Harbour Life - Page Two

"This is the Pilot Boat, Betty Breen, before her launch in 1952. The picture comes from the Maritime Magazine and Import and Export Gazette, published in the Spring of 1952. Thank you to David Carroll for making this available. The piece below is from the magazine article."

A NEW PILOT BOAT FOR WATERFORD

THE BETTY BREEN

From John Tyrrell & Sons’ Yards.

At the yard of John Tyrrell and Sons, of Arklow, a new pilot boat was recently completed to the order of the Waterford Harbour Commissioners. “Betty Breen” as she is named, is 50 ft. in length overall, with a beam of 14 ft., a draught of 6 ft. and a displacement of 33 tons. It will be noted that she has the distinctive Tyrrell stem.

The boat is planked in larch on grown oak frames, with Oregon pine decks. The wheelhouse, companionways, skylights and hatches are of teak, and mahogany has been largely used in the accommodation.

The engine installation consists of a pair of 3LW Gardner Diesel engines, rated at 36 h.p. each at 1,200 r.p.m. They are equipped with 2-1 reduction gears and drive three-bladed propellers of 26 ins. diameter. The stern gear and propellers are of Bruntons manufacture.

Hydraulic remote control to the engines is arranged in the wheelhouse, where there is a full set of gauges and tachometers. Duplicate oil and water gauges are provided in the engine room. The engines are fitted with electric and hand starting equipment.

A Giljector pump, driven by the port engine is employed for pumping the bilges and for deck washing. The fuel capacity is 300 gallons, and 50 gallons of lubricating oil are carried.

Electric lighting is provided throughout the boat and there is a set of oil lamps for emergency use.

On trial, a mean speed of 9 knots was attained. The vessel was run satisfactorily for 6 hours at full speed and manoeuvring was found to be very satisfactory.

On completion, the boat was named by Miss Betty Breen, daughter of the chairman of Waterford Harbour Commissioners. The vessel made the passage from Arklow to Dunmore East, where she is based, in 8 hours, under very unfavourable weather conditions with a strong southerly wind and heavy sea.

Here is the Betty Breen being trialled in the Irish Sea before setting off for Dunmore East, her new home. She was always thought to be one of the best looking boats in the dock.

This is the pilot boat Betty Breen, moored in the dock at Dunmore in the early 1960s. She was launched from Tyrrell’s boatyard in Arklow in October 1951 and came straight to Dunmore, where she remained on duty until 1993, becoming a familiar and reassuring sight in the harbour for more than forty years.

Named after Betty Breen, daughter of Martin S. Breen, chairman of the Harbour Board at the time, she represented a new chapter for pilotage in Waterford Harbour. With her arrival, the use of the pilot station at Passage was discontinued and the pilots began making the complete journey from Dunmore to Waterford with every ship.

Tucker Burke recalls: "I was coxswain of the Betty Breen for 20 years, she was a great weather boat." 

Over the decades she worked in all kinds of weather, day and night, carrying generations of pilots safely to and from the vessels under their care. For many locally, the steady presence of the Betty Breen at her moorings or heading out past the breakwater was part of the rhythm of daily life, as much a feature of the harbour as the lighthouse or the cliffs themselves.

"The following is based on a passage from David Carroll's book, Dauntless Courage. Thanks to David for the original photo as well."

Fanny Harriet: A Lifeboat and a Moment in Time:

Some lifeboats serve quietly for decades, their names fading gently into station records and annual returns. Others, by circumstance rather than design, are bound forever to a single moment — a few days when the sea demanded everything, and ordinary men answered without hesitation. The lifeboat Fanny Harriet, stationed at Dunmore East in the early years of the twentieth century, belongs firmly to the latter.

When she arrived in Dunmore East on 21 September 1911, Fanny Harriet was a modern boat by the standards of her time. Built by the Thames Ironworks Company, she was a self-righting vessel, thirty-seven feet in length with a beam of nine feet three inches, fitted with water ballast tanks and drop-keels to steady her in heavy seas. She replaced the Henry Dodd, which had served the station since 1884, and her arrival was part of the steady evolution of lifeboat provision along the Irish coast rather than a local event of any great ceremony.

Her name came not from the sea, nor from Dunmore East, but from Bath in England. Miss F. H. Roe, whose bequest funded the provision of a lifeboat, requested that it bear the name Fanny Harriet. It was an act of quiet philanthropy, one of many that sustained the Royal National Lifeboat Institution at the time. By 1911, the RNLI managed 283 lifeboats, thirty-five of them stationed along the Irish coast, where they were already rendering invaluable service in saving life from shipwreck.

For the men of Dunmore East, however, Fanny Harriet was not a symbol or a statistic. She was a working boat, crewed by neighbours, relatives and friends — men whose lives were shaped by tide, weather and seasonal labour. Her reported cost of £1,107 placed her among the more substantial investments of the Institution, but her true value would only become clear under conditions no one would have wished for.

In fact, Fanny Harriet would be stationed at Dunmore East for less than three years and would be launched on active service only once. Yet that single service, carried out in February 1914, would ensure that her name lived on not only in RNLI annals, but in the memory of coastal communities far beyond Waterford.

The story begins on Friday, 20 February 1914, when the Norwegian schooner Mexico ran into trouble in Bannow Bay, off the Wexford coast. The Mexico was a three-masted, steel-hulled vessel, bound for Liverpool from Laguna in Mexico, carrying a crew of ten. Caught in a fierce gale, she was driven ashore on the Keeragh Islands, a mile off the coast — a remote, exposed reef where even in calm weather landing was hazardous.

News of the grounding reached the lifeboat station at Fethard-on-Sea, and within a short time the lifeboat Helen Blake was launched. What followed remains one of the most tragic episodes in Irish maritime rescue history. As Helen Blake neared the stricken schooner, she was struck by a heavy and unexpected sea which filled her completely. Driven ashore, she struck the rocks and broke apart. Of the fourteen men aboard, nine were swept to their deaths. Five survived with great difficulty, reaching the South Keeragh Island, while one other was hauled aboard the Mexico itself.

Lines were eventually secured between the schooner and the rocks, allowing the surviving sailors and one lifeboatman to reach a place of relative safety. But safety was a fragile concept. For three days, the survivors remained exposed to freezing cold, sleet, hail and rain, clinging to the rocks as the storm continued unabated.

As news of the disaster spread, lifeboats from neighbouring stations were called upon. From Dunmore East came Fanny Harriet; from Kilmore Quay, The Sisters; and from Wexford, James Stevens. A tug from Wexford also joined the effort. What followed was not a single dramatic rescue, but a prolonged ordeal marked by frustration, danger and persistence.

At nine o’clock on Saturday morning, word reached Dunmore East that assistance was required. Half an hour later, Fanny Harriet was launched under Coxswain Walter Power, with a crew of twelve men. By early afternoon she had reached the Keeragh Islands. Approaching cautiously, the crew backed into shallow water, but the wash on the shore was severe. It was impossible to communicate with the survivors, let alone attempt a landing. For three hours the lifeboat remained at anchor, her crew watching helplessly as waves broke against the rocks where men clung for their lives. Eventually, with nothing more that could safely be done, Fanny Harriet proceeded to Fethard, there to await another opportunity.

Two of the Mexico’s crew, Paulsen and Smith, attempted escape in the ship’s own lifeboat and were swept by the gale onto Cullenstown Strand, where they were hauled ashore in an exhausted condition. For the others, the wait continued.

As the seriousness of the situation became clear, the RNLI’s Chief Inspector of Lifeboats, Commander Thomas Holmes RN, was dispatched from London. He travelled through the night, arriving at Fethard on Sunday afternoon. Earlier that day, at four o’clock, Fanny Harriet again put to sea, this time with Commander Holmes on board. Conditions had moderated slightly, but not enough. Once again, the lifeboat was unable to reach the survivors and was forced to return.

It was only on Monday morning that a breakthrough came. An attempt was made to send an unmanned dinghy towards the island, but it was smashed by the sea. Eventually, a connection was made using a rocket and line. Two men from the Fethard crew, John Kelly and John McNamara, were hauled through the water by line and lifebuoy, a perilous passage that demanded enormous strength and resolve. The Dunmore East lifeboat Fanny Harriet succeeded in rescuing these two stranded lifeboatmen.

Tragically, not all survived the ordeal. Antonio Luis da Cunha, a twenty-two-year-old Portuguese sailor from the Mexico, died on the island from exposure before rescue could reach him.

Later that morning, the Wexford lifeboat returned, towed by the tug, bringing with it a strong punt. Two of the Wexford crew, William Duggan and James Wickham, volunteered to man it. Time and again, they worked the small craft close to the rocks, hauling men aboard and being pulled back to the lifeboat. During the second trip, the punt was stove in on the rocks. With remarkable ingenuity, the hole was stuffed with a loaf of bread and packing, and the rescue continued. In five trips, all remaining survivors — ten men in total — were brought safely off the rocks.

When the work was finally done, the tug took the lifeboats in tow. The five surviving Fethard men and Commander Holmes were landed at Fethard. Fanny Harriet rejoined the tug and was dropped back at Dunmore East, while the Wexford lifeboat continued to Waterford with seven of the Mexico’s crew. Thousands lined the quays to welcome them — a rare public moment in a service more often defined by anonymity.

Today, the name Fanny Harriet endures not because of the length of her service, but because of the weight of that one moment. She stands as a reminder that history is sometimes shaped not by years of activity, but by a few decisive days, and by men who answered the call because it was theirs to answer.

Crew of the Lifeboat Fanny Harriet

(as listed in the Return of Service for the rescue)

Walter Power (Coxswain)

William Power (Second Coxswain)

Patrick Power (Bowman)

Pat Brown

Michael Power

Thomas Power

William Bond

Philip Myler

Patrick Myler

George Cunningham

William Burke

Patrick Power

James Donovan 

There are some vessels that pass through a harbour and are forgotten as soon as their wash settles. Others linger in the mind, returning again and again, slow and inevitable, until they become part of the furniture of childhood itself. The dredger Sisyphus belonged firmly to the second category.

Built in 1905 and operated by the Office of Public Works, she was already an old lady by the time the children of the 1950s first began to measure their summers by her arrival. Yet age seemed only to suit her. She did not hurry. She came and went with a patience that suggested she had all the time in the world, which, to a boy looking down on the pier with a day to fill, felt about right.

You might hear her before you properly saw her: the steady clank and grind of machinery, the bucket ladder rising and falling with the solemn rhythm of work that could not be rushed. Then she would edge into view beyond the harbour mouth, practical, purposeful, utterly indifferent to whether anyone admired her or not.

But admire her we did.

To young eyes she was magnificent — not in the way of a liner or a naval vessel, but in the complicated, mechanical way that invited study. There were gears to puzzle over, wires and gantries, crewmen moving about with the quiet assurance of men who knew their business. She seemed less like a ship and more like a floating factory, intent on chewing up the seabed and spitting it somewhere else.

Older residents understood her importance better than the village children did. Dunmore East has always been a harbour that demanded attention. Left to itself, the sea would patiently rearrange things, nudging sand and silt back into the very channels that men had cleared. Without the dredger’s regular visits, boats would sit where they ought to float, and trade would falter. Sisyphus was, in her unglamorous way, a guardian of the place.

She made regular visits to Dunmore through the 1950s and well into the 1960s. There is even a sketch made in July 1960 showing her at work, which proves that memory has not embroidered the story too wildly. By 1969 she was still busy, deepening approaches for the newer harbour works, carrying on the same endless battle between engineering and tide.

Of course I rarely thought about silt or tonnage. What stayed with me was the scale of her, the noise, the sense of industry. A visit from the dredger meant something was happening. You might cycle down for a look in the morning and come back after tea to find she had shifted position like a grazing animal, methodically working her patch.

Even when she lay quiet, tied up between spells of labour, she held the eye. There was a dignity about her, a tired competence. She had done this yesterday, and would do it tomorrow, and had likely been doing it since before any of us were born.

In time she went the way of such vessels, as all working ships must. But mention her name today and watch what happens. Faces soften. Someone will recall the sound. Another will remember the crew. A third will be certain he can still picture the buckets rising, dripping, in the sun.

And for a moment, the old dredger steams back into the harbour once more, faithful as ever, ready to begin again.

Here we see a group of children playing on what was known as the Plot, which overlooked the harbour. It was taken during the summer holidays, possibly in the early to mid-1960s.

The photo features Dave, Geoff, Jane, Karen and Ivan Harris, along with their cousins, the Woodleys, who were visiting from England on holidays. Geoff also thought that some of the Davis children may be in the picture as well — Andrew, Nelson and Sarah.

The quay wasn't all about fishermen and yachtsmen, sometimes people with other talents went down on the pier too, possibly for inspiration. Here we see Pat Cooksey, Eamon Power and Gerry Power standing there, being inspired, during the early 1980s. Pat Cooksey was living in the village at the time, one of the many talented musicians to have passed through or settled in Dunmore over the years. It is quite possible that Gerry was the main attraction, as word of his legendary guitar playing would have travelled far beyond the harbour walls.

Pat Cooksey was also a gifted songwriter. One of his best-known songs, “The Reason I Left Mullingar,” has been recorded by many artists over the years. Pat wrote the song in 1980 for The Fureys, and it is dedicated to the thousands of Irish building workers who migrated to London during the mid-1970s in search of employment. The song perfectly captures the homesickness, uncertainty and emotional struggles faced by those who left their towns and families behind, hoping for a better future.

This photograph captures the harbour in Dunmore East as it appeared many years ago, possibly during the 1930s. The calm waters, moored boats, and surrounding landscape offer a quiet glimpse of the village at the time. The image has been restored from an old print, it may have originally been a postcard. While the exact date of the photograph is unknown to me, it remains a valuable visual record of the old harbour. 

"This is a colourised version of a photograph of the lifeboat Annie Blanche Smith, dating from the 1940s. She was involved in a callout on the night of 4 February 1942, which ended up in the High Court the following year in a case concerning salvage rights. The Munster Express of the 26th of February 1943 reported on the case:"

DUNMORE MEN’S ACTION:

CLAIM FOR £5,000 FOR SALVAGE SERVICES

Before Mr. Justice Overend in the High Court, Dublin, on Thursday, with Captain J. H. Webb sitting as a nautical assessor, Nicholas Madigan, Daniel Murphy, Patrick and Jeff Power, John Roche, Thomas McGrath and Richard Murphy, of Dunmore East, members of the crew of the Dunmore East lifeboat, brought an action against the owner of the steam trawler Gozo for £5,000 for salvage services rendered by them to the Gozo on February 4th and 5th of last year.

The plaintiffs stated that on the night of February 4th, owing to compass trouble, the trawler entered Tramore Bay and ran ashore on the rocks near the Rabbit Burrow. She was laden with fish. The Gozo sent out distress signals and, upon receiving the call, the lifeboat put out from Dunmore East.

On arrival, the plaintiffs found her in shallow water and, following a signal message, stood by all night. At 6 a.m. they went alongside and interviewed the skipper, who asked them to give assistance in getting the trawler off. They worked at her until the falling tide at 11 a.m., with a kedge anchor, a hawser attached to the Gozo’s steam winches, and at one stage a wire towing rope was attached to the lifeboat in an endeavour to get the trawler off the shore.

These operations did not succeed, and the lifeboat proceeded to Dunmore, having first placed a kedge anchor and wire in position for salvage operations at the next tide.

The plaintiffs further stated that in Dunmore instructions were received by telephone from the trawler’s owners to do everything necessary to save her. With that assurance, John McGrath returned to Tramore at 3 p.m. The Gozo was then firmly embedded in the sand, high and dry, and persons had rested bicycles against her. He and two others boarded her. He arranged for the trawler’s crew, assisted by some of the plaintiffs, to dig the sand away from her side and, before the tide rose, the sand was cleared from one side.

At 8 p.m. an attempt was made to drag the Gozo off the beach by means of the drifter Fast Britain, which the plaintiffs had hired for the occasion, the lifeboat, and the cable attached to his kedge anchor. At 10.15 p.m. these operations had made little or no headway. Then, as the result of an operation carried out by John McGrath on the Gozo, she slewed round and, having thus freed herself, the plaintiffs managed to tow her off the beach. The operations were carried out in darkness. The Gozo was then towed to Dunmore East harbour.

The defendants, in their defence, denied the allegations of the plaintiffs and pleaded that, if the lifeboat rendered any service, it was in the nature of life-saving service and was not a proper salvage service. They also pleaded that any services rendered by John McGrath were upon their (the defendants’) instructions and did not entitle him, or the other plaintiffs, to salvage rights for work and labour.

John McGrath, a member of the lifeboat crew, said that in his view the trawler went aground because of compass trouble and that when he went aboard her the captain asked him where exactly he was and whether they could give any assistance in getting her off.

Asked if sightseers came along the strand to see the trawler and rested their bicycles against her side, he said that he saw one bicycle leaning against the trawler the following day. He did not think the trawler could now be bought for £15000, considering that the earning power of trawlers was now about £2000 a week. 

Mr. Justice Overend made his award on Thursday. Nine of the crew are to share £540 out of £810, and the Fast Britain, which assisted with a tug, will receive £270. Costs were also allowed.

The original black-and-white version of this photo, dating from 1958, featured in the Barony of Gaultier Historical Society’s 2021 calendar. I obtained it from their Facebook page. The photo was taken by Patsy Power’s nephew, Tommy Harrison, who also developed and printed it. It was supplied to the BGHS by Kevin Power, Patsy’s son.

In the photo, from the left, are Tommy Mullally, R.I.P.; John Dunne; John Quilty, R.I.P.; and Patsy Power, R.I.P. They were working for the Board of Works at the time.

These men are, Jack Whittle, John Glody, Tommy McGrath and Mossie McGrath, photographed on the pier in Dunmore, probably during the 1940s.

This colourised photograph, dating from the 1930s, shows a ketch-type yacht and a pilot cutter off Dunmore East Pier, but it records neither the date nor the names of the vessels. Given how far offshore they are, it is quite likely that the photographer was unable to identify them.

One can only make an educated guess as to the identity of the two vessels. The ketch yacht appears to be over seventy feet in length. That would rule out Colleen, the 37.5 ft yacht of Richard Wall Morris of Villa Marina, which would still have been one of the larger local yachts of that time.

We are told that Sir Thomas Myles was a regular visitor to Dunmore East during this period. He was a keen yachtsman and owned several interesting and famous vessels during his lifetime. Was he the owner of the large yacht?

Sir Thomas Myles (1857–1937) was described as a larger-than-life surgeon in Edwardian Dublin. He received his knighthood in King Edward VII’s Coronation Honours List in 1902, and in 1910 he was appointed Honorary Surgeon to the King in Ireland. However, this did not prevent him from continuing to support the National movement. In 1914, he offered his motor yacht Chotah to the Irish Volunteers for the purpose of gun-running, having been greatly annoyed by Sir Edward Carson’s importation of arms into Larne for the Ulster Volunteers.

Myles was a good friend of Erskine Childers, another keen yachtsman. The plan was that Childers and Conor O’Brien would use their yachts, Asgard and Kelpie, to bring guns from Germany into Ireland, with Childers landing at Howth and O’Brien at Kilcoole, Co. Wicklow. However, because O’Brien was a well-known Nationalist and may have been under surveillance, the 600 guns carried by Kelpie towards Ireland were transferred, in the shelter behind St Tudwal’s Island off the coast of North Wales, onto Myles’s Chotah. This pillar of the establishment then brought them ashore at midnight on 1 August 1914 at Kilcoole, just days before Europe went to war and, ironically, before he was appointed Consulting Surgeon to the British Forces in Ireland with the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel in the Royal Army Medical Corps.

Chotah was a yacht based on the classic cutter-rigged Brixham trawler type. She was 60 ft long, fitted with an engine, and built by S. Dewdney & Sons of Brixham in 1891. After Chotah, Sir Thomas Myles bought a yacht called Faith, and later a magnificent yacht called Sheila, which had originally been commissioned by Queen Victoria as a birthday present for her son-in-law, Prince Henry of Battenberg. This beautiful yacht was driven onto the rocks off the Isle of Man in June 1933, and Sir Thomas was lucky to escape with his life.

The 1935 Lloyd’s Yacht Register records Sir Thomas as the owner of Harbinger, an auxiliary ketch described as “the finest of her class afloat”.

This was to be Sir Thomas’s last yacht. He was then seventy-eight years of age. When he died on 14 July 1937, his house in Leeson Park, Dublin, was valued at £2,050, while his yacht was estimated to be worth £2,725.

The pilot cutter is believed to be the Waterford Harbour Commissioners’ Elsie J, which was based at Dunmore East from c. 1932 until the early 1940s, when the Lily Doreen came on station. Very little is known about Elsie J, but it is quite likely that she had originally been built as a Brixham smack, one of the famous sailing trawlers that were often converted to other uses, including pilot cutters.

So, from the above, and assuming that Harbinger and Elsie J are indeed the two vessels photographed, which is by no means certain, the photograph was most likely taken during the summers of 1935 or 1936.

"Thank you to David Carroll for supplying the photograph and information for this post."

There’s something about the Dunmore East Regatta of 1962 that seems to stand a little taller than the rest. Perhaps it was the occasion of it—the centenary year—or maybe it was simply that the whole village, as it often did, rose to meet the moment.

One photograph from that summer captures it nicely. Two figures, fancifully dressed and clearly enjoying themselves, are thought to be Ken Buggy and his sister Min. They took part in the fancy dress boats and did rather well for themselves—second place in the best dressed category, and winners of the “Most Original Item” with their clever “Regatta 1862–1962” entry. 

The regatta itself, first held in 1862, had already been marked out as something special long before that day arrived. The Waterford News & Star, in its report of August 3rd, 1962, noted how the event had endured through “many difficulties and vicissitudes,” yet was carried forward year after year by the people of the village with what they called admirable courage and enterprise.

To mark that unbroken link over a hundred years, the newspaper presented a perpetual trophy for the principal event, the Enterprise Class Race, scheduled for 5 p.m. on regatta day. And the Enterprise class itself was something of a talking point. Only introduced four years earlier, it had already grown at an astonishing rate, with over 9,000 boats built. Recognisable by their blue Terylene sails, they were affordable, practical, and increasingly popular. In Ireland alone there were over 120, spread across some fifteen centres, and they had already drawn strong fleets from Belfast Lough, Strangford Lough, Dublin Bay, Cork Harbour, Baltimore, Fenit and Malahide at the Skerries championships.

There was also a strong sense of continuity in the organisation of the 1962 event. The committee, chaired by Mr. R. J. Farrell, carried deep family ties to the regatta’s earliest days. His father, Austin Farrell, had been one of its most active organisers. The same could be said for the families of Milo Galgey and Roger Shipsey, whose fathers and grandfathers had served before them. And then there was young Liam Murphy, just twenty years of age and a student in U.C.C., representing a fourth generation connection. His father, Dick Murphy, had been secretary for ten years, his grandfather John Murphy for twenty, and his great-grandfather Nicholas Murphy had been one of the original organisers back in 1862. Dunmore was that kind of place—nothing ever quite started or ended with one person.

The wider committee read like a roll call of the harbour and village: Dr. P. F. O’Sullivan, E. O. Blunden, A. Westcott-Pitt of the Lifeboat Committee, Harbour Master Capt. D. P. Carroll, William Lawlor (junr.), H. N. Nevins, S. Whittle, John Keating, Rev. M. Power, W. Westcott-Pitt, N. J. O’Connell, Rev. E. D. H. Slator, George Chapman, Capt. C. H. Hazell, and P. J. Dowley as treasurer.

The programme itself was as full as anyone could wish for. The day was to begin with speedboat and water-ski displays, followed by everything from model yacht racing and rowing to outboard motor races, pillow fights, swimming events, fancy dress boats, duck hunts, dinghy races and children’s junk races. The Waterford Harbour Sailing Club organised the keel boat races, while the St. Patrick’s Brass Band provided the soundtrack to it all. Prizes were presented in the Fisherman’s Hall, and the day finished, as it should, with a regatta dance to the music of the Arcadian Quartet.

For those coming from the city, there was even a special bus laid on—leaving the Clock Tower at 11 a.m., with continuous services in the afternoon and evening. Nothing was left to chance.

Well, almost nothing.

Because, as often happens in Ireland, the weather had its say. A cloudburst interrupted proceedings and about a quarter of the programme had to be postponed until August 19th. It was an inconvenience, but not enough to dampen the spirit of the thing.

The sailing, when it came, more than made up for it.

The Ballymacaw Cup race saw a fleet of fifteen boats take to a 5½ mile course—five Enterprises, three Herons, and seven other sailing boats. A strong south-westerly wind drove them out from the dock, sending them running before the wind towards the Councillors Strand Buoy, then on a broad reach past Laweesh Rocks, before turning into a hard beat back towards the Pier in two-foot waves.

At the start, R. de Courcey in Gay Imp took the lead, followed closely by D. Morris in Speedwell. But it was D. McBride in Whisper who made the decisive move, slipping through at the third mark after a neat gybe and holding the lead to the finish, winning by a clear fifteen lengths. N. Colfer also impressed, bringing his I.L.R.A. 14-footer home in fourth place ahead of two Enterprise dinghies.

On handicap, the honours went to Mrs. Pat Nugent in Crocus, followed by McBride in Whisper, and Col. Robin Gabbett in Widget.

Later, the Enterprise Trophy Race—run over the same course—drew a strong entry despite earlier postponements. Boats came not only from Dunmore but from Wexford and Cork. It was the first year Enterprises had raced in Waterford Harbour, and they justified their reputation—fast, light, and easy to handle, with their plywood construction making them ideal for local conditions.

Six of these boats were already based in Dunmore, most of them built, at least in part, by their owners over the previous winter. So successful were they that it was confidently predicted they would soon replace the older Dunmore Class and I.D.R.A. 14-footers.

The race itself drew a large crowd to the Pier, where spectators followed every move with the help of commentary from J. Farrell, J. Moir and N. Baker. The wind freshened, crews worked hard, but there were no capsizes.

R. Jephson, sailing Laweesh with D. Brazil, took the lead early and held it, eventually winning by 65 seconds. P. Corcoran of Wexford finished second in Cormorant, with de Courcey’s Gay Imp taking third.

There were moments of drama too. McBride’s Whisper, sailing strongly and challenging for second, was forced to retire after a collision with Gay Imp on a starboard tack—one of those incidents that sailors remember long after the race itself.

And then there was something new on the horizon—the “Gremlin” class. A small dinghy designed for beginners, inexpensive at around £25 to build and equip, and already attracting younger sailors who were racing twice weekly in Dunmore. It was seen, even then, as a sign that the future of sailing in the village was in safe hands.

Looking back now, the 1962 regatta feels like a meeting point of past and future. A hundred years of history behind it, and yet full of new ideas, new boats, and new generations stepping forward.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, Ken and Min Buggy in their costumes, smiling for the camera—reminding us that for all the racing and organisation, the regatta was, above everything else, about people enjoying themselves by the sea.

This colourised photo features three well-known Dunmore men: Bertie McNamara, Maurice Power, and Rocky Power, on board the Lydia Ann. The picture was originally uploaded by Claire Hogan, R.I.P., to the I Am Dunmore Facebook page. It was taken in Dungarvan Harbour, and Claire acquired it from her brother, Kevin Downes. The original photo used to be in the Maritime Museum at the Fort in Duncannon, but sadly the museum is now closed.

The original black and white version of this photo was uploaded by Maura Furlong Power to the I Am Dunmore Facebook page. It features Ned Power’s boat, the Undaunted, to which I think I have given the correct colour. The other boat is the Golden Quest, owned by Billy Butler Power. Thanks to Maura for uploading the original photo.

This photo dates from the early 1960s and shows a Dutch coaster being loaded with barrels of herring bound for the Continent. Two men of note, Mikey Dalton and Billy Hearne, “the Saint,” can be seen standing on the quayside. Billy is behind Mikey and has a cigarette in his mouth.

I’d say the two men to the right of Mikey Dalton are Micky Joe Robinson and Johnny O’Grady. Johnny has his back to the camera. I’m basing this on a previous photo of the same ship being loaded, most likely on the same day. This photo originated with Joe Teasdale and was sent to me by David Carroll.

The coaster Vechtborg had many names over her lifetime. She was built in 1961 by Apol at Appingedam as Vechtborg for N.V. Wagenborg’s Scheepvaart. In 1972, she became Esperance of D. P. Gueze, and in 1973 Noordster of K. B. Bos. She joined Derick Goubert in 1985 and became Mary Coast. In 1990, she was sold to Naviera Compasion de l’Eternal S. de R.L. of Honduras as Compasion de l’Eternal. In 1991, she moved to Argo Maritime of Belize as Key Biscayne, and in 1993 she joined Alavar Maritime, also of Belize, initially as Splash, though in 1995 she reverted to Key Biscayne. Later that year, she was sold to Inversiones Richell Inc. of Honduras as Richell Valeria, but was deleted from the register on 12 January 2012.

"Thanks to David Carroll for the photo."

This photo was once used as a postcard, showing a grand parade of sailboats in the harbour at Dunmore East, probably in the early 1950s. The message on the back reads as follows, although I could not make out the date:

“I have managed to get as far as here and am having wonderful weather. I am writing this while sunbathing on this lovely beach. But I have to return to Knock today. We may arrive back on Wednesday.”

The address appears to read: Miss Willard, Tunbridge Nursing Home, Tunbridge, Kent, England.

“When I posted the previous photo of this scene, I wasn’t aware of what was going on. David Carroll cleared up the mystery by sending me an online article published on the Afloat.ie website in 2021. The photo here differs from the postcard, with more boats tied up along the pier. The piece below is adapted from the Afloat.ie article, written by William M Nixon.”

Everything indicates that the photo here depicts an early IDRA Dinghy Week at Dunmore East, which would place it in either 1950 or 1955. The best guess is that it was taken in 1950, when Teddy Crosbie won the Helmsman’s Championship, racing in the hot new boats of the IDRA 14 class, which celebrated their 75th anniversary in 2021.

They spent that week in 1950 afloat on temporary moorings, something designer O’Brien Kennedy had been asked to make, as clubs such as Waterford Harbour SC at Dunmore East had very little in the way of dinghy parks or their own launching slips.

That said, WHSC were well up to speed with IDRA 14s and with their own class of National 18s, built to the Yachting World-sponsored Uffa Ace design of 1938. In the photo, there are a handful of them berthed at the quayside to the right.

But of course the eye-catching focus of the entire picture is Aylmer Hall’s 1929-vintage, Charles E. Nicholson-designed, Camper & Nicholsons-built 12 Metre, Flica, the Queen of Cork Harbour, where they still talk in hushed tones of the time she was dismasted during the Cobh People’s Regatta. It certainly was an awful lot of mast to come tumbling down, and equally it seemed unclimbable without assistance.

That made it a useful challenge. In Dunmore East in those days, the three McBride brothers from Waterford — Oweny, Davy and Denny — were inescapable features of the summer sailing scene, and Davy got himself aboard Flica, where he was soon delivering contentious opinions in the classic Davy style. So, to get themselves some peace, Flica’s ship’s company challenged him to climb the mast.

He did better than that. Instead of shimmying up the spar itself, he went up the forestay hand over hand, then scrambled up the last bit of the mast to the masthead itself. Then he came down the backstay hand over hand, and barely paused for breath before resuming telling the Corkmen why Dunmore East and its sailors were infinitely superior to anything Cork Harbour could hope to offer.

Alas, Davy McBride is no longer with us, and Flica is barely hanging on by a thread. It was around 2013 that she was found in a shed at Birdham Pool on Chichester Harbour, paralysed in a very stalled restoration project. Since then, she has more or less been evicted from Sussex, and was last heard of about a year ago, looking very sorry indeed in a field in Essex.

It would be a miracle if some philanthropist with bottomless pockets were to take her on for one of those zillion-euro 12 Metre restorations in which classic boatbuilders Robbe & Berking, on the Danish-German border, specialise. For our header photo reminds us of a simpler time when Irish sailing was more cohesive, all the boats were beautiful, Dinghy Week would see the cruiser fleets coming along to provide accommodation for the small-boat racers, and everyone knew everyone else.

This photo of the Golden Feather, owned by John Roche, was taken in Ballycotton in 1978. Joe Taylor was the skipper at the time with Billy Taylor, Ray Power and Brendan Glody as crew. Ray Power’s car can be seen parked on the quayside, having made the high speed journey from Dunmore.

"Thank you to John Archer for sending the photo on to me."

This colourised picture, taken on the quay in Dunmore, dates from the early 1950s.

The white motor launch that the group are looking at was called Intava, and it was owned by George Nolan, a well-known Waterford solicitor at the time. The name still survives in a legal firm in Waterford. The boat would have been converted from a Royal Navy steel-hulled coastal patrol vessel. These were sold off cheaply after the war, and George Nolan must have bought one. The wags in the local sailing circles christened it Tintava because of the steel hull. They would have looked down on any boat that wasn't made of wood.

The Lydia Ann, owned at the time by Ned Power, can also be seen in the picture, along with the Betty Breen down near the lighthouse. One of John Roche’s boats is tied up in his usual berth. John had a number of boats over the years, so I’m not sure which one this is.

The fishing boat behind the Lydia Ann is, I think, the Tulip, which belonged to the McGraths. Roddy Shipsey later bought it and it became the Girl Ita, named after his wife.

"Thank you to David Carroll for the photo and the information."

Photo 71 - Major Lloyd and His Wife Linda

"This photo shows Major Wilfred Lloyd and his wife, Linda, photographed on the quay outside the Harbour Master’s house. 

Major Lloyd was the Harbour Master in Dunmore before Capt. Carroll. The date of the photo is unknown, but if I were to guess, I would say it was taken in the late 1930s or early 1940s. 

On his retirement in 1947, the Munster Express looked back on his career. The following was published on Friday, 22 August 1947."

RETIREMENT OF MAJOR LLOYD

Interesting Career of Dunmore East Harbour Master

After twenty-seven years of conscientious and efficient service, Major Wilfred Lloyd has retired from the position of Harbour Master at Dunmore East. His impending departure from amongst them is keenly regretted by the residents of this quiet and picturesque Co. Waterford seaside resort, for while he lived and attended to his manifold duties there, Major Lloyd gained the esteem and admiration of the people of Dunmore to a degree rarely equalled by any man in a similar official position. He will leave Dunmore for County Wexford in the near future.

Prior to his appointment as Harbour Master at Dunmore East, Major Lloyd had an interesting and by no means unadventurous career. He went to America in 1905 and remained there for close on ten years, after which he joined the British forces almost immediately after the outbreak of the 1914–18 war and was attached to the Royal Naval Air Service, during which he saw active service. Prior to that, he served in the South African War with the Royal Irish Regiment and won distinction as a capable officer and gallant fighting man. He was demobilised in 1919, sometime after the termination of the First World War, with the substantive rank of Major, and it was subsequent to the severance of his connection with the forces that he was appointed to the responsible post of Harbour Master at Dunmore East.

From that time onwards, the Major took an especial interest in the affairs of Dunmore, which he endeavoured to advance and foster by every means in his power. As he often expressed it, he took an especial delight in tidying up the old harbour and keeping it in taut and trim condition. His hobby was aquatics and aquatic sport in general, and he built many fine racing punts in his spare time. These were entered with much subsequent success in the competitive events at the local regatta, year after year. He was an expert yachtsman and won many sailing races in his well-known Water Wag. He was also a fluent French speaker and sometimes acted as an interpreter for French fishermen in court when they were charged with illegal fishing. He was also known to do a little lobster fishing himself.

The people of the little town, who appreciated his many sterling qualities at their true worth, are unanimous in wishing him every happiness in his retirement.

Major Lloyd’s son, Lieut.-Commander Lloyd, R.N., was decorated with the D.S.C. for conspicuous gallantry during the last war.

We understand that Major Lloyd’s successor as Harbour Master at Dunmore will be Capt. Desmond Carroll, Dublin, who served with the Irish Mine-Laying Service during the military emergency in this country and who, in his official capacity, was often seen with his little ship, The Shark, at Passage East during that period.

"Thank you to David Carroll for sending me this photo, he acquired it from John Butler."

When Major Wilfred Lloyd came to Dunmore East in 1920 to take up the post of Harbour Master, his son Hardress Llewellyn Lloyd was only three years old. He had been born on 10 October 1917. That means Dunmore was not just somewhere he happened to live for a while, but the place that would have shaped his earliest memories. He would have grown up with the harbour before his eyes, with the tide forever coming and going, and with the business of the sea treated not as anything remarkable, but simply as part of the day’s work. The photo below was taken in 1927, when he was ten.

A child reared in that sort of setting would have had plenty to watch. There were boats arriving and departing, ropes and gear were everywhere, weather being discussed as seriously as politics, and men whose whole lives depended on judgement, timing, and nerve. His father’s position would have placed him close to it all. He was not looking at the harbour from a distance like a visitor eating an ice cream on a Sunday. He was growing up in the middle of a working maritime world, where everything had a purpose and the sea was respected because it had to be.

So when Hardress entered Dartmouth in 1931, it must have seemed a very fitting step. For a boy who had spent his childhood in Dunmore East under the shadow of the harbour office, the Royal Navy was hardly an outlandish direction to take. It feels more like the natural carrying on of something already begun. He went from Dartmouth to the training cruiser HMS Frobisher in 1935, then served on the cruiser HMS Delhi as a midshipman before Mediterranean service. By the outbreak of the Second World War, he had already reached the rank of Lieutenant.

The war found him in the dangerous service of Motor Torpedo Boats, small, fast vessels that left very little room for hesitation or error. He commanded MTB 6 in 1939, and later MTB 34 from 1940 to 1942. It was bold and exacting work, carried out in hostile waters and under constant risk. In 1942 he was Mentioned in Despatches, and later that year he received the Distinguished Service Cross for bravery in action off the Belgian coast. There is no great surprise in that, really. A man who had spent his earliest years in a place like Dunmore East may well have learned, before he knew it, that the sea favours calm heads.

His career continued to prosper after the war. He became Lieutenant-Commander in 1947, Commander in 1951, and Captain in 1956. He retired from the Royal Navy in 1966, and in the New Year Honours of 1967 he was appointed C.B.E. It was the conclusion of a long and distinguished naval life, and a very fine one too. Not bad for a small boy who had started out on the quay in Dunmore.

He was apparently known as “Harpy” Lloyd, and he died in 2001 at the age of 83. The official records give the dates and promotions, and they do that well enough, but the part that catches the imagination is the beginning. One can picture the child in Dunmore East, seeing the boats, hearing the talk, and absorbing without effort the habits of seafaring men. Villages like Dunmore have a way of sending people out into the world without ever making a fuss about it. They just rear them, and off they go, prepared for greatness.

"Thank you to David Carroll for providing this photo."

This colourised photo probably dates from the 1950s and likely taken in the summer time, as tents can be seen in the field under the woods, which probably meant the scouts were in the village. I wasn’t sure about the function of the two buildings in the foreground of the photo, so I asked David Carroll for information about them, he kindly got back to me with the following facts:

The building you are looking at in the photo was, in my childhood, known as the Shamrock Factory. The long shed to the right of it with the black curved roof was part of the “factory”. It was next to our back garden, and my father had a garage at the end of the laneway between the two buildings.

It was originally a kipper house. There were four of these as you came down from the Convent. That one was the largest and quite attractive, built with red bricks. There were two kipper houses on both sides of the road. To the best of my knowledge, these thrived around 1927, when there was great herring fishing. My guess is that they were not used after that for kippering, but were just left there and used for nets, gear, etc. They were all well-built, so they did not fall into dereliction.

The smaller house, nearer the Convent, had Martin Glanville, the lighthouse keeper, as caretaker. A basic fire brigade was stored in there — a cart with a few buckets, a ladder and hose pipes. I thankfully don’t remember it ever having to swing into action. I think Neddy Farrell might have had something to do with it.

McGraths owned one of the kipper houses on far side, under Shanoon. They revived kippering on a small scale in the 1950s, when the herrings returned. Coo Power seemed to own the other one.

Around 1952, a man came from Dublin called W. H. “Bill” Walsh, and he got the Shamrock Factory up and running in what had been the idle kipper house. It was a great boom to the village, and Bill Walsh became very popular, thanks to all the part-time jobs he offered for a few months each year. He was called “Shamrock Bill.”

Later, he set up the Kilkenny Design Centre, and the Ballintines took over the “factory”. They later built a new building at the back of the woods, near Cuckaloo. The old building was knocked during the harbour development, as were the other three kipper houses on the Dock. There was a fifth one near where Willie Rutter had the barber’s, on the edge of the cliff.

The building that Bill Walsh bought may have been owned by the OPW at the time. I think it might have been run by English or Scottish owners in its heyday. I reckon it was state of the art when it operated. However, I only ever knew it as the Shamrock Factory. You could enter the upstairs by an outside wooden stairs. I had a swing hanging out of it, made from an old rope and a bit of a fish box to sit on.

“Thanks to David Carroll for taking the time to compose the above piece."

This photo features members of the Dunmore East lifeboat RNLB St. Patrick crew, along with the crew of the trawler Wheal Geavor, which sank 19 miles south-east of the Hook Lighthouse. In the photo are: Patrick J. Glody; Sean Kearns, mechanic; Neil Whittle; Tom Power of the Wheal Geavor; Lifeboat Coxswain Stephen Whittle; Francis Aherne and John Murphy of the Wheal Geavor; and John Walsh, second coxswain.

The photo is taken from 'Lifeboats Ireland 1983', and was sent on to me by David Carroll. The piece below is based on the accompanying article.

On Monday, 12 October 1981, the Dunmore East lifeboat was called to one of those services that reminds us just how quickly a working day at sea can turn into a fight for survival.

At 10.35 that morning, Dunmore East Pilot Station informed the deputy launching authority that the trawler Wheal Geavor, with a crew of three aboard, was disabled and making water. She was reported to be 19 miles south-east of Hook Head and in urgent need of assistance. Maroons were fired, and before boarding, the lifeboat crew collected a portable salvage pump from the harbour. At 10.50, the 44ft Waveney lifeboat St Patrick slipped her moorings and set out under the command of Coxswain/Mechanic Stephen Whittle.

The weather was fair enough by lifeboat standards, but by no means calm. A fresh force 5 breeze was blowing from the north-west, with a moderate sea running. Once clear of the harbour, Coxswain Whittle headed towards the casualty at full speed, and with following seas the lifeboat made good progress.

By 11.20, the Irish naval patrol boat LE Aisling reported that she had put a boarding party aboard the trawler with a salvage pump and was passing a tow. The position of the casualty was then given as 21 miles off Hook Head. The St Patrick arrived on scene at 12.30, along with the small coastal tanker MV Banwell. The lifeboat was asked to stand by while Banwell placed a salvage pipe aboard the Wheal Geavor, while LE Aisling continued to tow the stricken vessel towards Waterford at about three knots.

At first, there must have been some hope that the trawler could be saved. At 12.40, Banwell came alongside the trawler’s port side and passed a suction hose aboard. But the attempts to pump her out were unsuccessful. By 1.05, the lifeboat crew could see that the vessel had settled noticeably in the water. St Patrick moved in close and the order was given to abandon ship.

Within minutes the situation became critical. By 1.12 it was clear that the Wheal Geavor was sinking and listing heavily to starboard. Six men managed to jump to safety aboard Banwell, but Cadet Foskin remained aboard the trawler to let go the tow. As the list increased rapidly, Coxswain Whittle made the decision to go in and rescue him without delay.

It was a dangerous manoeuvre. With the trawler’s mast and gallows leaning over and creating a serious hazard, the lifeboat crew stood ready on the foredeck. Coxswain Whittle brought St Patrick alongside the trawler’s starboard side and held her bow hard against the casualty. In that brief and perilous moment, Assistant Mechanic Sean Kearns and Crew Member Patrick Glody snatched the cadet from the well-deck and pulled him safely aboard.

Coxswain Whittle then drove the lifeboat full ahead, clearing the trawler just before she sank. At 1.15, St Patrick went alongside Banwell and took off the three fishermen. LE Aisling later sent a launch to collect her boarding party.

The St Patrick returned to Dunmore East at 3.10 that afternoon, landing the three survivors safely. By 4 o’clock she had been refuelled, remoored and was ready again for service — a small line in the official account, but one that says a great deal about the discipline and readiness of the lifeboat crew.

For their actions that day, framed letters of thanks signed by the Duke of Atholl, chairman of the Institution, were presented to Coxswain/Mechanic Stephen Whittle, Assistant Mechanic Sean Kearns and Crew Member Patrick Glody.

It was a fine example of courage, judgement and seamanship. The Wheal Geavor was lost, but thanks to the efforts of the Dunmore East lifeboat crew, her men were not.

“Thanks to David Carroll for forwarding the photo and article.”

John “Bulligan” Power was one of those men who seemed to know everything that had ever happened in Dunmore East, long before anyone thought of writing it down. If there was a dispute about some old happening, a boat, a family connection, or who lived where in years gone by, Bulligan was the man to ask. He had a memory like a living data centre, only handier and probably quicker to access. Long before people went rooting around on computers for answers, they simply asked Bulligan and got the facts there and then.

Here we see him taking a walk on the pier, with his hands in his pockets and his mind, no doubt, travelling in several directions at once. I’d say he wasn’t just looking at the harbour as it was on the day the photo was taken, but also seeing the older harbour laid over it in his head, with different boats, different faces, and different times. Men like him never really looked at a place in the same way as the rest of us. They could stand in the one spot and see fifty years at a glance.

I’d guess this photo dates from the late 1970s or early 1980s. It appears in the book, Dauntless Courage, by David Carroll and is credited there to Rita and Sharon Murnaghan. Thanks to David Carroll for sending it on to me. It is a good image of Bulligan as many would have remembered him: deep in thought, taking the measure of the pier, and carrying more of Dunmore’s history in his head than any library shelf could comfortably hold.

In February 1926, the C and S lifeboat at Dunmore East was called out for the first time, though as things turned out, the people of Stradbally and Ballyvooney had already done the hard work before she arrived. The cause of all the commotion was a Spanish steamer, the SS Cirilo Amorós, which had come ashore in the early hours of the 15th of February at Ballyvooney Cove, near Stradbally. She had been bound for Liverpool with a cargo that sounded far more cheerful than the night she met on the Waterford coast: fruit, wine, vegetables, tobacco, rice, almonds and other goods from Spain.

The Cirilo Amorós had not started life under that name at all. She was built in Scotland in 1893 as the Corso, a steel screw cargo steamer of about 1,107 tons and 230 feet in length. Later she was called Primero, and from 1917 she became Cirilo Amorós, sailing under Spanish ownership for the Compania Trasmediterranea of Valencia. By 1926 she was no longer a young vessel, but she was still doing the work for which she had been built, carrying cargo from port to port and trusting, as all ships must, to weather, engines, charts and luck.

On this voyage, luck seems to have been in short supply. She left Barcelona in late January, loaded at Castellon and Alicante, and then headed north for Liverpool. Bad weather had already forced her into Vigo on 10 February. From there she continued on, but off the south-east coast of Ireland she met the sort of combination no sailor wants: fog, wind, current and darkness. At about three o’clock in the morning, she struck the rocks at Ballyvooney Cove, close to the part of the cliff known locally as the Arch.

It must have been a terrible sight in the half-light. The ship was upright, her bow almost touching the cliff, firmly wedged between rock and shore. The sea had torn into her bottom and flooded compartments, and although the crew tried to deal with the situation, there was little they could do. A ship of that size, once caught in such a place, was not easily persuaded to leave it again.

The rescue is the part of the story that Ballyvooney could be proud of. Before dawn, Will O’Brien, heard the ship’s siren or distress signals and went down towards the cove. His son, not yet ten years old at the time, was sent to alert neighbours and gather help. One of the neighbours, Jack O’Keeffe made his way to Stradbally to notify the Gardai. There were no grand announcements, no phones in every pocket, and no one standing by waiting for instructions. People simply did what had to be done.

The captain of the steamer, Joaquin Herrera, indicated that launching a lifeboat from the ship would be too dangerous, as it would be smashed against the vessel’s side. Instead, a lifebuoy with a line attached was thrown from the ship. Will O’Brien waded out into the dangerous surf and retrieved it, no easy task on a shelving gravel bottom with a strong undertow pulling at him. A heavier cable was then hauled ashore and made fast to the cliff top. A breeches buoy was rigged, and one by one the Spanish sailors came across to safety.

By the time the Dunmore East lifeboat reached the wreck at about ten o’clock that morning, the crew had already been saved. The numbers vary slightly in different accounts, with about twenty-four, twenty-seven, or even thirty men mentioned, but the important number is clear enough: not one life was lost. The lifeboat had made her first call, only to find that the shore people had already beaten her to the rescue, which was probably a relief to everyone concerned, if not the most dramatic beginning for the new boat.

Once ashore, the Spanish sailors were taken into local houses and pubs. After such a night, they must have looked half frozen, exhausted and shaken, having been carried from a doomed ship to the cliff by rope and courage. But the human spirit is a curious thing. Before long, the story turns from fear and rescue to warmth, music and hospitality. Flagons of wine were opened, fruit and cigarettes were passed around, and the rescued men found themselves among people who may not have spoken their language but understood well enough that they had been through something dreadful.

There are stories of music, Spanish dancing and free wine in the village during the days that followed. One local man partook so generously that he had to be brought home stretched out on a donkey cart, entirely unaware that, while he had been celebrating the rescue of the Spanish crew, his wife had given birth to a daughter. That child certainly arrived into a house with a story already waiting for her.

The cargo of the Cirilo Amorós was almost a tale in itself. She had carried oranges, onions, tinned tomatoes, almonds, ground nuts, rice, resin and wine, among other goods. Messrs. Shipsey and Mekee of Dunmore East bought the cargo from the insurers, and it was slung ashore on a wire cable running from the ship’s mast to an inland anchor point. From there it was drawn to the village by horse and cart. For local farmers, this was useful work and welcome money, and no doubt there was great interest in every load that came up from Ballyvooney.

Not everything was fit for sale or use. Damaged cases of oranges and onions were thrown overboard, and for the following summer the beaches for miles around had their first taste of what would now be called pollution. The rice, spoiled by seawater in the flooded hold, was no good for human consumption but made excellent pig feed. Many a pig in the district may have dined unexpectedly well on the remains of a Spanish shipwreck. The bunker coal and woodwork were sold locally, and the hull itself went to Eastwoods of Belfast, who cut through the steel with oxy-acetylene torches, a sight that must have seemed almost magical at the time.

The ship herself could not be saved. She had travelled from Scotland to Spain, carried different names across the years, and finally ended her working life wedged against the Waterford coast. Parts of the wreck are still said to be visible at low tide, a quiet reminder of a February morning when a Spanish steamer came ashore at Ballyvooney, and the people of the coast rose from their beds and saved every man aboard.

"The photo above was also featured in David Carroll's book, Dauntless Courage, thanks to David for sending it on to me."

Here is the RNLB C. and S., photographed at sea sometime between 1925 and 1940, looking every inch the serious working lifeboat she was. There is nothing showy about her. She is not posing for a postcard or sitting prettily alongside the pier. She is out where she belonged, pushing through the grey water, with the sea lifting under her and the weather looking as if it could change its mind at any minute.

The C. and S. came to Dunmore East in 1925 and served the station until 1940. She was a 45-foot Watson-class motor lifeboat, built for duty rather than comfort, with her dark hull, white deck sections, varnished timber, mast, rigging and heavy rope fendering giving her the look of a boat that expected hard treatment and generally got it. She was called the C. and S. in honour of two benefactors: one part of the funding came as a gift from the executors of the estate of the late Mr Peter Coats, and the other from a legacy left by Miss Emily Smart of Ranelagh, Dublin. She filled a long gap in Dunmore’s lifeboat service, and her arrival marked the village’s return to proper RNLI cover after several years without a lifeboat on station.

During her years at Dunmore East, the C. and S. launched on service a number of times and helped save 31 lives. She also became part of the training ground for a generation of local lifeboatmen, including men such as Paddy Billy Power, who began his RNLI service aboard her in 1925. Records show that David Fleming was appointed coxswain of the new lifeboat, with John Long as motor mechanic. John Long was succeeded in that post in November 1925 by Frederick Ireland, with C. C. Hasemore taking over in February 1928. In October 1928, William Burke took over as coxswain, with Richard “Dick” Murphy being appointed motor mechanic, a position he held until 1966. By the time she left Dunmore in 1940, to be replaced by the Annie Blanche Smith, she had earned her place in the story of the harbour.

“Thank you to David Carroll for providing the RNLI photo and the details for the piece above.”

This photograph shows the old harbour in Dunmore East on what looks like a fine summer morning around 1960, before the great changes and modernisation of the decade altered the place forever. The scene looks very still: the water is calm, the boats sit quietly at their moorings, and the pier itself appears almost deserted, with only the odd figure or two to be seen. It is Dunmore before the noise, the blasting, the new harbour works, and the busier fishing years that would follow.

The ever-present lighthouse stands watch over the harbour, just as it had done for generations, while small boats and working craft are scattered across the water below. There is no sense of hurry here in the morning light, with the Wexford coastline faintly visible in the distance. It is a working harbour, of course, but not yet the crowded and heavily developed port that many remember from the later 1960s. This was a summer morning that could pass with barely a soul disturbing the peace, apart from the kittiwakes.

"This photo is another one sent to me by David Carroll, and the original is credited to Paul O’Farrell.

This photograph shows Paddy “Billy” Power of Dunmore East being decorated by the Duchess of Kent in 1951, a long way from Portally, the harbour, and the rough grey seas where he had earned the honour in the first place.

The presentation took place in London, but the deed behind it belonged entirely to the Waterford coast. On the night of 14 December 1950, the fishing boat St Declan was in grave danger near the Falskirt Rocks. It was the kind of night that would have persuaded most people to stay indoors and put another sod on the fire. There was a gale blowing, snow squalls, heavy seas, darkness, and the constant threat of the boat being driven onto the rocks. To make matters worse, fishing nets were in the water, creating another danger for anyone trying to get near her.

The Dunmore East lifeboat went out under Coxswain Paddy Billy Power, with Richard Power serving as second coxswain. Somehow, in terrible conditions, they managed to get close enough to the St Declan to pass a line. The lifeboat then towed her clear using a long length of anchor cable, bringing her away from danger when there was very little room for error. It was a rescue that called for nerve, seamanship, and the kind of judgement that could only come from a lifetime spent around boats and bad weather.

For that service, Paddy Billy received a bar to the bronze medal for gallantry he had already won in 1941. Richard Power was awarded the bronze medal, and the other members of the crew were also recognised. The presentation was made by the Duchess of Kent at a Royal National Lifeboat Institution ceremony in Central Hall, Westminster, on March 13th, 1951.

There is something unusual seeing Paddy Billy in this formal setting, standing before royalty, after earning the honour in the most unfussy and practical way imaginable: by going out in a lifeboat on a dreadful night because men were in danger. He looks very much like a man who would rather be back in Dunmore than standing under lights and in front of microphones, but there he was all the same, representing the village, the lifeboat station, and every crewman who ever answered the maroon.

After the presentation, the Irish lifeboat men are said to have presented the Duchess with a spray of shamrock, which was a nice touch, especially as St Patrick’s Day was close at hand. It must have been a proud day for Dunmore East. Not a boastful sort of pride, but the quiet kind that comes from knowing one of your own had done something brave and done it well.

Paddy Billy Power would go on to become one of Dunmore East’s great lifeboat figures, decorated several times over a long career. But this photograph captures one particular moment: the storm was over, the men of the St Declan were safe, and a lifeboat man from Dunmore East stood in London receiving the thanks of the RNLI for work done far from ceremony, out in the dark, where courage mattered more than speeches.

“This is another photo sent to me by David Carroll which originally came from John Aylward, thanks to both of them.”

Photo 80 - Dick Murphy & Paddy Billy

There are some photographs that do more than show faces. They catch hold of a moment when something was ending, and everyone present would have known it. The photo of Paddy Billy Power and Dick Murphy holding their retirement certificates in 1966 is one of those. Between them stood a lifetime of launches, rough nights, cold spray, engine trouble, hard judgement, and the kind of responsibility that never needed to be announced because everyone in Dunmore knew who the dependable men were. In the space of a few short months, Dunmore East saw the retirement of two of its best-known lifeboat men, Patrick Power after nearly 42 years of service, the last 20 as coxswain, and Richard Murphy after 38 years as mechanic.

Paddy Billy was not the sort of man who needed much introduction around the harbour. By the time he stepped down, he had become part of the lifeboat itself in the minds of many people. He had first joined the crew in 1925 and over the years earned a formidable reputation for courage and seamanship, with RNLI honours marking some of the most notable rescues of the period.

Dick Murphy, for his part, was one of the steady hands behind the scenes and on the boat, the man responsible for keeping things going where engines and machinery were concerned, though there was nothing “behind the scenes” about the importance of that job when the weather turned savage and lives depended on the lifeboat answering properly. He is named as chief mechanic in the St Declan rescue of 1950, one of the stations remembered services.

The photo seen here has no sea running, no drama, and no wreck in sight, just two men in suits holding framed certificates in a room. Yet the calmness of the picture only makes the weight of it greater. Those certificates were not handed out for turning up. They stood for decades of service given in all conditions, and for the kind of duty that demanded courage without fuss and skill without vanity. One man had commanded the boat, the other had kept her fit to answer the call, and between them they had helped to carry Dunmore East through a long and important chapter in its lifeboat history.

Looking at them in the picture, you would almost think it was a simple presentation after a committee meeting and a few polite words. But anyone who knew the sea, or knew Dunmore, would have seen much more than that. They would have seen two men who had gone out when others were glad to stay in, and who had done their work so long that it must have seemed strange to imagine the lifeboat without them. Their retirement in 1966 was not just the leaving of two crewmen. It was the close of an era.

"Thanks to David Carroll for supplying the photo."

This photo comes from the Alleyn Harris slide collection. I’d say it dates from around 1960 and shows the harbour in Dunmore East from the lighthouse end. Judging by the photograph, it is hard to see why such drastic improvements were needed. But I suppose I am only looking at a single image, and the reality of a working harbour in the middle of the herring season would have been very different from this quiet view on a summer’s day.

"Thanks to Geoff Harris for providing this photo."

This photo shows the harbour in Dunmore East when it was the premier fishing port in Ireland. It dates from July 1967, when a fleet of Dutch trawlers had the port clogged up. The harbour development was well under way at the time and things were starting to take shape. The photo was scanned from the Alleyn Harris slide collection. Thanks to Geoff Harris for sharing it.

This is a photo originally uploaded some years ago by Theo Harris to www.dunmore-east.net. It shows Stephen Harris doing his impersonation of the “Boy on the Wall”, a pose made famous by Dave Harris some years earlier for a postcard. A fleet of Dutch trawlers can also be seen, causing havoc in the harbour at Dunmore East at the height of the summer season in July 1967. It was bad enough that they were coming over and taking Dunmore fish, but they also kept people awake at night with the sound of their clogs as they staggered back to the boats from the pubs late at night.

It took the Mayor of Waterford to make a complaint about their presence after he discovered that their dumping of oil at sea threatened the summer season in Tramore. The following report appeared in the Waterford News and Star on July 28th, 1967:

DUTCH TRAWLERS BLOCKING DUNMORE EAST

A strong protest has been sent to the Government by the members of the Corporation about the blocking of Dunmore East port by a fleet of Dutch fishing trawlers.

The Mayor (Collr. Thomas Cullen) said the Dutch trawlers were causing a considerable amount of damage in the port. They were fishing about twenty miles off the coast but at the week-ends they moved into Dunmore and blocked off the entire port.

“Already,” he said, “they have damaged an Irish fishing boat and an Irish yacht and also the local pilot punt. The Dutch trawlers are nine abreast and are blocking the entrance to the pier. The trawler crews are pumping out oil into the sea which will ruin our beaches.

“As members of the Corporation,” he said, “we should object to these Dutch fishing boats blocking the harbour; damaging Irish boats and pumping waste oil into the sea. I think this is very unfair to the tourist industry and they should not be allowed to get away with it.”

Ald. T. Brennan said the responsible authority should view the action of the Dutch trawlers with alarm. The position at Dunmore East had become intolerable. The waste oil being pumped into the sea at Dunmore could spread to Tramore beach and other strands along the coast. The Dutch trawlers were also breaking up the timber wharf at Waterford when they docked there.

“These Dutch fishermen,” he said, “are not contributing to the Irish economy and I think we should make strong representations to the Department of Fisheries to prevent this happening in the future.”

It was decided to write to the Department protesting about the action of the Dutch trawlers.

This photograph shows the St. Agnes sailing in Dunmore harbour in 1927, a fine image of one of the village’s best-remembered boats. The picture was originally uploaded by Noreen Power to the “I Am Dunmore” Facebook page. It preserves a small part of the old harbour world, when local craft, local men, and local skill were at the heart of daily life in Dunmore East.

The St. Agnes, W 229, was built near Stoney Cove in 1899, right at the turn of the century. She was built by John Halley and Nicholas Murphy for Tom and Bob Power, all of them men of Dunmore East. Local accounts describe her as a fine sailing and fishing vessel, built of pitch pine on oak, measuring about 26 feet on the keel and 31 feet overall.

John Halley himself is remembered locally as a skilled boatbuilder. He lived on the road up towards Coxtown Cross, in the place known as Jim Rowe’s farm, where some of the old farmhouses still stand. It is said that he built boats on the cliff beside Gertie Burke’s shop, and that Gertie used to have photographs of him at work there, though sadly they were lost in a fire some years ago. Even so, the stories remain, and they help to place the St. Agnes firmly in the landscape and memory of old Dunmore.

By the 1920s, the St. Agnes was still very much part of harbour life and of the regatta scene. In 1928, she took part in the Dunmore East Regatta, entering an open yacht race with a prize value of £5. There were only two competitors, Mr. Hannington’s Veronique and Mr. Tom Power’s St. Agnes. Although the St. Agnes was not strictly in the yacht category, she was described at the time as “a very fast fishing boat” and was entered to make a race of it. The contest was over a triangular six-mile course, sailed three times round, making 18 miles in total. It proved to be a hard-fought and exciting race. After the first round, Tom Power’s boat was 45 seconds ahead. In the second, Hannington’s was 14 seconds in front, and in the end Veronique won by 1 minute 40 seconds after what was described as 18 miles of hard sailing. It was said that Mr. Hannington and his yacht were hard to beat in stormy weather because he was such a hard driver. His sails were wet halfway up when the race was over.

The story of the St. Agnes did not end there. She survived in memory and in timber long after the old working-sail days had passed. Thomas McGrath had her back in Dunmore in 2020, back where she had started. The hull had been rebuilt by Tony McLoughlin in 2010, and sails had been purchased in Gdansk, Poland, though the restoration was never fully carried through. Even so, the fact that she returned home at all says something. Whether under sail for work or for pleasure, the St. Agnes clearly held a place in local affection that lasted well beyond her working life. Her name still carries the sound of the old harbour with it, recalling a time when craftsmanship, seamanship, and village life were all closely bound to the sea.