The Rutter Family Photo Album

Ernie was born on June 30th, 1922, in Preston, Lancashire. I would imagine that he is about six months old in this picture.

It looks like Ernie may have been around 3 years old in this photo and had already started to wear a junior sou'wester. This picture would have been taken in England around the mid 1920's and the woman is his father's mother.

This is Ernie playing with the sand on a hot summer day in 1926. I think this photo may have been taken in Blackpool.

Here he is aged around 5 years old and has already secured transport and a bigger hat, things were starting to move in the right direction.

This is Ernie when aged around 12, by this time the family had moved to Ireland and he had developed a fishing habit. I don't know the names of the other two boys.

This picture was taken during the innocent years before the war came to Dunmore, in the mid 1930's I'd say, in Ernie's parents back garden.

This is Ernie's father, William Rutter. This picture was taken in England before the first world war, in which his brother Arthur was killed.

This is my grandmother, Nelly Rutter, photographed in 1910. Her maiden name was Nelly Burns and she came from Cheekpoint. She spent most of her married life in the first thatched house on the dock road, beside where Paddy O’Toole used to live. The only recollection I have of her is that she was always very cross, and I have been told that she once stuck a nappy pin in me by mistake when I was a baby. Sometimes I think I can still feel the pain. She died around 1973.

This is a photo of Ernie and his mother, on the left of the picture. I think the guy on right, who bears a resemblance to the singer Lyle Lovett, is one of the Burkes, from Gertie’s shop. It’s probably his mother that’s with him. The photograph would have been taken in the 1930’s in Ernie’s parents back garden.

This photo dates from 1940, by which time Ernie was starting to burst out of his suit jacket and was ready to put on a uniform. His mother is somewhat tearful in this picture, not knowing what the future held in store. At least he wasn’t going overseas to fight, the war in Dunmore was based on the Shanoon and Ernie promised to come home every day for his dinner. Still and all, they were uncertain times, the likes of which no Irish generation has encountered since.

This is a photo of my father, Ernie, with Davy O'Rourke at the back. I don’t recognise the other soldier. They may all look very solemn in this picture, but the 1940’s were serious times. During the summer of '42, the only barrier that stood between Dunmore East and the marauding hoard from Europe, was the Shanoon gun post and a handful of dedicated men. The group pictured here were known as the ‘Enhanced Interrogation Unit’. They were stationed on the Shanoon throughout the war years and their service contributed hugely to the security of the village and the state. Using the ‘Dangle and Dip from the Cliff’ method, they managed to extract important sensitive information from many a would-be foreign invader. These men lived through desperate times, and they weren’t shy to implement desperate measures whenever the situation called for it.

This is a photo of Ernie in full uniform taken during the war years, with an unknown army buddy on the left. The faded image shows two young man with a determined look on their faces, proudly wearing their military attire. The photograph serves as a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made by countless young men and women during a time of great conflict. It captures a moment frozen in time, a glimpse into the past that reminds us of the bravery and dedication of those who served their country. The identity of Ernie's comrade may never be known, but you can sense the bonds of brotherhood that were forged on the battlefield. 

A photo of Ernie with my grandmother, Nelly Rutter, taken during a rare visit home from the front during the early 1940’s. These were the emergency years, and the war was raging on the Shanoon. Soldiers were only allowed to take a one-hour lunch break each day, and it was during one of those breaks that this photo was taken. The bravery of Ernie and men like him saved Dunmore from being overrun by outside influencers during those desperate years of turmoil, they performed a service for the village from which the benefits are still being reaped today.

These are the soldiers who manned Dunmore's lookout post, keeping watch as World War II rumbled on, shielding our village from the shadow of Hitler's invading forces. The photo captures my father, Ernie, on the left, with Davy O'Rourke beside him in the center. The other two men are unknown to me, but together, they were part of a brave company that held their ground on the Shanoon.

In the background, the actual big gun can be seen—silent now but once alive with the thunderous echoes of artillery. So many shells were fired from this very spot during 1941 that the Ministry of Defence reportedly considered establishing a munitions plant in Dunmore East. Local voices soon made themselves heard, however, and plans for a factory were swapped for a shamrock plant, lending a curious twist to the village’s wartime role.

My father, Ernie, shared many tales from those long nights on duty. They used to brew tea from leaves that kept them warm and alert, and when supplies ran low, those same tea leaves found a second life as smokes—perhaps to keep the nerves steady as much as the senses sharp. Ernie’s stories stand as a reminder of how ordinary men transformed into heroes, using every bit of resourcefulness to stand watch over a place they loved.

    This is a photo of the children who attended Bellelake school in the early 1940's. It's the earliest photo I have of my mother, Margaret Rutter nee Hearne. She is in the second row from the back and third from the left. Her brother John Hearne is on her left and her sister Josie is directly in front of her. The sixth girl from the left in the second row from the front is Teresa Sullivan, and the boy seventh from the left in the back row is Willie Sullivan from Folloon. John Keefe is the boy fifth from the left in the second row from the back. I don't know the identities of the other children, but they would have all been local.
    My mother and her siblings used to walk to school from Kilmacomb every day, in their bare feet from April to October, excluding summer holidays. They didn't even have a mobile phone to amuse them on the journey, instead they used to race from telegraph pole to pole and occasionally shove one another into the nettles to take the sting out of the long walk. I couldn't see the average modern child putting up with that today.

After the war ended and the village was deemed safe, Ernie shifted his focus to his social life. He immediately took the opportunity to meet his future wife and wasted no time in tying the knot with her on July 9, 1951. The wedding reception was held in Ernie's parents' backyard, which was a trendy practice at the time. In the picture, Tommy and Mary Hearne can be seen on the left, while Nelly and Willie Rutter stand on the right-hand side. 

I'd imagine that this photo was probably taken on the same day as the previous one, unless they partied for more than one day. The only difference in the line-up in this one is my aunt Josie on the far right. I notice that Ernie has a Woodbine in his hand, but there doesn't seem to be any smoke coming from it. He may have just received his first order of married life, "don't be smoking when the photo is being taken".

The guests on the day included: 

Front row from the left - Paddy and Tommy Hearne.
Second row from the left: Thought to be Davy O'Rourke, Nellie Rutter and Mary Hearne.
Third row from the left: Unrecognised, Mrs. Paddy O'Toole, Josie Hearne, Mrs. Curran, May Walsh and Mickey Hearne.
Back Row from the left: John Hearne, William Rutter, Margaret Rutter, Ernie Rutter, Tommy Hearne Snr. and another unrecognised man.

Ernie's marriage had brought a change in his mother Nellie's routine. With her son settled and thinking of starting a family of his own, Nellie found that she had a lot more leisure time. She decided to take advantage of it by indulging in her love of long walks around the village.

Nellie would lace up her boots and set out in the mornings, with no particular destination in mind. She enjoyed the fresh air, the beautiful scenery, and the opportunity to stretch her legs. One of her favourite accessories on these walks was a black beret. She had always been partial to hats, and the beret was a stylish addition to her already elegant attire. It was also a practical choice, keeping her head warm on chillier days.

As she walked, Nellie would greet fellow villagers, many of whom had known her for years. They would stop and chat, exchanging news and gossip, and sometimes even joining her for a portion of her walk. Nellie's walks became a daily ritual, a way for her to stay active and connected with her community. And her black beret became something of a trademark, a symbol of her independence and her love of life.

As the seasons changed and the years passed, Nellie's walks remained a constant in her life. And even though Ernie had moved on to start his own family, his mother's daily routine continued, with her trusty black beret always on her head.

Here she is thinking, "I wish I had a grandson".

While looking through old photos, I came across this picture of my grandmother surrounded by two women I don’t recognize. I asked my mother who they were, but she had no idea either. We speculated that they might have been women my grandmother met while out on her daily walks.

My grandmother loved to walk, rain or shine. She would set out early in the morning and come back just in time for lunch. I remember her always wearing her favourite hat and carrying a sturdy cane. She was always friendly and outgoing, and I'm sure she made many friends during her daily excursions.

My grandmother was a woman who enjoyed taking bus journeys, especially after Ernie got married. She loved the adventure of traveling to new places and seeing different sights, but she was always happiest when she was returning home. For her, the journey itself was just as important as the destination. She relished the chance to chat with other passengers, observe the passing scenery, and indulge in a good book usually borrowed from Gertie’s library. But no matter how much she enjoyed her travels, there was always a palpable sense of relief and contentment when she finally arrived back at her own doorstep. Perhaps it was the familiarity of home that brought her such joy, or the comfort of being surrounded by her own possessions and memories. Whatever the reason, my grandmother's love of bus journeys was always tempered by her deep attachment to the place she called home. And in the end, it was this attachment that brought her the greatest happiness of all.

When my grandmother was away on her trips, my grandfather's routine would change dramatically. He would spend hours out in the garden, tending to the plants and flowers, and playing with the cat. It was a peaceful and relaxing time for him, away from the hustle and bustle of the barbers shop. He loved nothing more than being surrounded by nature, and he found solace in the tranquillity of the garden. With his hands in the soil, he would forget about the stresses of the day and lose himself in the beauty of the plants. The cat was his constant companion during these moments of solitude. They would play together, chase each other around the garden, and bask in the warmth of the sun. For my grandfather, it was a simple pleasure that brought him immense joy.

When I think back on my grandfather, I always remember him with a smile on his face. When he wasn't busy playing with his beloved cat or cutting hair at his small barber shop, he would often take a table out onto the street and play the three card trick with passing tourists.

Despite the fact that my grandfather never made a fortune from this game, it was enough to keep his cat fed and happy. I remember watching him one day with my mother as he deftly moved the cards around, tempting unsuspecting tourists to try their luck. His hands were quick and precise, and his smile was infectious.

Although the game was just a small part of my grandfather's life, it was a symbol of his resourcefulness and determination to provide for his family in any way he could. 

In 1954, Nellie and Willie embarked on a pilgrimage to a grotto where they prayed fervently to the Virgin Mary, asking for the blessing of a grandson from their son Ernie. Their hopes and dreams for a new addition to the family were realized the following year with the birth of my sister Audrey, but their prayers were not yet fully answered. It would take six more years before their wish was fully granted with the arrival of a baby boy in 1961.