The Rutter Family Photo Album
(Part 2)

This is a picture of my mother and her sister Josie, with my sister Audrey hidden away in her pram. This photo was taken around April 1955 on the park wall. This was a time when life was less hectic in Dunmore, a time when you could stand out on the road and take a photo without fear of getting a belt of a car.

This is Audrey sitting on the doorstep of the house in Lower Dunmore. She was about six months old in this photo. In those days, babies didn't need fancy bouncers or high-tech gadgets to keep them entertained. As soon as they were able to sit up on their own, they were placed on the doorstep to watch the world go by.

This is Audrey again, a lively and curious toddler who, at around 18 months old, was ready to explore the world on two feet. Gone were the days of sitting contentedly on the doorstep, as Audrey was now eager to venture out and discover new sights and sounds. With a determined look in her eye and a wobbly gait, she was getting ready to go places and nothing was going to stop her. 

In the 1950s, when my father Ernie wasn’t fishing, loading barrel boats, or up on the Shanoon, he could often be found engaged in one of his more regal pursuits — building sandcastles. When he put his mind to it, his creations knew no bounds. Towers rose, moats deepened, and walls were shaped with the care of a man who took his architecture seriously.

In this particular photograph, we see one of his finest achievements, with my sister Audrey perched proudly on top, assuming without opposition the title of Queen of the Castle. My other sister, Barbara, was too young to argue about the title on the day and was happy enough to suck on her dummy.

Many a Saturday morning would have unfolded just like this, with Ernie digging with determination, carving out grand designs from the damp sand, while my mother stood nearby offering encouragement.

“Dig deeper, Ernie,” she’d say. “You’re doing a great job.”

Of course, he hardly needed prompting. This had been one of his favourite pastimes as a boy himself, and now, with children of his own, he had every excuse to return to it. There’s something about sandcastles — they rise quickly, they fall easily, but for a few bright hours they stand as monuments to imagination.

And in those hours, with a Queen on the throne and a baby content in the arms of her mother, the kingdom was complete.

These are my two sisters, Audrey and Barbara, photographed in 1957 at the front door of the house. Barbara wasn’t as content to sit on the doorstep as Audrey had been; she always wanted to be going somewhere. In this photo, she had spotted Jimmy’s bus and was gesturing towards it, trying to get Audrey to accompany her. She had learned the word “shop” around this time and would say it over and over.

Audrey, meanwhile, seems to be thinking to herself, “This one is a piece of work. It’s only two o’clock and my head is already fried.”

To this day, Barbara still likes to visit the shops daily, either to buy something new or to return the previous day’s purchases. She was born a shopper, I guess.

This colourised photo of my sister Audrey was taken in the park in Dunmore when she was around 18 months old, in the summer of 1956. She is still wearing her baby harness in this picture, which indicates that she was in the early stages of learning to walk. 

This intriguing photo captures a moment of bravery as Barbara and Audrey stand fearlessly at the entrance of their home, preventing a marauding beast from entering. 

This delightful picture captures the two girls all set and ready for a Sunday walk with my mother. The usual route for their walks was up the hill, across the village, up the Coxtown coast road and back down the Cuckaloo road. They sometimes got to explore the woods on their walks and would often pick flowers as they meandered along the way. If the season was right, they would also pick blackberries. The photo exudes a sense of joy and simplicity, reminding us of the beauty and charm of a leisurely stroll on a Sunday afternoon.

For the two girls, leisure time meant one thing: soaking up the sun on Councillor's Strand. The grassy bank provided the perfect spot to stretch out, chat, and enjoy the warmth on their skin. In the 1950s, the beach looked quite different from the one we know today. Concrete and steel bars were yet to replace the natural beauty of the grassy bank. For these two sisters and friends, it was a place of pure relaxation and escape from the stresses of everyday life. They would lay there for hours, listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the shore and enjoying the salty breeze on their faces. It was a simple pleasure, but one that brought them so much joy. Though the landscape may have changed over time, the memories of those carefree days on Councillor's Strand will always be special.

In this picturesque scene, the two girls immerse themselves in a delightful session of swimming at Councillor's Strand. The strand was a tranquil oasis in those days, untouched by the whirring presence of windsurfers or jet skiers. The absence of these modern watercraft allowed for an undisturbed and peaceful aquatic experience.

Another photo of Barbara and Audrey out in the water at Councillor’s Strand.

After completing an exhilarating session of swimming and ensuring the safe containment of their collection of shrimps and jellyfish in carefully secured buckets, the young adventurers patiently await their journey back home, eager to conclude their aquatic escapade and indulge in a well-deserved tea. These girls were living the dream.

In this photo, you can observe the two girls on their initial sets of wheels. They covered a significant distance on these vehicles before eventually passing them on to me. Subsequently, I enthusiastically utilized them until Mrs. McColl, who lived at the top of the terrace, discovered an old two-wheeled bicycle in their garage and generously gifted it to me. That marked my inaugural encounter with speed on two wheels.

Sunday afternoons were always a time of excitement when I was growing up. It usually meant that one, or maybe two, of my uncles would show up and bring us for a spin in their cars. Sometimes it would be to Tramore for a go on the high-speed hobby horses or the chair-o-planes. Then we’d head into the gambling establishments, where I’d stand waiting for pennies to drop off the shelves that moved in and out. They rarely dropped, and when they did, they were put straight back into the slots. To this day, I have never left one of those places with more money than I went in with.

Other Sundays we’d be brought for a drive to nowhere in particular, when, without fail, at least one of us would get car sick. Fair play to my uncles for persisting with the same ritual each week, always expecting a different result — which never came.

This photo must have been taken on one of those Sunday drives and features my aunt, Agnes Hearne, my two sisters, Barbara and Audrey, my mother, Margaret, and probably myself — although I always thought I was better looking as a baby. I’d say it’s possible that I had been given extra Gripe Water to keep me calm on the trip, which always made me look a bit dozy. I’m not sure where the photo was taken, as my memory of the day is somewhat hazy. I imagine my uncle John took the photograph.

This is another of the doorstep photos. I guess we didn’t get out much, and when we did, we didn’t go too far. I’d say this one was taken in 1967, and judging from Audrey’s haircut, she had been influenced by Sandie Shaw, who had won the Eurovision Song Contest that year. Sandie didn’t wear shoes at the time either, as she thought she was too tall, and Audrey seemed to think the same.

My other sister, Carmel, probably hadn’t gotten used to wearing shoes at that stage, as she hadn’t done much walking up to then. She was like Audrey’s “Puppet on a String.”

I’m the boy on the left of the photo, and I’d been thoroughly animalised from watching Daktari. I recall wanting to be Judy the monkey at that time. Television was the great influencer of the day, and people often said it would ruin children’s eyes and drive them all cuckoo — how right they were.