The Lawlor Family

The Lawlor family name is firmly woven into the story of Dunmore East. For generations, the Lawlors were part of the village’s maritime life, closely connected with the sea and the Strand. Like many Dunmore families, their story does not belong to one household or one generation alone. It reaches across seafaring, emigration, business, community life, and the family ties that linked Dunmore East with Waterford, Canada, America, and the wider world.

Wherever life brought them, the Lawlors carried with them a strong sense of enterprise, resilience, and deep local roots.

This page brings together some of the people, places, and memories connected with the Lawlor family of Dunmore East, preserving a small but important part of the village’s shared history.

This photo shows Mary Lawlor, nee Molloy, and her husband, Captain Peter Lawlor, of No. 3, John’s Hill, Waterford. They were the parents of Willie, Michael, Malachi, Patrick and Nicholas Lawlor. Peter sadly died in a boating tragedy in 1903, leaving Mary a young widow.

Mary remarried after Peter’s death and became Mary Daniels, wife of Martin Daniels and mother of Nellie, Maura and Madge Daniels.

"The piece below is based on a newspaper report relating to the river tragedy, published in the Waterford News and Star in October 1903."

A SAD WEEK IN THE CITY: THE LOSS OF CAPTAIN PETER LAWLOR AND CAPTAIN NICHOLAS PARLE

There are some newspaper reports that still carry a chill, no matter how many years have passed since the events they describe. This account, headed “A Sad Week in the City”, tells of the drowning of Captain Peter Lawlor, of the dredger Sicily, and Captain Nicholas Parle, Waterford harbour master, two experienced river men who lost their lives when the sailing boat Mona foundered in the River Suir on Monday, 5th October, 1903.

The tragedy began as a working journey. Mr. Henry Hicks, a foreman shipwright from South Parade, left Waterford with Captain Lawlor at about 8.45 that morning in a centre-board sailing boat. They collected Captain Parle at his own landing place and made for Ballyhack, where they went ashore to examine the pier. From there they proceeded up towards the Ross River, went in close by the bank, and had their lunch aboard. They did not land there, but remained about an hour before setting out again for Waterford at around half-past twelve.

Captain Parle had been steering the boat throughout the day. The weather was blowing moderately at first, but by the time they were in the river between Faithlegg and Snowhill, conditions had worsened enough for them to put storm sails on the boat. Hicks was attending to the fore-sheet, while Captain Lawlor was aft, holding the half-yard and keeping the sail tight.

Then, suddenly, the fatal moment came. A heavy breeze struck the boat. According to Hicks, she filled with water and sank. He was careful to say it was not a capsize, but a foundering. The boat simply filled and went down. Captain Lawlor was knocked over the side, Hicks went over shortly afterwards, and Captain Parle was seen clinging to the mast.

It is in Hicks’s evidence at the inquest that the full sadness of the scene comes through. He was swimming for the Snowhill shore and called to Captain Parle to come on, but Parle made no answer. Captain Lawlor, meanwhile, was swimming only a few yards ahead of him. Hicks managed to get up to him, and the two men swam together for a short distance. Then Hicks heard Lawlor shout. He could not make out the words, though he said his own name was mentioned. There was a big surge between them, and Lawlor was only a yard or two away. A few more yards might have saved him. Hicks believed Captain Lawlor was within about twenty yards of the shore when he sank.

All three men were good swimmers, but the odds were cruel. Captain Lawlor and Hicks were both wearing oilskin coats, while Captain Parle had on a very heavy waterproof coat. By the time Hicks reached land, he was completely exhausted. He fell in the water after striking the shore and could do no more. There were no boats nearby at the time. Boats came afterwards and brought him across to Cheekpoint.

The recovery of the bodies was itself a sad and difficult task. Patrick Heffernan of Cheekpoint recovered the remains of Captain Lawlor from the bed of the river by means of grappling hooks. The body was found about fifty yards above where the ill-fated Mona had gone down and the same distance in towards the Kilkenny shore. The report states that the body was deeply embedded in the mud, making the work extremely difficult, and Heffernan was praised for the manner in which he carried it out.

At the inquest into Captain Lawlor’s death, James Heffernan gave particularly moving evidence. He said he had been searching for the body every day since the accident. He had a great wish for the two men, as he had seen them going down but could do nothing to save them. He found Captain Lawlor’s body a little above Snowhill Quay and brought it on to Waterford, where it was taken to the Morgue.

The verdict was stark and simple:

“Accidentally drowned by the foundering of a boat in the river Suir, off Cheekpoint, on the 5th day of October.”

The following day, a second inquest was held into the death of Captain Nicholas Parle. His body had been recovered near Glasshouse, after being submerged since the day of the accident. Henry Hicks’s earlier deposition was read and verified. William Heffernan of Cheekpoint told the inquest that two boats had been engaged in the search, with four men in one boat and three in another. They used a sweep, or long rope with hooks attached, and found Captain Parle’s body opposite Glasshouse Mill, about half a mile from where the boat had sunk.

The jury returned a verdict of “Accidental drowning.” They also passed a vote of condolence to the relatives of the deceased, a sentiment with which the Coroner fully agreed.

Mrs. Shalloe, of The Quay, Waterford, sister to Capt. Parle, died on the 6th of October, one day after her brother. For some time she had been in failing health, and the shock of her brother’s death proved fatal.

It is hard not to linger on the human details in this report: Hicks calling back to Captain Parle; Captain Lawlor only a yard or two away in the water; the men of Cheekpoint searching day after day; and James Heffernan’s simple statement that he had “a great wish for the two men.” That phrase says more than a polished tribute ever could.

The River Suir was their workplace, their passage, and probably as familiar to them as any road is to us today. Yet even experienced men could be caught by one sudden turn of wind and water. The sinking of the Mona was a loss felt in Waterford, Cheekpoint, and along the river communities who knew the dangers of that water all too well.

Mary Molloy’s life had already known deep sorrow before she became Mary Daniels. Her first husband, Captain Peter Lawlor, was drowned in Waterford in 1903, leaving her a young widow with children to rear. That part of her story belongs to the Lawlors and to the sea — to harbour life, bereavement, and the hard road faced by a woman left with a family after sudden tragedy.

In time, Mary married again, becoming Mary Daniels, wife of Martin Daniels, proprietor of the Strand Hotel in Dunmore East. With that second marriage came another home, another family, and a new chapter in a life that linked two well-known family stories.

Mary and Martin Daniels had three daughters: Madge, Nellie and Maura. Through them, Mary’s story moved for a while from the sea into the world of hospitality, music, performance and public life. The Daniels household was connected with the Strand Hotel, and hotels in those days were far more than places where visitors took rooms. They were meeting places, social centres, and part of the life of a town or village. A hotel family was often widely known, and the women of the house were usually at the heart of it, whether their names appeared in the records or not.

As well as being a hotel proprietor, Martin Daniels spent many years working at the Waterford Mental Hospital, which stood at Grange, on the outskirts of Waterford City. The institution had originally opened in the 1830s as the Waterford District Lunatic Asylum and would later become known as St. Otteran’s Hospital. Martin worked there for over thirty years, rising to the position of Head Attendant.

From the records that survive, he appears to have been a man who looked out for both patients and fellow workers. A newspaper report from July 1910 gives a glimpse of him in that role, when he was named as chairman in a letter setting out the attendants’ grievances. The requests may seem simple now, but they tell us a great deal about working conditions at the time.

ATTENDANTS’ GRIEVANCES

The letter read:—

“My Lord and Gentlemen,—We, the undersigned attendants, on behalf of the staff, respectfully make application to have the following changes made with the present dietary scale and female attendants’ leave.

“(1) That a pint of milk or porter be allowed in lieu of lentil soup on Fridays and fast days.

“(2) That mutton be allowed six days per week instead of one, and that during the summer period, pigs’ heads be allowed one day in the week.

“(3) That arrangements be made to enable the attendants to have a cup of tea before Mass on Sundays and holidays, as presently the fast from 5.45 p.m. to 10 a.m. is a severe strain.

“(4) That the female attendants be granted leave from 8 p.m. to 10 p.m. one evening each week, in addition to their present leave of one evening from 3 p.m. to 9.45 p.m., and every third Sunday instead of every fourth as presently allowed.

“Gratefully acknowledging past concessions and trusting that our present application will merit your generous consideration. Thanking you in anticipation.—Yours, etc.,

“Martin Daniels, Chairman.

“Patrick Power, Secretary.”

The letter was referred to a committee of the whole Board to meet on the next meeting day.

It is only a small newspaper extract, but it gives us a valuable glimpse of Martin Daniels as a practical man, someone prepared to speak up for better food, better leave, and fairer treatment for those working under difficult conditions. There is something very human in those requests — a cup of tea before Mass, a change from lentil soup, a little more time off for the women attendants. They are small things on paper, but they mattered greatly to the people living that daily routine.

Martin Daniels died in November 1933 at his residence in Dunmore East after a comparatively short illness, leaving Mary widowed for the second time. His death notice described him as well known and popular throughout Waterford. It also remembered him as a staunch Gael and a keen hurling enthusiast, known on practically all fields of sport. That description suggests a man who was very much part of public life, not just in Dunmore East, but across the wider Waterford community.

For Mary, this was another hard loss. She had already buried one husband after the drowning of Captain Peter Lawlor in 1903. Thirty years later, she had lost Martin Daniels too. Yet her life continued to stretch across generations and family branches. Through her Lawlor children, she remained connected to the maritime story of Waterford and Dunmore East. Through her Daniels daughters, she became part of another line, one that would lead into music and eventually to the bright lights of the showband era.

Her daughter Maura Daniels married Stanley Bowyer, the Waterford Cathedral organist, and became the mother of Brendan Bowyer, one of Waterford’s great musical names. In that way, Mary’s story passed from harbour life to hotel life, from the Strand in Dunmore East to the musical household of the Bowyers.

Mary Daniels, nee Molloy, formerly Lawlor, died at home in Dunmore East on Wednesday, 2 November 1955, aged 87, and is buried in Killea. Hers was a life marked by sorrow, resilience, remarriage, motherhood and family legacy. She had known grief more than once, but she also carried families forward. And that, perhaps, is the part of Mary’s story most worth remembering.

Willie Lawlor was one of the familiar figures associated with the Strand Hotel in Dunmore East during the middle years of the twentieth century. The hotel, standing close to the strand in the Lower Village, which is still referred to by many as Lawlor’s Strand, was at the heart of village life.

Willie ran the hotel for many years. One newspaper report from 1963 stated that he had been there for 43 years, which would place his connection with the hotel back to 1920. This suggests that he may have been involved in running the hotel before the death of Martin Daniels in 1933. Willie Lawlor’s name became closely linked with the Strand Hotel, so much so that it was often remembered locally as Lawlor’s Hotel.

On the 7th of March 1963, the hotel was sold to Mr. Cuthbert Cayley, who also owned the Leenane Hotel in Connemara at the time. The reported purchase price was £12,500, a considerable sum for the period. It was Mr. Cayley who later developed the more elaborate lounge area, including the well-remembered bay window with its large brass compass, a feature still recalled by many who knew the hotel in later years.

Away from the business of the hotel, Willie Lawlor was known to have had a great interest in horse racing, a pastime that offers another small glimpse into his character and interests. After his long association with the Strand came to an end, he moved to the Circular Road, where he lived for a while before moving to Clontarf to live out his retirement. He died on the 8th of November 1968 and is buried in Killea.

Through his many years at the Strand Hotel, Willie Lawlor played a visible role in one of Dunmore East’s best-known establishments, leaving his name attached to a place that held many memories for locals and visitors alike.

This picture shows Nicholas Lawlor and Nellie Morrissey, nee Daniels, standing outside the Strand Inn in 1932. The car is believed to be a Packard, one of the great American luxury cars of the 1920s and 1930s. With its Waterford registration, KI 1500, it must have been an impressive sight locally — a proper grand motor car from an age when owning such a vehicle said a lot about the owner.

Nicholas Lawlor lived in Rye, New York, where he had been a fireman and went on to establish a successful taxicab service before later going into the coal business. Although he spent much of his life abroad, he never lost his interest in Waterford, and on his visits home he was remembered as a welcome and popular figure. On one such visit, he arrived in this car, which was later used as a taxi by Willie Lawlor. It’s hard to imagine now, but that Packard must have turned every head in Dunmore when it came through the village. In those days, a car like that was not just transport, it was an event to see such a machine.

Nellie Daniels was Nicholas’s half sister, and in later years became well known locally as Mrs. Morrissey. She had the shop on the corner by the Strand, the same shop later made famous in the television series Echoes. I was born in the house next to it, so from the time I could walk, I was sent in to Mrs. Morrissey’s for messages, as shopping was called then. To a child, her shop seemed to contain everything in the world that anyone could possibly want. There was even Coca-Cola in the window, along with a picture of Brendan Bowyer. To me, the message was simple enough: drink Coke and you could become a showband star. I drank plenty of it and waited for fame to arrive. Sadly, I never did get a residency at the Stardust in Las Vegas like Brendan did. Life can be cruel, I suppose, but at least I had the Coca-Cola.

This photo shows Nicholas Lawlor when he was chosen as Grand Marshal for the New York St. Patrick’s Day Parade in 1929. It looks like the horse may have made a plopsy on the road, but apart from that, it’s a perfect picture.

Nicholas wasn’t bestowed with this honour because of his ability to ride a horse, or simply because he was Irish. He had, in fact, performed an act of extreme bravery and saved seven lives through his actions. The following piece is based on an article from The New York Times, which was published at the time.

NICHOLAS LAWLOR OF DUNMORE EAST AND THE RYE BEACH RESCUE

Nicholas Lawlor of Dunmore East was a long way from home when he became the hero of a remarkable rescue at Rye Beach, New York. The incident took place during a fierce gale, when New York and the surrounding coast were battered by wind and rain. Boats were driven ashore, traffic was brought to a standstill, power lines and trees were knocked down, and along the shoreline, men found themselves fighting for their lives in the surf.

At Rye Beach, two barges had been caught in the storm. One had already foundered, with the loss of two men, while the second, the Frederick Starr, had been driven onto the rocks and was being pounded to pieces only fifty feet from shore. Seven people were trapped aboard, including Captain Andrew Ferguson, his wife, and five members of the crew of the other barge, the Diver. Their cries were heard at about three o’clock in the morning, and the Rye Fire Department was called out.

The problem was that the Rye firemen did not have the proper lifesaving gear for such a rescue. There were no breeches buoys, no rockets or cannon for firing ropes, and no Coast Guard apparatus on hand. What they had was courage, desperation, and a long fire ladder, which they hoped to turn into a bridge between the stricken vessel and the shore.

Two men tried first to swim a line out to the barge, but the sea was too strong and they had to be hauled back, exhausted. Then Nicholas Lawlor, a fireman in Rye but a man of Dunmore East by birth, went into the surf with a line tied around his waist. The distance was only fifty feet, but in that gale, with the waves breaking and the sea pounding the wreck, it took him twenty-five minutes to reach the vessel.

Once Nicholas Lawlor reached the Frederick Starr, the men aboard were able to haul the ladder out from the shore and secure it to the gunwale of the barge. It was a dangerous and makeshift bridge, but it was enough. One by one, the five surviving members of the Diver’s crew crossed to safety. Then came Mrs. Ferguson, who at first refused to leave without her husband. Captain Ferguson, following the old tradition, would not leave his ship until the others were safe, but in the end he followed his wife so he could help her if needed.

And last of all came Nicholas Lawlor. Having swum through the surf to make the rescue possible, he was the final man to crawl back across the ladder to shore. It was a brave act by any standard, and the report said the rescue would have done credit to the hardiest beach patrol on the Atlantic coast.

For Dunmore East, there is something very fitting in the story. Nicholas Lawlor had gone from a village shaped by the sea to another coast across the Atlantic, and when the moment came, it was the sea that tested him. He had courage enough to meet it. The newspapers in America recorded the rescue as an extraordinary feat, but those who knew the Lawlors of Dunmore East would surely have felt a certain pride in seeing one of their own at the centre of it.

In later accounts published back home in Waterford, the story seems to have grown even stronger. One version had Nicholas swimming with the rope between his teeth and saving 38 lives, which certainly improves the drama, even if the original report says the line was around his waist. Either way, the truth is impressive enough. Nicholas Lawlor of Dunmore East entered a dangerous surf when others had failed, carried the line to the wreck, and helped save seven lives. That is a fine thing to have attached to any name.

This photo brings together three members of a family whose lives took them in very different directions. Malachi Lawlor, with the great head of hair seen here on the left, looks as if he could easily have found himself in a Rock ’n’ Roll band, only for the fact that this photo dates from around the mid-1930s rather than the mid-1950s. He had the look before the look had even arrived. At some stage, Malachi left Dunmore East and moved to Ranelagh in Dublin, but like so many who left Dunmore, his story was shaped by the village.

Maura Daniels Bowyer, the lady in the photo, was a half sister of Malachi and Nicholas Lawlor, and through her, the family story moved into the musical life of Waterford. She married Stanley Bowyer, the Waterford Cathedral organist, and became the mother of Brendan Bowyer, who would later become one of Waterford’s best-known performers as lead singer with The Royal Showband. Maura herself had strong stage and musical connections and was an acclaimed opera singer. It is easy to imagine the musical atmosphere in the Bowyer household and how it helped shape Brendan’s future. She was also remembered as a proud and determined mother, one who supported Brendan’s career and took a deep interest in his success.

Nicholas Lawlor was perhaps the most adventurous of the three. He went to sea as a young man and later became remembered for an extraordinary act of courage during a daring shipwreck rescue, a story recounted above. Nicholas spent much of his life in America, where he settled in Rye, New York, and made a success of himself in business. Sadly, he died there in 1938, still in the prime of his life.

Between them, Malachi, Maura and Nicholas carried the Dunmore East family story far beyond the village. Yet in a photo like this, before all the later chapters unfolded, they are simply family — gathered together, caught in a moment, and leaving us with just enough clues to follow their lives in several fascinating directions. The fourth man, on the right of the photo, remains unknown.

Captain Michael Lawlor came from a family for whom the sea was not merely a backdrop, but a way of life. He was a son of Captain Peter Lawlor, who was lost in a tragic drowning accident in Waterford in 1903. That earlier tragedy left Peter’s wife, Mary, a young widow with children to rear. Among those children was Michael, who would grow up under the long shadow of the sea and, in time, follow the same calling as his father.

Michael was born around 1897 and, like many young men from Waterford’s maritime families, he made his life on ships. The sea offered opportunity, employment, adventure and hardship in equal measure. For men from harbour communities, it was often less a choice than an inheritance. The skills, habits and courage required for seafaring were passed down through families, and the Lawlors were very much part of that tradition.

His life was also touched by emigration and the wider world. The family memorial in the Holy Cross graveyard, Killea, Dunmore East, also remembers his brother Nicholas Lawlor, who died at Rye, New York, in 1938, aged 45. Michael’s own final journey would also take him far from home, linking Dunmore East with the great wartime sea routes of the Atlantic and America.

Captain Michael Lawlor died on 31 December 1942, aged 45, aboard the S.S. Gulfstream. His death was from natural causes, not from enemy action or shipwreck, but he died nonetheless at sea, far from the familiar harbour and coastline of home. The ship named on his memorial, the S.S. Gulfstream, was a tanker built in 1914 for the Gulf Refining Company. By the time of the Second World War, she was officially known as the H. M. Fredrichsen, but the older name, Gulfstream, was clearly the one remembered by the family and recorded on the stone in Killea.

In December 1942, ships such as the Gulfstream were part of the essential wartime movement of fuel and supplies. Wartime convoy records, from shortly before Michael’s death, show the ship was sailing from Galveston towards Florida. Tankers were vital vessels, and their crews worked in dangerous and uncertain conditions. Even where no torpedo was fired and no dramatic sinking took place, life at sea during those years carried constant risk. Weather, workload, illness, isolation and the pressure of wartime service were all part of the seaman’s world.

Michael’s memorial in Killea is brief, as many such inscriptions are. It gives a name, a date, a ship and an age. But behind those few words is a wider life: a Waterford-born seaman, the son of a drowned captain, a man who carried the Lawlor maritime tradition into another generation and who died while still in service.

Captain Michael Lawlor’s story deserves to be remembered not because it ended in battle or disaster, but because it represents the quieter sacrifices made by seafaring families. Men like him spent much of their lives away from home, serving on ships that kept trade, fuel and supplies moving through difficult times. Their names are often found only on headstones, crew lists or small family notices, but their lives formed part of the working history of ports like Waterford and fishing villages like Dunmore East.

So when we remember Captain Michael Lawlor, we remember more than one man. We remember the Lawlor family, the widow and children left behind after Peter Lawlor’s death in 1903, the long reach of Dunmore East’s seafaring families across the Atlantic, and the generations who lived by the sea, worked on the sea, and sometimes died upon it.

Patrick Lawlor of Dunmore East, known to many simply as Pat, was one of the Lawlor family whose story runs through so much of the older life of the village. He was born around 1900, the son of Captain Peter Lawlor and Mary Lawlor, nee Molloy. His father, Peter, was drowned in the tragic boating accident of 1903, leaving Mary a young widow with a family to rear. Pat grew up in the shadow of that loss, but, like the rest of the Lawlors, he became part of the everyday fabric of Dunmore East.

In village life, Pat was a familiar figure. He worked as the mechanic and driver of his brother Willie Lawlor’s taxi, and he was also remembered as the bottler of what some claimed was the finest stout ever tasted in Dunmore. There is a small irony in that, because Pat himself was a lifelong teetotaller. He never drank alcohol, though he did smoke heavily, and it was said that cigarettes caused his demise in the end.

But if Pat did not take a drink, he certainly had no shortage of wit. He was remembered as the Lawlor with the best quips, and some of his remarks stayed in local memory long after he was gone. Speaking once about a fine pair of binoculars he owned, he said they were so good “you’d recognise a stranger out on Hook Head with them.”

On another occasion, an American visitor standing near the Storm Wall looked out across the bay and asked Pat, “Is that a full moon out there?” Pat replied that he wasn’t sure, as he hadn’t lived in the village long enough to confirm it.

He also had a memorable comment about Willie Dunne’s height, saying that “if Willie Dunne was any longer, he’d be late.”

Pat died on the 15th of November, 1957, aged just 57, and is buried in Holy Cross Cemetery, Killea. His wife was Mary Lawlor, nee Reidy, who died in 1988. They had three sons: Peter, Martin “Murt” and Nicholas.

Pat Lawlor’s life may not have been one of headlines or grand public office, but men like him were often the ones who gave a village its real character. He was a mechanic, taxi driver, stout bottler, teetotaller, smoker and man of considerable wit. Above all, he was one of those Dunmore East characters whose sayings became part of the village. Long after the taxi was gone and the bottles were emptied, Pat’s humorous sayings still had a way of travelling.

This photo shows Patrick Lawlor on the left, sitting beside his wife, Mary Lawlor. The other lady in the picture is Nell Foley, about whom I know nothing, and the man on the right appears to be a clergyman, possibly a priest or vicar.

It looks to me as if Patrick is studying the racing form with the seriousness of a man who knows the next great winner is hidden somewhere in the small print. Mary, sitting beside him, looks very relaxed, perhaps thinking, “He always wins,” or at least allowing him the pleasure of believing that he does.

Nell Foley, meanwhile, is looking straight at the photographer with the sort of expression that invites speculation. Was he a friend, a suitor, or perhaps a boyfriend? She may even have been giving him the signal: “Why don’t we get married today? We have a clergyman at hand.” One should never waste a good opportunity, especially when the clergy are already seated and available.

The man on the right, whether priest or vicar, appears to be doing what such men were often expected to do: reading the Good Book, or at least looking suitably composed while holding it.

I would say the photo dates from the late 1940s and was probably taken outside the Strand. The photo gives the impression that there is a whole story sitting on that bench: racing tips, quiet humour, possible romance, and a clergyman ready for either prayer or matrimony, depending on how the day developed.

I’m fairly sure the lady on the left of this photograph is Nellie Daniels, pictured here with her sisters Madge and Maura in the yard of the Strand Hotel, Dunmore East. The photograph was originally shared by Paddy O’Connor, unfortunately the girl on the right wasn’t named by him.

To be continued...