s and probably dates from the early 1900s. It was a shop and bakery at the time and was famous for its bread. It later went on to be owned by the Shipsey family, who ran it for a good few years before Hamm’s took it over.

Roger Shipsey was always a forward-thinking man and, in 1953, he installed one of the first televisions in the famous “Rendezvous Bar”, which was by then attached to the shop. A story published in The Irish Press in 1953 congratulated Roger:

TELEVISION COMES TO DUNMORE EAST

Mr Roger Shipsey, proprietor of the well-known “Rendezvous Bar”, Dunmore East, has just installed the latest type television set in his premises for the benefit of his numerous patrons. It is believed to be the first set to be publicly installed in the south of Ireland, and Mr Shipsey is to be congratulated on his enterprise.

The set is a Cossor make and is extraordinarily clear, with little or no fading, and viewers are enthralled with this novelty, which will be a permanent feature in the “Rendezvous”.

The set and aerial were fitted by Messrs John Gaule and Sons, Waterford.

I recently asked David Carroll about his memories of the bar and the introduction of television to Dunmore. He didn’t remember the 1953 Cup Final, as he was only four years old at the time, but he did recall other big screenings later in the 1950s.

“I can remember Harney’s when it was just a shop. I used to go there with my mother when I was very small. I once opened a tube of Smarties at the wrong end and they all fell down the steps coming out of the shop, and that was that — you couldn’t pick up sweets off the ground, and my mother refused to buy a new pack.

Nancy Dunne used to work there, and possibly Alice Quann. When Roger bought the premises he turned part of it into a long, narrow bar. The Shipsey family lived over the shop until the time he built the bungalow off the Circular Road. Roger was very young then, and I remember there was a picture in the office of his premises on the quay (you could see it from outside) of him as captain of the Castleknock rugby team in 1948.

Along the east coast, people could receive BBC television from a station in Wales. By the mid 1950’s there were at least a handful of TV sets in the village. You needed to have a very tall aerial to get reception, which was never reliable — weather conditions were all important, and often you just saw ‘snow’ on the screen.

I remember that Roger had a TV in the new bar, and I recall hearing that he charged an admission fee on the day of the Queen’s Coronation in 1953. A man ahead of his time.

The Haven Hotel also had a TV in the Residents’ Lounge by the late 1950's. All the curtains would be drawn to try to improve the picture. I snuck in a few times and would sit on the floor, hoping not to be spotted by Miss Ritchie, who was Zoe Ballantine’s governess. She could not distinguish between residents’ children and ‘village boys’ in the dark!

The Powers (butchers) had a TV in their private house (where Centra is now), and my father, the local doctor, and their pals who drank there at lunchtime during the summer months would be invited in to watch the cricket from England. That is how I got hooked on that sport — the Powers have a lot to answer for!

I remember watching the 1959 FA Cup Final in Bill’s — the TV had been moved to the bar by this stage. Noel Colfer and his family had come all the way from New Ross to see it.

The Cup Final was the only club match televised every year — it was a big, big thing. People going into Roger’s Bar would have been part of that experience.

The 1959 FA Cup Final was contested by Nottingham Forest and Luton Town at Wembley. Forest were playing in their second FA Cup Final, while Luton were making their first final appearance. Forest won 2–1 to claim their second title, with goals from Roy Dwight and Tommy Wilson just four minutes apart. Dave Pacey scored Luton’s consolation goal. As of 2025, this remains Forest’s most recent FA Cup title. As well as being a goal scorer, Roy Dwight was also Elton John’s cousin.

My mother had a friend in Cork, and she and her family came all the way to the Haven in 1960 to watch Princess Margaret get married on TV — another big event. Television did not exist in Cork until the end of 1961, when RTE started.

My main memories of the Rendezvous bar and how it evolved were from the few years before I left Dunmore — there were some great nights there with ballad sessions. Dermot Power, the historian, was one of the stars. I also remember Omney Butler, who never missed a night — winter or summer, the whole year — dressed up to the nines each evening. Life was different then. Mrs Hamm was running the bar at that stage.”

Dunmore East would, of course, go on to host productions of a number of successful television shows, including The Peter Roche Interview, the multi-award-winning Echoes, and the all-time classic Redwater, the EastEnders spin-off. None of this would have happened were it not for the entrepreneurial skills of Roger Shipsey in the Rendezvous Bar all those years ago. He truly helped to put Dunmore on the map by introducing television to the village, at a time when even Cork still only had radio.

"This photo dates from the late 1890s and shows the Dock Road as it was then. The Ocean Hotel was in full swing at the time, run, I think, by Mrs Shipsey. I’ve compiled a few cuttings of local news from the Munster Express of September 17th and October 1st 1898, which may be of interest to some."

DUNMORE EAST NEWS ROUND-UP, AUGUST & OCTOBER 1898

The columns of the Munster Express in August and October 1898 offer a lively glimpse of everyday life in Dunmore East at the close of the nineteenth century. Fishing, transport, tourism, bathing, land purchase and even the arrival of a new bicycle lamp all found their way into the local notes, alongside tragedy, humour and some fairly sharp opinions from the newspaper’s correspondent.

One of the biggest subjects of the time was the proposed motor road railway between Dunmore East and Waterford. The scheme was described as being almost an accomplished fact, with Robert Dobbyn, William Pope and Patrick Harney planning to travel to London to select an engine, passenger carriage and trucks after trials.

The proposed passenger saloon was to be covered and capable of carrying about 26 people. More importantly for the fishing community, the engine would also be able to haul around four tons of goods. With three journeys planned each day, the correspondent calculated that as much as 12 tons of fish or other produce could be carried from Dunmore to Waterford daily.

There was clearly considerable enthusiasm for the venture. William Pope was singled out for particular praise for bringing the scheme forward, with Patrick Harney and Robert Dobbyn also credited for their efforts. The correspondent was far less complimentary about whoever had previously attempted to organise the project, bluntly declaring that the earlier effort had been “a complete bungle”.

The need for improved transport was painfully obvious. The newspaper reported that tons of fish had been thrown back into the sea because there were no immediate buyers and no suitable means of getting the catch quickly to market.

That problem appeared again in October, when enormous quantities of herring were being landed. Prices began at four shillings a mease but later dropped to two shillings and sixpence. In one instance, twenty mease were reportedly offered for just £1.

This led the correspondent to renew calls for a fish-curing factory in Dunmore East. Such a business, it was argued, would benefit fishermen, local residents and consumers while providing a profitable opportunity for anyone prepared to take it on.

Apparently, the idea was not new. Some years earlier a Mr Kent had attempted to obtain a small portion of the pier on which to build a curing house, but the Government, which owned the pier and adjoining land, refused to make the site available.

There had also been opposition from some of Dunmore’s better-off residents. The correspondent was plainly unimpressed, referring sarcastically to the village’s “monied aristocrats”, who had apparently threatened to leave Dunmore if anything as objectionable as a fish-curing factory was established.

Their opposition was described as selfish, and the writer suggested that it had helped defeat Mr Kent’s scheme. By 1898, however, there was hope that a renewed attempt on a suitable site might meet with less resistance.

A SUDDEN DEATH AT SEA

Not all the local news was light-hearted. A particularly sad report concerned James Egan, a fisherman aboard The Favourite from Arklow.

Egan had apparently been in his usual health and was working normally, hauling nets and removing fish, when he suddenly complained of severe pains in his stomach. Within moments he collapsed and died.

A doctor and clergyman quickly arrived, but nothing could be done. The report noted that Egan was a widower and left seven young children. His remains were buried at Killea the following day.

GETTING TO WATERFORD

While the proposed motor railway was still being planned, Patrick Harney was already providing a useful link with Waterford.

The newspaper praised his enterprise in operating a daily waggonette service between Dunmore and Waterford. The fare was one shilling, which the correspondent considered very reasonable for a journey of more than eleven miles.

Transport clearly mattered greatly to a village whose fishing industry, visitors and businesses all depended on reliable connections with Waterford City.

COAL SHORTAGES

Dunmore was also affected by events much further afield.

Coal had become difficult to obtain because of a strike in South Wales, causing considerable inconvenience in the village. The eventual arrival of a coal vessel was therefore greeted with delight.

The price, however, was less welcome. Coal was selling for thirteen pence per hundredweight, prompting the correspondent to remark that the cost was “a bit dusty”.

A BUSY SUMMER AT THE HOTEL

Tourism was already an important part of life in Dunmore East.

The newspaper reported that Mrs Shipsey had enjoyed a very successful season at the Hotel, with her “charming and comfortable house” full of visitors up to the end of August.

As ever in an Irish seaside resort, the weather had the final say. A few rainy days were enough to cause what the correspondent described dramatically as an “exodus” of holidaymakers.

THE BATTLE OF COUNCILLORS’ COVE

Perhaps the most entertaining item concerned bathing rights at Councillors’ Cove.

There was apparently some disagreement between male and female bathers over who should have use of the cove during the morning. The correspondent was firmly on the side of the men, accusing some “unreasonable ladies” of complaining because gentlemen continued their long-established custom of bathing there early in the day.

The men, it was claimed, had been using the cove in this fashion for thirty years.

As the cove was considered a particularly safe place for non-swimmers, the writer proposed a simple arrangement: after ten o’clock the ladies should have their chance, but before then the men should defend their traditional bathing hour.

The item concluded with the wonderfully Victorian exhortation:

“Man hold thine own.”

Another report noted that more than a dozen gentlemen continued to bathe every morning despite north-easterly winds and a distinct lack of sunshine. The hardy sea-swimming tradition of Dunmore East was evidently already well established.

THE SHOW COMES TO TOWN

Travelling entertainers were also doing good business in the village.

The “show people” had been in Dunmore for several weeks with swing boats, roulette and ball-throwing games, and appeared to be making plenty of money.

Not everyone was impressed.

The correspondent overheard one elderly woman complaining:

“The divil hoist them, they have all the money in the village.”

A NEW LIGHT ON TWO WHEELS

Modern technology also made an appearance when George A. Clampett demonstrated a new gaslight fitted to his bicycle.

The device caused considerable local interest and was described as producing a “beautiful light”. The correspondent thought the same system could be useful for churches and halls in country districts.

Clampett had the apparatus fitted by Messrs Peare and Meredith, and the lamp was said to provide light for as long as 17 hours on a bicycle.

At a time when bicycles themselves represented modern mobility, a reliable gas lamp would have been an impressive novelty.

FARMERS BUYING THEIR HOLDINGS

Important changes were also taking place in the countryside around Dunmore.

Nearly all the agricultural tenants on the extensive lands belonging to Lord Waterford, particularly on the northern side of Dunmore, were reported to have purchased their holdings.

The terms were described as being roughly equivalent to an eighteen-year’ purchase. Another eight or nine tenants who had not yet bought their farms under the Land Act were negotiating with the estate agents and were expected to follow.

Behind what appears to be a fairly modest local news item was one of the major transformations taking place in rural Ireland at the time, the gradual transfer of land from large estates into the ownership of the tenant farmers who worked it.

THE PATTERN AT CLOHERNAGH

The traditional Pattern at Clohernagh attracted what the newspaper described as a “mighty multitude”, with people travelling from all around the district and even from Waterford City to enjoy the occasion.

The local public house did exceptionally good business.

According to the report, ten barrels of Kiely’s, together with several hundred dozen bottles of stout, were consumed during the festivities.

Unsurprisingly, there were a few fights.

The correspondent, however, seemed almost disappointed to report that there was “nothing very serious”.

HARVEST THANKSGIVING

The Church of Ireland in Dunmore was beautifully decorated for its Harvest Thanksgiving service.

The preacher was the Rev. Mr Martin, Rector of Duncannon, whose sermon greatly impressed the correspondent. He was described as one of the most able preachers heard locally for a long time.

Taken together, these Munster Express reports from August and October 1898 provide a varied snapshot of Dunmore East more than 125 years ago.

The village was already balancing two different identities. It was a working fishing port, where the lack of transport or a sudden collapse in fish prices could mean an entire catch being lost, but it was also a growing seaside resort filled with summer visitors, bathing parties, travelling amusements and hotels.

There were arguments over development, complaints about prices, excitement over new technology and debates over who was entitled to swim where and when. Fishermen worried about getting their catch to market while farmers were becoming owners of the land they had previously rented.

And threaded through it all is the unmistakable personality of the Munster Express correspondent, observant, opinionated, occasionally sarcastic and clearly never afraid to tell the people of Dunmore East exactly what he thought of them.

More than a century later, it’s that mixture of major events and tiny everyday details that makes these old “Dunmore Notes” such an enjoyable record of village life in 1898. 

When visitors came to Dunmore East in 1910, this was the view that greeted them — a peaceful seaside scene, with the sea rolling in. Over a century later, little has changed. A few extra houses have appeared here and there, and the odd car now rests where once people parked carts, but the character of the Lower Village remains remarkably the same.

In the photograph, thin trails of smoke rise from the chimneys of the houses on the terrace, suggesting it was taken in autumn. Coal was plentiful then — and it certainly didn’t cost a euro a lump — so no one thought twice about lighting the fire. Driftwood and fallen branches from the nearby woods added to the fuel, keeping hearths warm through the shortening evenings.

Fish, too, were in abundance, and for many families that meant they could heat and eat without having to rob a bank. It has to be said that people had it good in 1910.

Photo 33 - The Hill Area Of Dunmore East

Dunmore in the Late 1890’s

"This photograph captures Dunmore as it looked in the late 19th century. Grove Cottages were still standing where the entrance to the woods is located today. Sheep grazed peacefully in the field now occupied by the Light of Christ School. On Ladies Cove, wooden changing booths—erected by nuns to preserve modesty—can be seen. The Villa Marina, a relatively new building at the time, overlooked the scene, while St. Andrew’s steeple stretched skyward. Cookaloo Hill, just as steep then as it is now, slopes into the distance. The sky is a vivid blue, the sea a shimmering green, and the park’s freshly trimmed grass lends an air of meticulous care.

 The entire scene exudes tranquillity and charm. Yet beneath this idyllic surface, life in Dunmore was not always so serene, as evidenced by two minor cases from the Callaghane Petty Sessions, held in the late 1890’s."

Court Report: Waterford Jarvey Charged with Furious Driving

The usual monthly Petty Sessions were held on the 3rd of November, 1896, in the Callaghane courthouse. The presiding justices were Sir Robert J Paul, Barrister, V L; Hon Dudley Fortescue, D L; W Orr, Esq, R M; Capt Coghlan, and O P Bolton, Esq.

One of the cases brought before the court involved John Ganey, a Waterford jarvey and car owner, who was summoned by Sergeant Ryan on the charge of furiously driving a horse in Dunmore East on the 10th of September. Mr P A Murphy, solicitor of Waterford, appeared for the defendant.

Mr Fortescue inquired why the case had not been heard earlier. Sergeant Ryan explained that it had been called on the previous court day, but the defendant had requested and been granted an adjournment.

Sergeant Ryan testified that on the evening of the 10th of September, around nine o'clock, he was on duty in Dunmore East when the defendant drove past him at a furious speed. It was dark at the time, and as the defendant passed, one of the car's shafts nearly struck the sergeant on the side. When questioned about his reckless driving, the defendant replied that he had sailors on his car who had promised him an extra fare if they reached Dunmore before ten o'clock.

Mr Fortescue pressed the sergeant on the defendant's motives, suggesting that there could be no urgent need to catch a boat or train at that late hour in Dunmore East, which elicited laughter from the court. The sergeant clarified that he understood the defendant to mean that if he delivered the sailors before the public houses closed, he would receive the extra fare, prompting him to gallop the horse at full speed.

Under questioning by Sir Robert Paul, the sergeant confirmed that it was very dark when the defendant drove past him and that the car's shaft had grazed his overcoat, nearly striking him. Constable Joseph Brown corroborated the sergeant's account, adding that he had been at Shipsey's Hotel door when the defendant arrived and had barely avoided being struck due to the reckless speed. The constable also testified that the defendant admitted to galloping the horse to reach the hotel before closing time and secure the extra fare.

Mr Bolton remarked that a prosecution for cruelty to animals would quickly negate any financial gain from such an extra fare in the event of a conviction.

During cross-examination by Mr Murphy, it was noted that the sergeant and constable were not the only people on Dunmore's streets that night, as many Arklow fishermen were also present. Mr Murphy, unable to examine the defendant directly, argued on his behalf that the journey from Waterford to Dunmore had taken two and a half hours, which the bench acknowledged as evidence against the possibility of furious driving.

Constable John Hoberoff of the Ferrybank police station testified to the defendant's good character, stating that he was one of the most respectable car drivers in Waterford. When questioned by Mr Orr, it was confirmed that the defendant had no prior charges for furious driving in the past year.

In conclusion, the bench imposed a fine of 2 shillings and 6 pence, plus costs, on the defendant.

“Another unusual case I came across is that of Constable Howard, a man known for making many arrests for drunkenness in the village, that was until one night when he went crazy himself.”

The Curious Case of Constable Howard

In the seemingly tranquil village of Dunmore East, an extraordinary incident involving Constable Howard—a police officer previously known for his diligence in arresting villagers for drunkenness—revealed a startling turn of events one fateful night. The case, which left the community unsettled, began on a Wednesday evening when Howard, stationed in Dunmore and serving as barrack orderly, exhibited behaviour suggesting a sudden mental breakdown.

That night, Howard’s fellow officers grew concerned when they realized he was missing and discovered his rifle was no longer in its designated stand. A search party was promptly dispatched, following the sound of his police whistle, which led them to The Grove Cottages, beside Stapleton and Harney’s shop. There, they found Howard in a highly agitated and disoriented state. Further investigation revealed that he had fired two rifle shots over his own residence and attempted to force his way into the neighbouring cottage of Mr. G. A. Clampett. The Clampett family, alarmed by the bullets whizzing past their home, were understandably distressed by the ordeal.

On Thursday morning, Dr. Stephenson examined Howard at the barracks and deemed his condition deeply troubling, describing it as alarming. The nature of his sudden insanity—whether temporary or otherwise—remained unclear, but the incident left an indelible mark on the village.

“Despite extensive research by myself, no further details relating to this case could be uncovered, save for one notable development: Constable Howard appears to have been transferred to Belfast shortly after the incident. These episodes show that even during the 1800's, in the quietest of seaside villages, beneath the veneer of serenity, unexpected and unsettling events were known to unfold.”

With little or no other traffic to contend with on the roads in 1927, the local bus could comfortably pull up outside the Post Office in Dunmore East, even if, by today’s standards, it appears to be parked on the “wrong” side of the road.

A sizeable group has gathered for the journey, and judging by the appearance of the men, all turned out in their good suits and caps, a trip into town was still something of an occasion. There was none of the casual hopping on and off a bus that we would think nothing of today. A journey like this could mean shopping, business, an appointment, or perhaps simply a day out.

The passengers, however, seem to be in no great hurry. Neither is the driver. Rather than ushering everyone aboard, he appears to be carrying out a few last-minute checks on the bus. In those days, that was probably no bad idea. Mechanical reliability was not quite what we have come to expect, and a careful look over the vehicle before setting off may have saved everyone from an unscheduled stop somewhere along the road to Waterford.

The bus is believed to have belonged to Joe Murphy, who operated a local service at the time.

This colourised photo of the Lower Village was taken in the 1890s. The centrepiece of the picture is the Charles Galgey Inn, an establishment that had been a second home to weary travellers and thirsty sailors for many generations.

Charles Galgey, a spirited entrepreneur who also owned premises at 131 The Quay in Waterford, took over the Packet Hotel in 1882 and soon put his own stamp on the place. With a keen eye for hospitality and a knack for business, he quickly earned a reputation as a gracious host and shrewd businessman. His name proudly adorned the front of the inn, marking the beginning of a legacy that would endure for 29 years.

Under Charles’s stewardship, the inn flourished, becoming a well-known fixture in the bustling fishing village. From fishermen swapping tales of the sea to locals seeking a little respite from the daily grind, the Charles Galgey Inn welcomed all who crossed its threshold with warmth and conviviality.

However, amidst the tales of hospitality and village life, one curious incident stands out in the story of Galgey’s time there. Charles found himself in trouble with the authorities after a leaking tank in the water closet resulted in the loss of a staggering 150,000 gallons of water. For the offence, he was fined the princely sum of half a crown.

The matter did little to damage Charles Galgey’s reputation, however, and was soon quite literally water under the bridge. His commitment to the village and dedication to his business continued until his untimely death in 1894. Following his passing, Catherine Galgey took over the running of the inn and continued the family name there.

For another 17 years, Catherine presided over the establishment, maintaining the Galgey tradition of hospitality. I’m not sure whether she was Charles’s wife, sister or daughter, but she appears to have been a formidable woman in her own right. She was once before the courts herself for causing an obstruction on the footpath while selling fish. Her tenure at the inn, however, was marked by hospitality of the highest order, as she welcomed guests from near and far.

In 1911, the Charles Galgey Inn passed into new hands when J. J. Breen took over, beginning another chapter in the building’s long history.

“The house in which I was born, 50 years later, can also be seen in the photo. It was the third black door on the left-hand side of the white house.”