𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐑𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝟏𝟗𝟑𝟎, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟.

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟖𝟖𝟎'𝐬. 𝐈𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐮𝐧𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲. 𝐌𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐞𝐲 𝐈𝐧𝐧, 𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲. 

𝐀 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟗𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐲.

 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".

𝐀𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐫 '𝐆𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐲', 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝟏𝟗𝟑𝟎.

𝐀 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐜𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝟏𝟗𝟏𝟎.

𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐜𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐨 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝟏𝟗𝟏𝟎. 𝐈𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐥𝐞'𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐡.

Men and women barrelling herrings on what looks like a very slippery quayside.

𝐀 𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐲, 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚 𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭.

𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐢𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞'𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐨.

𝐀 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚, 𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐂.𝐄. 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡. 

A picture of the harbour before diesel became a thing. It's hard to believe that people ever thought that wind could be used as a power source.

The only remaining castle in Dunmore, apparently there are plans afoot to knock this historical building and replace it with a dry robe rental emporium.

A photo taken in the days before Dunmore became a metropolis with a massive roundabout.

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 for weary travellers and thirsty sailors for many generations.

Charles Galgey, a spirited entrepreneur who also owned a premises at 131 the Quay in Waterford, seized the reins of the Packet Hotel in 1882 and imbued it with his own indomitable spirit. With a keen eye for hospitality and a knack for business, he swiftly earned a reputation as a gracious host and shrewd businessman. His name proudly adorned the inn's entrance, marking the beginning of a legacy that would endure for 29 years.

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

However, amidst the tales of triumph and revelry, a curious incident stands out in the annals of Galgey's legacy. The story goes that that Charles, in his exuberance and dedication to running his business, inadvertently wasted a staggering 150,000 gallons of water due to a leaky tank in the water closet. For this seemingly innocuous misdemeanour, he faced the stern judgment of the authorities and was duly fined the sum of half a crown.

Yet, this minor transgression did little to dim the lustre of Charles Galgey's reputation and it was soon all water under the bridge. His commitment to the village and dedication to his craft remained unwavering until his untimely passing in 1894. In the wake of his departure, Catherine Galgey assumed the mantle of leadership, steering the inn through turbulent waters with grace and determination.

For another 17 years, Catherine Galgey presided over the inn, upholding the legacy of Charles Galgey with unwavering devotion. I’m not sure if she was Charles’ wife, sister or daughter, but a formidable woman by all accounts. She was once before the courts herself for causing an obstruction on the footpath while selling fish. Her tenure in the inn however was marked by hospitality of the highest order, as she welcomed guests from near and far with open arms and a warm smile.

In 1911, the reins of the Charles Galgey Inn passed into new hands as J.J. Breen assumed ownership, ushering in a new chapter in the inn's storied history. 

“The house in which I was born, 65 years later, can also be seen in the photo, it was the third black door on the left hand side of the white house.”

The account above is based on old newspaper reports interpreted by myself and might not be entirely accurate.

I’d imagine that this photograph dates from the 1930's. At the forefront of the image stands the central figure of the milkman, his sturdy cart drawn by a patient donkey, laden with a metal milk churn. He is the embodiment of reliability, a fixture of the community, faithfully delivering his goods door to door. Yet, as routine as his task may seem, there's an element of unpredictability lurking in the background – a large dog, its keen eyes fixed on the milkman's posterior, perhaps contemplating an opportunistic nip.

As the milkman makes his rounds, a group of villagers engage in idle chatter, their discussions ranging from the mundane to the speculative. Three men, their faces weathered by years of toil and wisdom gained, debate the future of transportation in Dunmore. Will the motorcars, a novelty of the cities, ever find their way to this sleepy fishing village? It's a topic of intrigue, sparking both curiosity and scepticism among the locals.

Amidst the conversations and comings-and-goings, the essence of rural life is palpable. Smoke curls lazily from the chimney of the nearest cottage, signalling the comforting warmth of a hearth within. In an age before environmental regulations, the scent of burning peat, coal or wood permeates the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the surrounding farmland.

And speaking of the land, even the by-products of the animals are attended to with care. Along the edge of the footpath, horse and donkey dung is neatly swept into a tidy pile, proof of the diligence and pride of the villagers in maintaining the cleanliness of their streets.

In this snapshot of a simpler time, life unfolds at a gentle pace, punctuated by the rhythm of daily rituals and the interaction of community. It's a scene that evokes nostalgia for a way of life that has long since faded into memory, yet still retains its charm and allure in the sepia tones of old photographs.

This photograph, estimated to be from around the year 1900 or thereabouts, features the quaint establishment of Stapleton & Harneys, a shop and bakery. 

Notably, above the entrance, a curious girl is depicted peering out from behind a delicate lace curtain, having caught sight of the photographer. It's intriguing to imagine her reaction, considering that witnessing a camera in operation during those times would have been a remarkable novelty. One can't help but ponder what she might have made of the filming process for cinematic gems like 'Echoes' or the celebrated masterpiece 'Redwater'. Fortunately, she was spared such modern marvels, left to preserve her innocence in a less creative era.

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.

This 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.”

In this vintage photograph, a charming scene unfolds as a cluster of young girls, accompanied by either their mother or perhaps a diligent governess, embark on an outing to Stoney Cove. Against the backdrop of the cliff and harbour, they immerse themselves in the delightful game of 'Count the Stones', a popular diversion of the era. Each girl eagerly participates by jotting down her estimate of the number of stones strewn across the sandy expanse. These estimations are then carefully collected and entrusted to their guardian. Once all the stones have been meticulously tallied, the girl whose guess comes closest to the actual count is rewarded with a coveted penny prize, while the others receive consolation in the form of 'Gobstoppers'. Such quaint traditions epitomize the simple pleasures that filled the leisurely days of Dunmore in the long gone days of the 1890s.

This colorized photograph, taken in the 1880s, offers a splendid view of the park. The grass has recently been cut, and stacks of hay are visible, piled high. It's conceivable that this cutting was done in anticipation of the annual sports day or perhaps a cricket match. Additionally, it's plausible that prior to the existence of a tennis court, the park served as an early garage forecourt, a stop where donkeys and horses could refuel, feasting on hay before resuming their journey.

Beneath the precariously constructed houses of Laweesh, a lonesome boatman can be observed rowing out to sea, possibly in preparation for the summer regatta. The rhythmic sound of his oars striking the water resonates across the bay. In the harbour, several fishing boats are anchored, awaiting the construction of the South and East Coast Fisherman’s Co-op, so as they can get the best price for their fish.

During those leisurely days, time passed slowly, and the village inhabitants were unconcerned with step counts, as walking was the primary mode of transportation. They strolled throughout the day, retiring for a restful night's sleep when fatigue set in. The worries of the world were distant, with foreign news limited to the occurrences of Waterford City.

This colorized photograph from the 1890s displays the charm of the harbour houses in Dunmore East during the 19th century. Apart from a few planks of wood outside Burke's shop, everything is in its proper place, reflecting the great pride villagers took in their picturesque village at the time.

This picture appears to be an aerial shot, possibly taken from a hot air balloon. Alternatively, it is well documented that in the early years of the last century, people had begun training crows to fly with a camera attached to their legs, using a piece of string to activate the shutter. These trained crows were often referred to as crones. However, regardless of the method used, the result is a great photograph.

Although I’m not entirely sure, I strongly suspect that this photo was taken during the 'Dunmore Witch Trials' of 1910. At the time, it was believed that if a person couldn't run up the steps from Stoney Cove in sixty seconds without getting out of breath, they must be a witch. Those who failed the test had to wear oversized white hats and march through the village while villagers shouted "Witch" at them, in loud aggressive voices. They then had to collect their brooms from the Bay Hotel and sweep the streets, picking up any discarded papers and other street debris as they swept. It was more like an early Tidy Towns initiative than the witch trials held in other countries. But litter was becoming a problem in Dunmore at the time, and this was an Irish solution to an Irish problem.

This colourised photograph of Dunmore's pier, taken around 1910, captures a pivotal moment in the village’s history. By then, the arrival of the Iron Horse had transformed travel in Dunmore. Passengers stepping off an incoming Steamer could walk straight to the lighthouse and board a train bound for Waterford, or even continue their journey to Carrick on Suir, if they so wished. It was an early taste of convenience, much like today's bus service, but with one notable difference—back then, timetables were clearly posted throughout the village, making it easy for locals and visitors alike to navigate. In many ways, the modern world still has a bit of catching up to do when compared to the thoughtful organization of the past.

In this colourised photo of the harbour from the mid-1930s, a sense of quiet fills the scene, with little sign of the bustling dock it would later become. The simplicity of the time is reflected by the apparent lone car in the village. Remarkably, even with so much space, the driver still managed to park it on a corner—an enduring Dunmore tradition, it seems. This timeless quirk has carried on through the decades, as anyone familiar with Dunmore today would agree, where parking on corners, or anywhere the driver fancies, still seems to be a thing. The harbour itself, framed by modest buildings and quiet waters, looks almost frozen in time, a far cry from the livelier scenes one would witness on the quay of today.