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. 

𝐈𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨,
𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬.

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.

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲,
𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰.

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.