Other Places In Waterford.

A flock of sheep cause the first traffic ram on the Mall in Waterford around 1900.

Tramore in the 19th century, before the surfers came.

This picture shows the S.S. Pembroke visiting Cheekpoint for repair work, having gone aground earlier on one of the Saltee Islands. The photo was taken around 1890. 

A quiet day at the Tramore Railway Station in 1925. 

The Saratoga in Woodstown, photo taken around 1905. There appears to have been some sort of social distancing going on here.

A picture of Woodstown Strand taken around 1905. People dressed formally when they visited the beach in those days.

This picture shows the Tramore Lifeboat in 1910. It must have been a boring enough job waiting in the boat all day for the tide to come in. 

It looks like a regatta is taking place in this photo which was taken in 1909 at the harbour in Tramore.

Waterford City was a place of much trade and commerce in the 19th century. Putting big flower pots all the way down the middle of the quay would have seemed absurd to these people. How enlightened we are today in comparison. 

This is the tiny village of Passage East, looking very quaint. They even had a pillar box where people could change into their dry robes before swimming in the river. 

A photo of the charming village of Passage East, taken in 1970 before it became a ferry drive-through.

This photograph, taken around 1910, captures Reginald’s Tower and the bustle of daily life along Waterford’s quay. In the foreground, the steamer SS Coningbeg is shown at her berth, taking on passengers — and quite possibly livestock — for the regular crossing to Liverpool. The story below offers a brief account of the vessel’s life and service.

The SS Coningbeg began her life on the Clyde, launched on 7 August 1903 by the Ailsa Shipbuilding Company of Troon, Scotland. She was commissioned by the Waterford Steamship Company and christened SS Clodagh, a fine modern vessel designed to serve the busy route between Waterford and Liverpool. In 1912, the ship was acquired by the Clyde Shipping Company of Glasgow and renamed SS Coningbeg, after the Coningbeg lightship that guarded the treacherous sands off Waterford Harbour.

Built for strength and reliability, the Coningbeg was a vessel of around 1,278 tons and measured approximately 270 feet in length. Following a refit in 1913, she was adapted to carry 500 to 600 head of cattle along with passengers — about 86 first-class and 74 steerage. For years, she worked the vital Waterford–Liverpool line, transporting livestock, goods, and people across the Irish Sea, a lifeline that kept Waterford’s trade and emigration routes open through both calm and storm.

That lifeline was cruelly severed in the final, bitter winter of the First World War. On the night of 17 December 1917, as the Coningbeg made her homeward passage from Liverpool to Waterford, she was struck by a torpedo fired from the German submarine U-62, commanded by Kapitanleutnant Ernst Hashagen. The attack occurred around 11.45 p.m., and the ship sank within minutes. All forty-four souls aboard — forty crew and four passengers — were lost without trace.

The tragedy was made all the more devastating by the events that had unfolded just two days earlier. On 15 December 1917, the Coningbeg’s sister ship, the SS Formby, had also fallen victim to U-62 in the same waters. Yet no warning reached the Coningbeg. Fierce storms had damaged the telegraph and telephone lines between Waterford and Liverpool, and with communications cut, the company’s Waterford office could not alert the ship that the Formby was overdue and likely lost. Unaware of the lurking danger, the Coningbeg steamed into the Irish Sea and met the same fate.

The double loss became known as the Waterford Shipping Disaster of 1917, a blow that reverberated through every street and quay in the city. Of the 83 lives lost between the two vessels, 67 were from Waterford — fathers, sons, brothers, and neighbours whose absence left deep scars in the community. A Waterford Local Disaster Fund was established in early 1918 to aid the bereaved families, a gesture that spoke to the collective grief and resilience of the city.

Today, the names of the Coningbeg’s crew are carved into memorials both at home and abroad — on the quay in Waterford, where the Suir meets the sea, and at the Tower Hill Memorial in London, where the men of the British merchant service are honoured.

The loss of the SS Coningbeg and SS Formby serves as a solemn reminder that the dangers of war reached far beyond the front lines. Merchant steamers like the Coningbeg carried not only goods and livestock but the daily lifeblood of trade and connection between Ireland and Britain. Their crews braved minefields and submarines to keep those routes open. The Coningbeg, renowned for her punctuality, was a familiar sight to the people of Waterford — and when she failed to return, the silence on the river was deafening.

More than a century later, the memory of the Coningbeg remains deeply woven into Waterford’s maritime story — a lasting tribute to bravery, loss, and the unbroken bond between the sea and the city that once proudly claimed her.

In the early years of the twentieth century, the bridge into Waterford was a scene of daily bustle and noise. Each morning it filled with the sound of hooves and the rattle of carts as men from Wexford and Kilkenny made their way into the city behind donkeys and horses. They were the early commuters — farm labourers, carters, and tradesmen — who together made up nearly three-quarters of Waterford’s workforce at the time.

Hardy and dependable, they were known for their strong work ethic and willingness to take on the toughest jobs. Many employers were said to favour them over local men, as they worked for a little less, but worked well. When evening came, they turned their carts homeward again — the day’s wages in their pockets, and their bellies filled with red lead and blas.

This photograph captures that moment: men crossing the bridge at dusk, heading back to their home counties, tired but content. It speaks of a time when work, travel, and life itself moved at the pace of a horse’s stride — a rhythm long vanished from the modern city. How different things are today.

In the summer of 1878, a group of Waterford sailors travelled to Dunmore East to witness one of the great coastal regattas of the day. Impressed by the spectacle — the excitement of the races, the precision of the crews, and the spirit of friendly rivalry — they returned home with a new idea: that Waterford City might host a regatta of its own.

From that spark, the Waterford Boat Club was born later that same year. Within months, the newly formed club set about organising its first major event, and in August 1879, the inaugural Waterford City Regatta took place under fine conditions and with great local enthusiasm.

The Munster Express reported glowingly on the event, noting that “the Committee, the officers, and the members of the Waterford Boat Club may well feel satisfied — we might say proud — of the result of the first regatta held under its auspices.” The newspaper praised the smooth organisation and punctuality of the races, and remarked that, aside from a minor misunderstanding at the start, the day’s proceedings went off happily and well.

The highlight of the regatta was the outrigger race, described as a “severe and close contest,” yet so fair that even the losing crews from Limerick commended the Waterford organisers for their hospitality and sportsmanship. The Munster Express added that those visiting rowers “never received greater fair play, and never received a warmer or kindlier reception anywhere they went.”

Other events included the Club Challenge Cup, which was hotly contested, though in several of the lesser races the balance of competition was uneven — the leaders taking an early advantage and holding it throughout. Nevertheless, the paper concluded that the regatta had given the young club “a fair, if not an auspicious start.”

Although the Waterford Boat Club never quite surpassed the grandeur of the famous Dunmore East Regattas that inspired its formation, its early efforts reflected the same maritime pride and community spirit that has long defined the region’s relationship with the sea. And truth be told, it would have been a hard task for anyone to outshine Dunmore in anything connected with the sea — a village whose very heartbeat was measured by the tide, the sails, and the sound of oars on water.