The Nellie Flynn Collection

These are a collection of photographs sent to me by Maureen Derbyshire which originally belonged to her mother, Nellie Flynn. Nellie spent her younger years living in Portally and was the daughter of Stasia Flynn. Stasia was a sister of Annie, Deddie, Kitty, and Paddy “Billy” Power, a well-known local family.

In the late 1940s, Nellie moved to St. Helens to undertake her nursing training. St. Helens is a town in north-west England, now in the county of Merseyside, though it was historically part of Lancashire until 1974. Maureen herself continues to live there to this day.

Nellie later married Gerry Hudson and raised her own family. Despite settling in England, they regularly returned to Portally for summer holidays. Maureen fondly remembers long summer days spent at Portally Cove, visits with her aunts and uncle, and afternoons wandering around Dunmore.

Sadly, Nellie Hudson (née Flynn) passed away recently at the age of 93. While going through her belongings, Maureen came across these photographs and postcards relating to Dunmore, which she felt others would enjoy seeing. I have since colourised these images, and they can be viewed below.

My thanks to Maureen for so kindly making them available.

The original version of this photograph once hung in No. 1 Emerald Terrace, the home of Paddy and Annie “Billy” Power, where it remained for many years as a quiet part of everyday life. Like so many old images, it carries layers of personal and local history that are easy to overlook at first glance.

I spent a long time studying the name above the shop door, trying to tease out what it was, the original being faded and hard to see. The closest I could come was W. Murphy, though this may not be entirely correct. That small uncertainty only adds to the photograph’s charm, reminding us that the past does not always reveal itself fully, and that some details remain just beyond our grasp.

What endures is the sense of place it conveys – a familiar streetscape, once known and lived in, now preserved in a single moment in time.

This is another colourised version of a photograph that was found in the same frame as the image above. It only came to light when the back of the frame was removed for cleaning, revealing a small and unexpected discovery.

In total, there were three photographs, two hidden away, one behind the other, all carefully held within the same frame like a modest time capsule. Each image had been quietly preserved, unseen for decades, sharing the same physical space and history.

I would estimate that this particular photograph dates from the early 1900s. Brought back to life through colourisation, it offers a rare glimpse into an earlier moment, one that had been patiently waiting in the dark to be seen again.

This is the third photograph discovered inside Paddy Billy’s frame, and like the others, it appears to date from around 1900. It captures a familiar stretch of the village at a much earlier moment in its story, full of small details that reward a closer look.

On the left stands the Ocean Hotel, its oval upstairs windows particularly striking — a feature I don’t recall seeing in later years. The butcher’s shop nearby appears to have been a busy place even then, suggesting that this part of the village was already a hub of daily life at the turn of the century.

In the foreground, the ornate streetlight positioned in front of the Coastguard Cottages was most likely oil-powered, carefully lit by hand each evening. And in the Power family’s garden, the large tree was really branching out, almost touching the far side of the road. No buses or fish lorries travelled the Dock Road in those times to halt its growth.

This photograph of Dunmore East, taken from the ground above Councillors Strand in the late 1890s, shows a village composed, orderly, and prepared for the arrival of the summer months.

The view looks across Lawlor’s Strand at a time of full tide. The sea is calm and clear, the kind of conditions that would have encouraged swimming or, at the very least, dipping one’s feet. Peg’s Rocks can be seen in the photo, a popular swimming place for both residents and visitors.

Rising above the houses is the steeple of St Andrew’s Church, already long established as a landmark within the village. Its presence dominates the skyline in many photographs from the period.

Going up the hill, Hope Cottage appears freshly maintained, with new thatch and bright paintwork. Such upkeep was particularly important approaching the visitor season, when houses and lodgings would be expected to present themselves well. There was obviously an active Tidy Towns committee in action in the 1890’s.

Grove Cottages, at the top of Long’s Hill, were also in good condition at the time, but were sadly later removed to make an entrance to the woods for dog walkers.

Taken together, the scene suggests a community readying itself for summer, with buildings in good repair, the grass coming down the hill neatly cut, and the sun warm and bright in the sky. More than a century later, many of those elements remain reassuringly familiar. Apart from one or two additional houses and a few motor cars, the scene remains much the same.

This photograph shows the Fisherman’s Hall and the well-known tree standing across the road from it. This particular version comes from a postcard dating to around 1950, capturing a moment of everyday village life in quiet detail.

One of the men in the photograph bears a resemblance to Canon Jameson, though I wouldn’t swear to it. Small clues in the scene suggest that the photograph was taken during the summer months: a pair of swimming shorts and two towels are draped over the Hall’s wall, likely left there to dry after a swim in Stoney Cove. In those days, people only ventured into the sea in warm weather, having far too much sense to swim in winter for fear of catching a cold and ending up confined to bed for a month. Nowadays, of course, that caution has long since disappeared, with people swimming all year round.

There is also at least one fine car in the village at the time. Its owner was probably inside the Bay Café, buying bananas, which had only just become available again following the Emergency years of the 1940s. With a car like that, I’d say they could afford to buy a whole bunch.

Many love stories began, and some ended, in the hall during the dances that were held there regularly. It was also used to screen films on the big screen. The first film I ever saw on anything other than television was The Young Ones, starring Cliff Richard. It made it to Dunmore around 1966. My two sisters brought me, having been directed to do so by my mother. I thought the film was great, and it only stopped a few times when the projector cut out or when the reel had to be changed. I remember being impressed by Cliff’s singing.

This photograph of the Harbour was originally a postcard, likely dating from the late 1950s. I don’t recall ever seeing this exact image before, which makes its rediscovery all the more appealing. Like many postcards of the period, it was carefully composed to show the harbour at its best, calm and inviting, with the houses on the cliff settled comfortably above it.

It was certainly taken on a finer day than any we’ve had so far in 2026. The light has that unmistakable softness of a good summer’s day, the sort that draws people outdoors and makes the harbour feel like the centre of everything.

Looking at it now, Cliff Richard again inevitably comes to mind, singing Summer Holiday — a song I’ve always associated with Dunmore. Whether or not it was playing anywhere near the harbour at the time, it feels perfectly at home here, echoing the carefree atmosphere of summers past and the enduring pull of the place itself.

Postcards from the 1990s have a character all of their own. The colours are a little brighter, the skies a touch more dramatic, and the village presented at its very best, as if every day arrived with sunshine ordered in advance. In this view, Nimmo’s Lighthouse stands firm at the edge of the harbour, as it has for generations, guiding boats safely past the rocks and welcoming them home again.

By the time this card was printed, fishing patterns had changed and the bustle of earlier decades had softened, yet the lighthouse remained the constant. Visitors might have seen it as picturesque, something to frame in a photograph or send to family abroad. For locals, it was far more practical than romantic — a mark of bearings, a comfort in poor weather, a silent workmate that asked for nothing and never took a day off.

The 1990s were years when postcards still carried news: a quick note about the weather, who was met on the pier, or how the tea tasted after the walk. Nimmo’s Lighthouse would often be the image chosen, instantly recognisable, proof that the sender had been in Dunmore East and nowhere else.

Today the card itself has become part of history. The stamps may fade and the corners curl, but the lighthouse continues to do what it has always done — stand watch, hold its ground, and link one generation of harbour life to the next.

The harbour at Dunmore East has worn many looks over the years, but in the late 1990s it seemed especially fond of colour.

This postcard captures the place in one of those bright, easy moments when everything appears freshly washed by the tide and set out for admiration. The boats sit neatly at their berths, hulls picked out in reds, greens and blues, while along the pier the everyday business of the port continues at an unhurried pace.

Up on the lift the trawler, Loradon, is suspended above the water, perhaps waiting for repairs, perhaps simply due a scrape and a coat of paint. It is a sight familiar to anyone who spent time around the harbour — work going on in full view, nothing hidden, maintenance as much a part of life as heading to sea. Even when hauled out of the water, the boat seems only to be pausing, gathering strength for the next trip.

Beyond it all, the water lies calm and inviting under the summer light. You can almost imagine the postcard being chosen in a small rack, a stamp licked, a quick line written on the back to say that all is well and the sun is shining in Dunmore.

Years pass, berths change, and different boats take the ground where others once rested, but scenes like this hold steady. They remind us of a harbour still working, still welcoming, and always ready to show its best side to the world.

This photograph was at one time a postcard, offering a more modern view of Dunmore East’s harbour, most likely dating from the 1990s. At its heart sits the St Patrick, occupying the prime position in the middle of the dock, steady and ready should she be called upon.

I found that by staring at the photograph for half an hour, the scene began to come alive, I could almost hear the sharp calls of the kittiwakes overhead, the soft movement of water against hulls, and that unmistakable smell of salt and sea air that belongs only to Dunmore.

This is another photograph that was once sold in shops and sent all around the world as a postcard, encouraging people to come to Dunmore and bring their sailboats with them. It probably dates from the 1990s, a time when there seemed to be nothing but blue skies and blue seas ahead, and Bertie Ahern was Taoiseach. You’d wonder how it all went awry.

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.

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.

This photograph is believed to date from the early 1970s, and for those who know the harbour, it reads almost like a roll call. Seasoned fisherman Ken O’Neill can still place them with the certainty of a man tying a familiar knot: “That’s the Wheel Geevor and Girl Margaret down by the lighthouse, Alida and Salto next row up, Wiseman’s and Lydia Anne in the top berth.”

Other names come just as quickly — the Treminou, the Carina, the Agnes Palmer, and Roger Shipsey’s yacht, Sari-Anne. They are spoken with affection, each one carrying its own cargo of trips made, weather met, fortunes won or lost, and the ordinary days that in time become the best of stories.

What is striking is not simply the accuracy of the recall, but the care behind it. Half a century may have passed, yet the boats remain anchored firmly in the minds of those who watched them steam in and out. Harbours do that to people. They create witnesses.

Long after timber has been replaced, engines silenced, or paint schemes changed, the old fleet continues to lie alongside in memory — neat, orderly, exactly where it always was.

This photograph dates from the 1980's,  a time when the village was still a busy fishing port, when the days were measured by tides, landings and the price on the quay. Boats came and went in a steady rhythm, engines thumping, gulls arguing overhead, and the smell of diesel mixing with salt and fish.

Ask the fishermen about those years and you’ll notice something straight away: the boats are remembered the way other people might remember neighbours or relations. Their names roll easily off the tongue — Gary Óg, Sharabaun, Star of Nazareth, Mary Christina, De Zwerver, Loyal Friend, Nimrod, Alida, the French boat Christ Marie, and the Supreme. Men moved from boat to boat over the years, following the promise of a better trip. Some made their fortune; others made do. But all of them made memories.

Fishing may not be what it once was. Quotas, costs and changing times have altered the trade, and the harbour is quieter now than in that photograph. Yet talk to the men who were there and you will find that the seasons grow kinder in the telling. The runs were longer, the catches heavier, the friendships stronger. With every passing year, the stories improve.

And maybe that is its own kind of richness — a fleet that still sails on in memory, tied up forever along the quays of the mind.

This is another photograph dating from the 1950's, that strongly suggests summertime — a relaxed group of friends enjoying a day outdoors in Portally, caught in an unguarded and familiar moment. The easy body language and closeness between them hint at long friendships and shared routines.

The woman on the far left is possibly Alice Whittle, with her sister Cissy standing beside her. Next to them is Nellie Hudson (née Flynn), and beside her is almost certainly Tessie Fitzgerald. Absolute certainty is hard to come by with photographs of this age. The six-year-old girl is Maureen herself — or perhaps her sister, who bore a striking resemblance to her at that age.

Maureen recalled how grateful she and her mother always were to Cissy and her son Pat, who were unfailingly supportive and kind during a difficult period for her aunt, Mary Flynn. Mary had retired from England to live with Annie and Paddy Billy at their home on Emerald Terrace in the late 1980s, and that kindness was never forgotten.

Photographs like this speak quietly of friendship, family, and the everyday generosity that often goes unrecorded, yet leaves the deepest mark.

This picture is of Sam Mitchell and Annie “Billy” Power enjoying an afternoon together, as they often did, possibly on the Shanoon. Theirs was a great love story, but sadly their love was doomed.

Maureen Derbyshire recalls: “I always felt so sad about the account of her doomed love for Sam. The version I was told described the usual Catholic/Protestant problems of the time, as perceived by the local priest. He then went on to denounce Annie and her relationship with Sam from the altar at Sunday morning Mass. Their ‘courting’ had been spied on by an unknown busybody on the cliffs and then reported to the higher powers. She was a lovely, loving lady and never recovered from the experience. On our family holidays to Dunmore/Portally, we always loved spending time with them. I wish I could say that these sorts of religious intolerance problems had improved over the years, but sadly not.”

Sam Mitchell was a brother of Violet O’Toole and also had a brother named Tom. In his younger years, he was very athletic and excelled at rowing, winning many races at the Dunmore East regattas during the 1930s and 1940s.

David Carroll recalls: “I remember him well from my very early childhood, as he had a unique style of rowing a punt. Himself and Paddy “Matty” Power used to row out of the Dock every autumn in a punt with a drift net for herrings in the Bay. One sat in the bow and the other man stood aft, looking ahead as he pulled. It was a great sight — two old men rowing out of the Dock as the dark set in, still going out to fish. I always wanted to row a punt like them, but I was under orders from my mother not to stand up — always sit in a boat! A few boxes would be a good night’s fishing, and it was always said that herrings caught in the bay tasted very good.”

It’s sad to think that, were it not for the priest at the time, and whoever informed him about Annie and Sam’s relationship, their lives could have been so much happier. I suppose at least they had their happy afternoons on the cliffs in Dunmore all those years ago.

This photograph features Cissie Fitzgerald (née Whittle) on the far right, standing next to Maureen’s father, Gerry Hudson, with Nellie Flynn, as she was then, beside him. The lady on the far left is Tessie Fitzgerald. 

It looks very much as though they had been for a dip at Portally Cove and are drying out along the cliffs — cliffs that have since eroded and changed the shape of the place. The photograph likely dates from around 1956, capturing Portally at a time when both the landscape and daily rhythms were different to what we know today.

Maureen recalls that fragrant honeysuckle once grew there in abundance, its scent carried on the air on warm days. She still has a cutting of it growing in her own garden. Its removal from Portally may even have played a part in the erosion that followed. She also remembers catching eels as they swam down the stream nearby, a small childhood adventure tied closely to the place.

In front of where the group is sitting, the Fancy Power brothers had their lobster and crab pots laid out. On certain days, mackerel would swim right up to the beach, almost announcing their presence, as if waiting to be caught.

It was a time when the sea, the land, and everyday life were deeply intertwined — and looking at this photograph now, it’s hard not to feel that they really were glorious times indeed.

This photograph shows Annie and Deddie “Billy” Power and was most likely taken by Sam Mitchell during a quiet afternoon on the cliffs. There is an ease to the image that suggests familiarity between subject and photographer, a moment shared rather than staged.

Deddie led a particularly interesting life. She worked as a housekeeper and childminder for Professor John Oulton Wisdom of Wexford, travelling with him and his children to America and Canada on several occasions while accompanying them on lecture tours. These journeys would have been remarkable experiences at the time, opening up a much wider world beyond home.

Deddie later lived with the professor’s daughter, remaining there until her death at the age of 96. Throughout her life, she had a keen interest in photography and took many photographs using her own camera. On this particular occasion, she entrusted the camera to Sam, allowing her to step into the frame herself.

Images like this carry more than faces and landscapes; they hold traces of lives well lived, friendships formed, and moments quietly shared — preserved now in a single afternoon on the cliffs.

During the 1940s, when fishing was poor and work was uncertain, fishermen sometimes supplemented their income by taking on modelling work. This photograph shows one such group, pictured during an assignment for Scottish Fishergirl Weekly. The idea was a simple one: it was hoped that, when Scottish girls saw what fine men there were in the Irish fishing industry, they might be tempted to come over to gut fish, just as they had done in the 1920s. Sure enough, after the photograph was published, the girls arrived in their droves.

On the left of the image is Paddy Flynn from Portally, who was Maureen Derbyshire’s uncle on her mother’s side. Sadly, Paddy died of a heart attack at just 21 years of age, a stark reminder of how fragile life can be.

In the middle stands one of Dunmore East’s finest characters, John “Bulligan” Power, well remembered locally. On the right is Marty Scallon from Kilmore Quay, Co. Wexford.

What makes this photograph so engaging is the mix of purpose and personality it captures — working fishermen briefly stepping into a different role, while still carrying the unmistakable presence of men shaped by the sea. It is a small but telling glimpse into how resourceful coastal communities adapted during harder times.

The man in the middle of this photo is Paddy Billy Power. The man on the left is possibly John Roche, and the man on the right could be John “Rocky” Power. One of the fish is called Ray, but I’m not sure about the others; they may be halibut.

Years ago, it was commonplace to see men out and about carrying fish with them; it was a kind of badge of manhood. I remember my father, Ernie, never leaving the quay without at least three herrings attached to his belt with a piece of wire threaded through the fishes’ eyes. I tried it myself once, but my trousers got destroyed and I wasn’t allowed into Bill’s. I suppose all fashions have their time.

In this photo we see, on the left at the back, Tessie Kelly, nee Fitzgerald, I think, and beside her one of the Hudson girls. At the front are Cissy Fitzgerald, nee Whittle, Nellie Hudson, nee Flynn, another Hudson girl, and Gerry Hudson.

Although a visitor to the area, Gerry wasted no time picking up on the local, manly trend of carrying fish around with him. These were mackerel, which he picked straight out of the water with his hands; the shoals at the time were so bountiful that this was all one had to do. Portally was like the Garden of Eden back in the 50’s.

This photograph was taken outside Maureen Derbyshire’s grandmother Stasia’s cottage in Portally in 1967. It features Nellie Hudson, nee Flynn, and her family, who had travelled over from England for their summer holidays. I’m not sure whether the Hudsons lived in a thatched cottage in St Helens, but they certainly seemed right at home here, as if they already knew the rhythms and ways of rural life.

1967 was known worldwide as the "Summer of Love" and was a great year for music. In America, the first major rock festival took place in Monterey in June; in San Francisco, people wore flowers in their hair; and in Dunmore, men walked around with fish hanging from their belts. If the Hudson girls had turned on the radio in Portally on a Thursday night, they would have heard Larry Gogan playing the Irish pop charts. Songs such as A Whiter Shade of Pale, Waterloo Sunset, and Silence Is Golden sat side by side with The Boston Burglar, Old Maid in the Garret, and The Enniskillen Dragoons. Irish people certainly had a broad and eclectic taste in music back then.

It was also during the Hudsons’ visit to Dunmore that the Kennedy visit to Woodstown took place. Maureen remembers that Mrs Kennedy’s protection detail travelled in huge limousines, one of which nearly mowed her down outside her grandmother’s house on the road leading to Portally Cove.

Maureen recalls:

“After the speeding car incident, we went down to the cove for a swim and saw Jackie dive elegantly from the high rocks. When we were leaving the cove, they happened to be leaving too, and we seemed to accompany her and her children back up the lane. Caroline had dropped her cardigan on the walk back from the cove, so I ran after them to return it.

I also remember the Secret Service men with binoculars stationed on the Portally cliffs. And I remember Mrs Kennedy stopping to chat with Mick Dee from Portally — they even shook hands. Strange the things you remember.”

But it wasn't only Secret Service agents in fast cars she had to worry about, she also remembers her mother’s friend, Cissie Whittle, regaling her siblings and her with vivid ghost stories and tales of headless horses encountered on dark nights in the lanes around Portally. Luckily their days were so busy that these strange tales didn't keep them awake at night.

Even if the "Summer of Love" didn’t make quite the same cultural impact in Portally as it did elsewhere in the world, the Hudsons’ holiday of 1967 was certainly one for them to remember.

This photo was taken on March 13th, 1951, outside the Rubens Hotel in London, at the time of the lifeboat awards that year. The hotel is next door to Buckingham Palace, but I’m sure the crews didn’t mind the noisy neighbours for a couple of nights. Coxswain Paddy “Billy” Power can be seen on the left of the photo, and I believe it is Richard Power at the far right. Paddy’s sister, Deddie, is thought to be in the centre of the picture picture. The man in the middle is Edward Kavanagh and the man second from the right is  William Jones.

The report below from the Irish Examiner lists a number of other lifeboat men who also received awards on the same day, some of whom are most likely in this photo as well.

AWARDS FOR THREE IRISH LIFEBOATMEN

East Coast Rescues Recognised:

Coxswain Patrick Power, of the Dunmore East Lifeboat, was awarded a bar to the bronze medal which he won in 1941, and Second Coxswain Richard Power the bronze medal at the annual meeting in London yesterday of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, reports our special London representative. Coxswain Edward Kavanagh, of Wicklow, received the bronze medal, and Second Coxswain W. S. Jones, of New Brighton, Cheshire, a bar to the bronze medal.

The presentations were made by the Duchess of Kent, President of the Institution, and Mr. Anthony Eden, M.P., and the French Ambassador were the principal speakers. Mayors and Mayoresses from nearly fifty London Boroughs were present.

CO. WATERFORD RESCUE

On the night of the 14th December of last year, fishermen returning to Dunmore East reported seeing flares of distress nearly two miles away, and at twenty minutes past eight the lifeboat “Annie Blanche Smith” was launched into a south-easterly gale and squalls of snow. She went to the position given and by the light of the searchlight found the fishing boat “St. Declan” with five men on board.

The fishing boat had broken down and had thrown out fifteen fishing nets to act as an anchor, but she was still drifting rapidly. When the cox saw her she was less than two cables from the rocks. A line was thrown to the distressed boat and the lifeboat moved away stern first, towing the fishing boat until they were a mile from the rocks. Then she brought her into harbour.

She had been handled in the heavy seas with the greatest skill.

Coxswain Power won the bronze medal in 1941 for gallant rescue work.

WICKLOW AWARD

On the morning of Sunday, September 10th, of last year, a motor vessel, “Cameo,” of Glasgow, went aground on the East Coast of Ireland on a sandbank, fourteen miles from Wicklow. The weather was fine, and when the lifeboat “Lady Kylsant” arrived, her help was declined. A tug came out to attempt to tow off the “Cameo.” Next morning, when it was blowing a gale, the lifeboat was again called out and stood for nearly twelve hours while the attempts to refloat the “Cameo” continued. They failed, but her master would not abandon her, and the lifeboat again returned to her station.

Twelve hours later, on the evening of Tuesday, she was called out for the third time. The night was very dark and seas 15 ft. high were breaking on the sands and boiling round the wreck. The cox anchored to windward, dropped down on his cable and passed two lines to the wreck. There the lifeboat lay, the seas lifting her to the level of the wreck’s gunwale, and one by one, as the cox ordered them, the eleven men of the crew jumped into her.

For his fine seamanship and his splendid handling of the lifeboat, the Institution has awarded its bronze medal to Coxswain Edward Kavanagh.

On the 16th September of last year, a full southerly gale was blowing in the mouth of the Mersey and a very rough sea was running. An Irish schooner, the “Happy Harry,” of Arklow, had anchored. That evening coastguards saw her burning distress signals and called up the New Brighton Lifeboat Station. The cox was away and the second cox took out the No. 2 lifeboat, Edmund and Mary Robinson. To reach the schooner he had to take the lifeboat right across the revetment wall, through a gap which the seas had made in it. He brought her back in the same way with the four men of the schooner’s crew on board and the lifeboat herself undamaged.

It was a rescue carried out with speed, with great skill and at considerable risk, and the Institution has awarded to Second Coxswain William Stephen Jones a bar to the bronze medal, which he won in 1947.

SHAMROCK FOR DUCHESS

After the presentation, a spray of shamrock was given to the Duchess of Kent by the three men from Ireland.

The Duchess, in the course of her speech, said that when she attended last year’s meeting she recalled that she had presented medals to men from the coasts of England, Scotland and Wales, and it was, therefore, with great pleasure that she had an opportunity of acknowledging the bravery and courage of men from lifeboat stations in Ireland.

“The record of this year’s services is as remarkable as ever,” she added. “I have on many previous occasions drawn attention to the magnificent standards of conduct which obtain in the lifeboat service. No praise is too high for the 2,000 men who, year after year, carry on their work of rescue with a cheerful disregard of the dangers of every kind which attend this work.”

After the meeting, the medallists and six honorary workers, who have received the gold badge, were entertained to tea at the House of Lords by Lord Winster and six members of the House, who are also members of the Committee of Management of the Institution.

With the ladies gone shopping for the day in London, the four lifeboat heroes were free to talk about all things nautical and to compare storms and rescues. From left to right, the men are: Coxswain Paddy Billy Power, Coxswain William Jones, Second Coxswain Edward Kavanagh, and Second Coxswain Richard Power. 

This photograph, dating from around 1967, brings us back once more to Stasia and Minnie, two women who seem to ground every scene with a quiet authority and a sharp sense of humour. This time, they are joined by professor John Oulton Wisdom and his sons, for whom Deddie Power worked, making this a meeting of worlds that might seem unlikely, yet one in which the two sisters were completely at ease.

On the far right of the image is Maureen’s aunt Mary, home on a visit from Liverpool where she was working in housekeeping. Her presence adds another layer to the photograph — a reminder of the many young women who moved back and forth across the water for work, returning home with stories, accents softened or sharpened, and a suitcase full of experience.

John Wisdom was no ordinary visitor. A respected philosopher and psychoanalyst, his work ranged across the mind–body problem, philosophy of science, cybernetics, and psychoanalytic theory — subjects that might sound lofty or abstract now, but which sat comfortably enough alongside tea, conversation and everyday life in this setting. Away from academia, he was also a keen sportsman, finishing second in the Irish Amateur Close golfing championship in 1928, and was rarely seen without a pipe, which he smoked with great style. By all accounts, he was a man easy to admire.

What is most striking, though, is how naturally Stasia and Minnie seem to take it all in their stride. They could mix comfortably with the best and brightest, without ever being overawed. There is a sense that they are enjoying the visit — even Minnie looks as if she might be on the brink of a smile. Stasia’s own philosophy summed it up neatly: 

“Once they don’t want to fry fish or leave it on the doorstep, they are welcome.”

It’s a photograph where local life, visiting intellect, family ties and gentle humour all meet, entirely on Stasia and Minnie’s terms.

In this photograph we see Paddy Billy Power, the well-respected coxswain of the Dunmore East lifeboat, pictured on board what is believed to be the yacht Dara, or possibly another vessel owned by Arthur Morris. Whichever craft it may be, the image captures a small but telling moment in the rich maritime life of the village.

Dara was owned by Daphne French, niece of Percy French—the celebrated songwriter, humourist, entertainer and painter. Daphne herself was a formidable and fascinating woman. During the Second World War she worked as a trainer for women drafted into service aboard canal boats under a Ministry of War Transport scheme. These women crewed barges on the Grand Union Canal, carrying coal from the fields around Coventry to factories along the Birmingham and Fazeley Canal and onwards to the docks of London. It was demanding, practical work, and Daphne was right at home in that world.

After the war she returned to Ireland and settled in Dunmore East, where she made her home in Pamir Cottage, a bungalow remembered as much for its beautifully kept garden as for the character of its owner. Daphne quickly became a familiar and distinctive figure in the village.

David Carroll recalls her clearly from his childhood in Dunmore, when his father served as Harbour Master:

“I can remember Daphne French well during my childhood in Dunmore. With my father as Harbour Master, she was a regular and courteous visitor to our house, discussing seafaring matters and seeking my father’s advice or opinion on a myriad of nautical issues. She was a distinctive dresser, always wearing blue or navy sailing clothes—denim trousers, a reefer jacket, a knitted hat and sailing shoes. She drove a small ‘bubble car,’ a Messerschmitt, and I can still remember the distinctive sound of its two-stroke engine as it went up and down the village.”

In Dunmore, Daphne sailed Dara, a small four-ton yacht moored close to the RNLI lifeboat Annie Blanche Smith, near where the Island once sat in the harbour. She gathered around her a circle of friends who crewed with her on short coastal cruises from Dunmore and, at times, on longer voyages further afield. Paddy Billy Power was one of her great confidants, helping her with the care and maintenance of Dara and sharing in her deep understanding of the sea.

David also recalls a visit to Pamir Cottage that left a lasting impression:

“On one occasion Daphne invited my mother to afternoon tea, and being an only child I went along too. It was like stepping into a sea captain’s house from an Enid Blyton Famous Five novel. There were books everywhere, ships in bottles, paintings of ships and all sorts of nautical memorabilia decorating the lovely bungalow. She was a real woman of the sea.”

The photograph is therefore not just a record of a man standing on a yacht. It quietly links two notable lives in Dunmore’s maritime world: Paddy Billy Power, a dependable and highly regarded lifeboat coxswain, and Daphne French, sailor and wartime organiser, both shaped by long familiarity with the sea, the weather and the constant presence of the harbour.

This is Deddie, taking time out from her working day and making the most of a sunny afternoon out on the cliffs in Dunmore.

In this photo we see Maureen Derbyshire, then Hudson, and her brother Brian aboard the lifeboat in Dunmore in the early 1960s. The man in the picture is unknown to me; if anyone recognises him, let me know and I’d be happy to add his name.

Paddy Billy, Maureen’s granduncle, authorised the visit onto the boat — I suppose having a decorated coxswain in the family had its advantages.

This photo dates from the 1930s and was taken in Portally. The girl at the top right of the photo is thought to be Mary Flynn, an aunt of Maureen Derbyshire. Unfortunately, Maureen’s memory doesn’t stretch back to the ’30s, so the others remain unidentified. The horse pulling the cart — the SUV of the time — is also unknown.

At the time the photo was taken, I’m sure Portally was still a densely inhabited area. Buddy “Fancy” Power often said that at the turn of the twentieth century there were over a hundred men living there.

Alice McGrath recalls: "When I started work in the late 1970s, there was an estate agent in town, Arthur G. Doyle. He was elderly, even then. A lovely man. He was a great historian, and he told me once that Portally was a very busy and thriving village until the harbour was developed in Dunmore East and things moved there. Rathmoylan, Ballymacaw, etc., were the same — larger, very busy communities."

Most of the Portally residents were probably fishermen and part-time farm workers, it was a golden age for rural living. Turnips and pig nuts were plentiful and the bushes were heavy with berries. All a man had to do was walk into the water at Portally Cove wearing loose wellingtons and fish would swim inside them.

Rabbits and hares were easily snared and sometimes cooked where they were caught, over an open fire. People had great resilience in those times, no matter how hard life got. I think nowadays, if someone were handed a dead rabbit, they’d hardly know what to do with it, and if a fish swam into their boots they’d most likely ring the emergency services. How times have changed.

This photo, dating from the mid 1960’s and taken in Portally, features, from the left, Stasia Flynn and her daughter Nellie Flynn, whose married name was Hudson. With them are Nellie’s children, Angela, Brian and Maureen. They are all dressed up for a trip to Waterford to see the big city sights and to visit the fancy cake shops.

Maureen had just won a scholarship to Notre Dame Grammar School. One of the nuns’ stipulations was that every girl had to wear the school blazer whenever they were out and about in public. She wore it even though they were in Ireland; her mother would say, “The nuns have ways of finding things out.”

There is something especially poignant about this photograph of Nellie Flynn standing outside her childhood home in Portally. Though I do not have an exact date for the image, I would place it sometime in the 1990s — a period not so very distant, and yet already part of a different Ireland.

Behind Nellie stands a fine example of a traditional Irish thatched cottage. Its low whitewashed walls and soft, rounded roofline speak of a way of life shaped by local materials, hard work, and quiet resilience. Houses like this were once common along our coast and countryside, built with stone from nearby fields and topped with carefully layered thatch cut and tied by skilled hands. They were modest homes, but they held generations of stories.

Sadly, like many similar Irish cottages, this house has since burned down. Fire was always the great danger to thatched homes. A stray spark from the hearth, a chimney not properly cleaned, or even an accident during dry weather could undo years of careful maintenance in a single night. When these houses are lost, it is not just timber and thatch that disappear, but a tangible link to our past.

I am not certain whether the cottage was ever rebuilt. If it was, one suspects that slates may now cover the roof — practical, durable, and safer, but lacking the warmth and character of the old thatch. That is often the way with progress: we gain security, yet lose something of texture and tradition.

Still, this photograph preserves what fire could not take — the memory of a home, and Nellie standing proudly before it. In that sense, the cottage remains.

This photo was taken at Portally Cove, possibly in the late 1930's or early 40's. The girl on the left of the picture is Maureen’s mother, Nellie Flynn; the boy in the middle is unrecognised, and the boy on the right is almost certainly Stephen Whittle.

Maureen recalls: “Mum lived a few hundred metres up the lane from the cove in a thatched cottage with its own well that never dried up. I can still taste the water that I drank when we holidayed there — it was so refreshing. Sadly, the cottage has since burned down. Mum often talked about Stephen Whittle and how she spent her childhood roaming the cliffs with him… I think they lived in adjacent cottages.”

Reflecting on the photo, Maureen points out how an upright posture was important when being photographed in those times — there was no slouching. “They seemed like they were ready to dance a jig.”

Perhaps, indeed, the children had imagined they were in their own stage show, with twenty other dancers stepping it out beside them. They may even have called it Seadance. A lot of great ideas were originally conceived in Portally.

To be continued...