The Irish Drapers' Assistants' Association Visit Dunmore

The Annual Excursion: A Day of Sunshine, Fog, and Entertainment.

The morning of Sunday, June 19, 1910, dawned dull and heavy over Waterford, the sky a blanket of grey that seemed to press down upon the cobbled streets. Members of the Waterford Branch of the Irish Drapers’ Assistants’ Association gathered at the quay, their spirits undampened by the uncertain weather. For weeks, they had anticipated this day: their annual excursion to Dunmore East, a seaside retreat promising fresh air, laughter and respite from the demands of the drapery trade.

The committee, a diligent group of men who had spent sleepless nights arranging every detail, moved among the crowd, ensuring that all was in order. Tickets were checked, baskets of food stowed and last-minute stragglers hurried aboard the steamer Osprey, which bobbed gently at the dock. The vessel was well appointed, its polished rails gleaming despite the lack of sunlight and its decks spacious enough to accommodate the lively group.

As the Osprey cast off, the first whispers of excitement rippled through the passengers. The River Suir stretched before them, its waters smooth as glass, reflecting the muted hues of the landscape. Along the waterfront, they could see the Waterford Boat Club and Reginald’s Tower.

A Charming Journey

The trip downriver was nothing short of enchanting. The Barrack Street Brass and Reed Band struck up a lively tune, their music floating over the water as the excursionists clustered along the rails, pointing out landmarks and sharing stories. Among them was young Patrick Walsh, a junior assistant at one of the city’s finer drapery establishments. This was his first excursion, and he drank in every sight with wide-eyed wonder.

“You’ll not see a prettier stretch of river anywhere in Ireland,” remarked Mr. Hennessy, a senior member of the Association, clapping Patrick on the shoulder. “And wait until we reach Dunmore. There’s a beach there that’ll make you forget all about measuring fabric and tallying accounts.”

Patrick grinned. The drapery trade was honest work, but it was rare to escape the confines of the shop, rarer still to do so in such fine company.

By the time Dunmore East came into view, the sky had begun to clear. The sun, hesitant at first, now cast a golden glow over the village’s colourful cottages and the sparkling expanse of the sea beyond. The Osprey docked shortly before noon, and the group disembarked, scattering in all directions to explore.

Dunmore’s Delights

Some made straight for the beach, kicking off their shoes to feel the sand between their toes. Others wandered towards the Flat Rocks, marvelling at the rugged beauty of the coastline. Patrick found himself in the company of a few lads from the Association, and together they made their way up onto the Shanoon, where the view took their breath away.

“Imagine,” one of them said, “all this beauty, and we’d never see it if it were not for the Drapers’ Association.”

Dinner was served at the local hotel, where Mr. Shipsey, the proprietor, had outdone himself. Platters of roasted meats, fresh bread and steaming potatoes were laid out, and the hungry excursionists fell upon the feast with gusto. The sea air had sharpened their appetites, and laughter filled the room as stories were shared and glasses raised.

Music and Merriment

With the formalities concluded, the party split into smaller groups. Many headed to Malcomson Hall for a photograph, a tradition of these outings. The younger members jostled for position at the back, while the more dignified among them took their places in the front rows. The photographer, a serious man with a bushy moustache, fussed with his equipment until, at last, the shutter clicked, capturing the moment for posterity.

Then the Barrack Street Band struck up an impromptu concert. The band played lively tunes, voices joined in song, and a few bold souls even attempted a jig or two. Patrick, though no musician, found himself clapping along, caught up in the infectious joy of the gathering.

Tea was served at five o’clock, a welcome respite from the revelry. As the group reassembled at the hotel, the conversation turned to the return journey. The sky, which had been so kind all afternoon, now showed signs of the fog that had threatened earlier.

“Ah, don’t fret,” said Captain Cotter, the Osprey’s seasoned skipper. “I’ve sailed these waters in thicker fog than this. We’ll have you back in Waterford before you know it.”

The Fog Descends

The Osprey departed Dunmore at half-past seven, the band playing a cheerful farewell tune as the shore receded into the evening haze. But as the steamer rounded Duncannon Head, the fog rolled in with startling speed. Thick and impenetrable, it swallowed the coastline, leaving only the faintest glow of the lights in Passage to guide them.

Captain Cotter navigated with calm precision, but even he could not ignore the danger. “We’ll drop anchor here,” he announced. “Just until this lifts. No sense risking a collision.”

For nearly two hours, the Osprey lay at anchor in the fog-bound river. Yet, far from dampening the mood, the delay only added to the adventure. The band continued to play, their music now soft and melodic, and the excursionists gathered on deck, sharing stories of the day and singing songs. Patrick, wrapped in his coat against the chill, listened as Mr. Hennessy recounted tales of past excursions, of storms weathered, friendships forged and the unshakable loyalty that bound the drapers together.

Homeward Bound

At last, the fog thinned enough for the journey to resume. The Osprey steamed cautiously upriver, her whistle sounding mournfully in the night. It was half an hour past midnight when the lights of Waterford finally twinkled into view.

Tired but happy, the group disembarked, their hearts full of the day’s memories. As they dispersed into the quiet streets, Patrick lingered for a moment, watching his fellow drapers disappear into the night. He thought of the cliffs, the music, the laughter and the fog that had only made the adventure sweeter.

The annual excursion had been everything he had hoped for and more. As he turned towards home, he knew he would be counting the days until he could visit Dunmore East again.

Next Page: The Malcomsons