The Village People.

Photos of people that lived in Dunmore East over the years.

A trailer load of Dunmore’s agricultural youth, taken in the 1960’s. 

A photo of Audrey & Margaret Rutter with Billy Power, taken in 1955, I think.

What a pleasure it must have been for Mr. Mullins to come and teach these boys every day, each one being scholarship material and impeccably behaved. The boys in the picture were named by Gerry O’Regan, with one or two corrections of my own which might be wrong. 

Left to Right - Back Row: Gerry (Ringo) Regan RIP, Ray (Small Boy) Whittle Dermot Murphy RIP.

Second row. Peter O'Neill, Neil (Dodjo) Whittle, Maurice (Cess) Glody RIP, Tony Meaher, Michael Farrell, Eddie Flynn, Leo Whittle.

Third Row, Tom Ahearn, Matt Quilty RIP, Gerard (Guss) Walsh, Paul (Boozey) Townley, Pat O'Toole, Bill Shipsey, Brian Power, Paul Power, Ian Power RIP, Johnny Quilty, Domenic Healy, Aiden (Pro) Flynn.

Fourth Row, Declan (Manalito) Flynn, Gerry Taylor, Stephen (Mull) Mullally, Sean Murphy, Peter O'Sullivan, Richard Quann, Francis (Fonsie) Ahearne. John Delahunty, John (Busty) Griffin RIP, Sean (Nick) O'Toole RIP, Pat (Slicker) Power RIP.

Front Row, Declan Power, Richard Power, Kieran (Pinchie) Flynn, Pat Flynn, Pat (Fitzie) Fitzgerald, Jackie Dunne, Michael (Mocky) Murray, Stan Power, Joe (Cully) O Toole, Eamonn (Yaw) Power, Collie Power and Bill Shipsey.

I think the ladies featured in this photo are Mrs. Glody, Mrs. Murphy and Mrs. Mason, having a laugh outside of Bill's. I'm fairly sure that the photo was taken by David Campbell during one of his visits home in the 1960's.

This is a photo of the pupils of Bellelake School taken in 1942. My mother, Margaret Rutter (Hearne) and her brother John Hearne are in the second row from the back on the left of the picture, John is second in the row and my mother is third. My aunt Josie is in front of my mother.

Davey 'Muck' Murphy in the wheelhouse.

The young mothers of Dunmore eagerly awaiting the emergence of their sons and daughters from the classroom, I'd say the photo was taken in the early 1960's.

Musician extraordinaire, Gerry Power, performing in the Butchers Bar.

Here we have Gerry, Ann, and Paddy O'Regan, captured in a moment of relaxation behind their family cottage in Coxtown around 1965. Originally taken in a square format, I have since expanded the photo to a 7×5 aspect ratio, allowing for a broader view of the surroundings. I’m not sure if Ringo is smoking a cigarette in the photo, but it certainly looks like he might be.

Attendees at the Board of Works dinners dance, photographed in the mid 1960's.

Nicky Flynn was a man of many talents, here he is seen planting an explosive device. I'm not sure who the other man is, or if he was ever seen again after the explosion.

A happy group queueing up outside the dispensary in Dunmore to get the small pox vaccine in 1962. This photo is taken from a newspaper cutting, so the quality is not perfect.

A tough looking gang wait patiently in hope of gaining entry to Lawlor’s Hotel. In the group are Gerry Burke, sitting on the bike and possibly a Haven barman on the window sill. Beside him from the left are Richie Fanning, Neddy Fitzgerald, Richie Power, Jimmy Cullinane, Tom Murray, Charlie Harte, and Davy O'Rourke. The photo was taken in 1956.

I don't recognise this woman, but the wall is located outside of where the dispensary is now. Crab Cottage can be seen in the background.

A photo of John Dunne doing the daily bread run for Harney's Bakery. John was around 17 when this picture was taken.

A photo taken in the 1960's outside of Eddie's house, I think.

This is Patrick Power, photographed around the time he started work on the quay. I’d say this photo was taken in Killea School around 1970. I remember being in a similar pose myself at the time; my photo came in a small red slide holder that could be attached to keys. The idea was that a parent could hold it up to the light if they’d forgotten what their child looked like.

I think getting the actual photograph cost extra, so I was forever locked into the slide viewer. Thankfully, Ned Power splashed out and bought the full package.

I’d say Paddy could have been a professional footballer if the quay hadn’t called him.

This photo is of Brendan, Maurice and Patrick Glody with Thomas McGrath. I’d say it was taken in the late 1960s, at the top of Kerry Lane—the lane going up beside Bill’s. Jet the dog can be seen in the background.

All of these boys went on to become lifeboat men, and there are people alive today who wouldn’t be, without their service. Sadly, Maurice and Thomas passed away during 2025, long before their time. Condolences to both families.

In 1971, Gilbert O’Sullivan recorded the song “Matrimony”, which became a worldwide hit the following year. It is a song people still enjoy listening to, and one that many attempt to sing. In my opinion, only two people ever truly did it justice: Gilbert himself and Joe O’Toole.

As far as I know, Joe never actually recorded the song; he always favoured the live performance—a sure sign of a true artiste. This photograph shows Joe during one of his impromptu renditions, possibly in the Candlelight. As the saying goes, there was no show like a Joe show.

This is a restored newspaper photo featuring Walter “Walkie” Power and Kathleen Dreelan, taken at a Gaultier G.A.A. dinner dance in the Tower Hotel in 1977.

Walter was quite the ladies’ man in those days. Stories have it that whenever he came into the village, women would throw personal items of clothing at him. However, Walkie wasn’t bothered by any of it and took it all in his stride. The man’s a living legend.

Here we see Thomas McGrath, Louis O’Dwyer and Brendan Glody, caught mid-moment on a night out at a Waterpark Rugby Club disco in the Haven Hotel. The photograph dates from the early 1970s and comes to us via a newspaper cutting of the time.

The Haven was the place to be back then, the beating heart of the local nightlife. On disco nights it drew crowds from far beyond the village, with people travelling miles in the hope of getting past the door. Admission was never guaranteed. The queue outside could be long, the odds uncertain, and only the coolest—and occasionally the luckiest—ever made it inside.

Once you were in, though, you were part of something. The music, the heat of the room, the sense that this was where things were happening. Nights like these became stories, retold years later with a smile and a shake of the head. 

This photo depicts a small slice of early-1970s social life, a time when the nights were still full of promise and getting in meant you’d made it.

When Tommy McGrath passed away in August 1983, Dunmore East lost one of its oldest and best-known residents. He was 84 years of age.

Throughout his long life, Tommy maintained a steadfast connection to the sea and to the fishing industry — as a fisherman, kipper producer, and respected fish buyer whose reputation was known in ports and markets across Ireland and the British Isles.

His funeral at Killea Church on the Tuesday evening drew one of the largest gatherings ever seen in the parish, a reflection of the esteem in which he was held. The following morning, his interment was equally well attended, with friends, neighbours, and fellow fishermen coming together to pay their final respects to a man whose life was so closely bound to the story of Dunmore East itself.

Journalist, Kathleen O’Connor, wrote an appreciation in the Munster Express of September 9th, 1983, I have reprinted it here:

Small things, if anything, best highlight the fact that Tommy McGrath, of 3 Queen’s Terrace, Dunmore East, Co. Waterford, was among the best-known and most respected fishermen around the entire coastline.
Small things — like the time we first went to Dublin and were told to go to Howth, stick our heads over the wall, and shout, “Tiny sent us.” We were assured we’d get all the fresh fish we wanted. We did, and the ploy worked perfectly. But sadly now, Tiny won’t be sending anyone, anywhere, anymore. Tommy McGrath — “Tiny” to so many — set out on his final voyage on the 29th of August, and all we can hope is that in his own “Fiddler’s Green,” he has found true and lasting peace.

We had the privilege of knowing Tommy since the early 1950s. At first, impressions weren’t great — he could seem gruff, perhaps a little unsmiling. But he, more than anyone, proved the truth of that old saying: “never judge a book by its cover.” Behind the gruff exterior beat a heart bigger than the Hook itself.

After he retired and set aside his nets, Tommy became a familiar sight driving his Volkswagen around the village — always, it seemed, on errands of kindness. He’d take neighbours to the nurse, the doctor, or the hospital; to the bank, the city, or the chapel. After his funeral, one young woman recalled that when she was a student nurse and missed her train, Tommy drove her all the way to Limerick Regional Hospital, saving her from the wrath of the Sister Tutor. She remembered how he didn’t even stop for a cup of tea — just turned the car at the gate and drove straight home again.

Of course, he enchanted us all. We listened to his stories on winter nights and summer days alike — tales of big catches and small, good times and lean ones, calm seas and sudden storms. His marvellous memory and sharp wit shone through in every one. After his passing, more stories surfaced — seamen recalling his quiet generosity, remembering the times he slipped a few pounds into their hands when the days were hard and the catches poor.

Tommy is gone now, but he leaves behind a wealth of cherished memories — and the enduring sense that there is still more good than bad in this world. For many of us, he has left behind a void that will never truly be filled.

Kathleen O’Connor.

This is Peg Power, photographed outside the Fisherman’s Hall in what appears to be the early 1960s. Peg was well known in Dunmore for her community spirit and the tireless energy she poured into village life. From jumble sales to fundraisers and every kind of local gathering, she was always at the centre of things, helping to keep the community lively, entertaining, and well connected.

Alongside her friends Patty Whittle and Biddy Taylor, Peg did an enormous amount for the village over the years. Together, they organised Sunday night dances in the Fisherman’s Hall, raising funds for the restoration of the Convent Chapel or for any worthy cause that needed support. Those dances became a highlight of the week for many in the village—even if, by all accounts, there wasn’t a drop of stout involved!

Her daughter Elizabeth was rarely far from her side, always keeping a caring eye on her mother. If Peg ever looked a little run down, Liz would hurry over to Jones’s pub, later known as Barlow’s and the Anchor, and return with an “emergency” small bottle of Guinness—believed at the time to be a tonic for strength and iron. It was a simple but thoughtful gesture, no doubt much appreciated by Peg, and a reminder of the kind of daughter every mother would wish for.

Peg Power remains remembered not just for her community efforts, but for the warmth, humour, and neighbourly spirit she brought to all she did—she was a true pillar of Dunmore life.

This photograph, which has been colourised and slightly altered from the original, captures a special moment in the lives of Maureen Greene from Coxtown and Jim Mason from Passage East on their wedding day on March 17th, 1958. Standing with them are Jim’s brother, Tom Mason, and his sister, Julia Mitten (nee Mason).

The wedding took place in London, a city that drew so many young Irish men and women during the 1950s in search of work and opportunity. At the time, Maureen was employed as a child minder for the Norwood family from Dunmore, who also maintained a home in London. Jim, meanwhile, was working on the London docks, having already spent his younger years fishing and going to sea, following a path familiar to many men from the southeast coast.

Like countless others of their generation, Maureen and Jim made a life for themselves in London before eventually returning home in the early 1960s. On his return to Dunmore, Jim went back to fishing before spending many years working on the Pilot boat, a role that demanded skill, detailed knowledge of the river, and a steady nerve.

Jim was a good friend of my own father, Ernie, who always spoke very highly of him, as he did of all the pilots. There was a deep respect for that work and for the men who carried it out, often in challenging conditions, ensuring that incoming and outgoing ships safely navigated their way to and from Waterford.

This wedding portrait serves as a small window into a shared history of migration, hard work, and eventual homecoming — a story echoed in so many families from Dunmore and beyond.

Following their wedding celebrations, the Masons wasted no time in setting off on their honeymoon. This photograph captures them looking relaxed and full of happiness just after boarding the train, bags packed and spirits high. The journey would likely have taken them towards Fishguard, then on by ferry to Rosslare, before the final and much-anticipated destination — what could only be described as honeymoon heaven: Dunmore East.

The photo speaks of a time when travel was slower and journeys were part of the adventure. The excitement of returning home as newlyweds was written clearly on their faces. Smartly dressed and clearly enjoying the moment, they look every inch a couple at the beginning of a shared life.

One can’t help but wonder whether Jim, with his long connection to the sea, got to take a hand at steering the ferry on this occasion — though, given his new status as a married man, that privilege may well have been firmly off the cards. Either way, the ferry trip was the start of a new chapter, carrying them homeward together, full of promise and possibility.

This colourised photograph shows the staff who worked in the Haven Hotel on the night of a bank dinner dance in 1953.

Back row, left to right: Mary Donovan and Margaret Walsh (nee Doyle).

Front row, left to right: Mrs Cullinane, Theresa Power, Philip Brennan, Mrs Donovan, Cissie Fitzgerald (nee Whittle), and Mrs Kearns.

“This photo shows Mary McGrath and Jimmy Bates, skipper of the trawler Glenmalure. It was taken on the night of the Glenmalure fishing tragedy. The piece below is based on a Munster Express report from 27 November 1970. 

It is more than half a century now since a winter gale off Hook Head claimed the life of a young Wexford fisherman and left a lasting mark on all who were involved.

On Wednesday night, November 25th, in 1970, the Dunmore East lifeboat, under coxswain Stephen Whittle, was launched on a 45-minute dash to the entrance of Waterford Harbour following reports of a trawler in grave difficulty. The vessel was the Glenmalure of Kilmore Quay, caught in heavy seas as she rounded Hook Head.

The casualty was Patrick Barry, a 27-year-old fisherman from Slade. Recently married, he was at the wheel of the Glenmalure when a single, massive wave struck the trawler with devastating force. The wheelhouse was torn away and swept overboard, and Barry was carried with it into the sea.

Those who survived would later recall how quickly conditions deteriorated. The Glenmalure had left Kilmore Quay earlier that evening bound for the herring grounds at Bagnibun Bay. At first, the weather gave little cause for concern. But off the Hook Lighthouse, one enormous sea rose up and came down on the vessel, heaving her violently and filling the wheelhouse with water.

Skipper Jimmy Bates, then 47, was inside with his 19-year-old son and Patrick Barry. For a moment, Bates believed the trawler was lost altogether. Although she righted herself, the damage was catastrophic. The mast was smashed away, the radio destroyed, and Barry was washed overboard. The next time he was seen, he was clinging to fishing nets that had been torn from the deck.

With the Glenmalure foundering and rocks only yards away, Bates made the decision to launch the life-raft and fire flares. He, his son, and fellow crewman Nicholas Wickham escaped the vessel minutes before she sank. Wickham suffered serious head injuries after being thrown against the galley during the impact of the wave.

The Dunmore East lifeboat eventually reached the scene and took the men aboard. For three hours, the crew searched the dark, breaking seas for any sign of Patrick Barry, but without success.

The tragedy did not end there. The Anna Maria, another Kilmore Quay trawler that had attempted to assist the Glenmalure, ran into difficulties herself and was later forced to stand off in heavy seas near the Hook. The naval corvette Maeve was also called to provide assistance, as the storm continued to batter the coast.

In the days that followed, the search continued for Barry’s body. His loss was felt deeply in Kilmore Quay and Slade, communities where the dangers of the sea were well known but never fully accepted.

Back in Dunmore East, skipper Bates paid quiet tribute to the lifeboat crew who had saved their lives. Without them, he said, the night would have ended very differently.

Looking back now, the events off Hook Head in 1970 stand as a stark reminder of the power of the sea and the thin margin between routine work and disaster. They also serve as a reminder of the courage of those who answered the call that night—fishermen and lifeboat men alike—doing their duty in conditions few would willingly face.

This photograph was taken at a threshing in Carballymore, at a time when such gatherings were among the most important and eagerly anticipated events in the rural calendar. Long before the arrival of the combine harvester, threshings marked the culmination of months of hard work in the fields and brought neighbours, families, and friends together in a spirit of cooperation and shared purpose.

The work itself was demanding and often exhausting. Straw dust filled the air, hands were blistered, and backs were sore by the end of the day. Yet despite this, there was always laughter, conversation, and good humour. Stories were exchanged, local news was shared, and jokes passed from one group to another. The craic, as many still remember, was as important as the work itself.

Threshings, though primarily about farming, were also social occasions in the truest sense of the word — moments when community life was on full display. Neighbours who might only meet briefly during busy seasons had time to talk. Friendships were strengthened, and younger generations quietly absorbed the values of cooperation, resilience, and respect that defined rural life.

Children ran freely among the adults, fascinated by the machinery, the movement, and the energy of the day. Dogs followed their owners faithfully, weaving between legs, wagging tails, and adding to the sense of companionship that filled the yard. For many children, these days became some of their most treasured memories — moments of freedom, excitement, and belonging.

Older people, too, found comfort in these gatherings. They offered reassurance that traditions were being carried forward, that neighbours still relied on one another, and that the bonds of community remained strong. Everyone, in their own way, felt part of something bigger than themselves.

Today, as farming methods have changed and threshings have become memories rather than regular events, photographs like this one take on even greater importance. They remind us not only of how the work was done, but of how people lived, supported one another, and found joy in shared effort.

This image stands as a quiet tribute to a way of life rooted in cooperation, kindness, and community spirit — a heritage that continues to shape the identity of rural life, long after the last sheaf was threshed.

In the photograph are:

Back row, left to right:

Paddy Gear R.I.P. (Carbally Beg); Tommy Dunphy R.I.P. (Ballinamintra); Dick Caulfield R.I.P. (Carbally); Martin Halley R.I.P. (Brownstown); Paddy Sweeney R.I.P. (Coolum); Aidan Flynn R.I.P. (Forenaught); Willie Halley R.I.P. (Brownstown); Davy Dunphy R.I.P. (Carballymore); Mrs Arthur Fennessy R.I.P. (“The Laurels”, Upper Grange, Waterford); Billy Bolger R.I.P. (Carbally); and Paddy Tobin R.I.P. (Coolum).

Front row, left to right:

Enda Flynn (Forenaught, Killea); Vincent Dunphy (Carballymore); Paulette Dunphy (Carballymore); and “Pongo” the dog, with a friend.

These are the two Chedgey brothers, Chris and Paul, both of whom spent a lot of time hanging around in pubs looking cool in their youth. They were also known to do a bit of sailing on the side, when time and weather allowed.

Chris and his father, Ron, were very successful during the 1970s, coming second in many important races, including the World Enterprise Championships, which were held in Dunmore East in 1975.

I’m not sure if Paul had any success on the high seas, but he was certainly well able to stay afloat on the high stools. 

This was the lady no one ever wanted to go to see; however, if you were suffering from any kind of ailment, she was the first person you would visit. Dr. Josephine Heffernan O’Reilly — or Ma Reilly, as she was affectionately known — could treat anything from ingrown toenails to heart attacks, or hallucinations brought on by too much drink.

I imagine that everyone in Dunmore, from the 1950s to the 1980s, availed of her services at one time or another. She even made house calls if you were too unwell to go to her. She was a good doctor and never left you penniless after a visit.

Ger Keating remembers that when bitten by a dog on the hand one time, Dr. O’Reilly enquired, “Did you bite him back?”

She was known to sit on her terrace and smoke a pipe, and sometimes walk her Siamese cat on a lead. She also accompanied the annual pilgrimage to Lourdes every year, where she looked after all those in her group.

Judith Hitchman recalls that Joan was a wonderful and formidable person. “She was close friends with my mother, and often came up for a coffee and a smoke of her famous pipe. Her husband was a quiet man, and both of them had served as doctors in the British Army during the Second World War. Her husband, later a surgeon in Ardkeen Hospital, had been involved in liberating some of the most notorious death camps in Germany.”

She was highly thought of in Dunmore East and is clearly still remembered by all who encountered her during a medical visit or knew her well

This photograph was taken in August 1967 and features Mark Power, Madeleine Dunphy, Hilary Dunphy, Brendan Glody and Joefy Murphy.

The original photo had suffered some damage from age and general wear and tear and needed a bit of a makeover. However, even with all the necessary reconstruction, I’m sure most people will still be able to spot the messer in the group.

Anyone who spent any amount of time in the Anchor Bar in Dunmore East during the 1980s would, sooner or later, have crossed paths with Paddy Carroll. And once you did, you didn’t forget the occasion.

Paddy was one of those characters who seemed to belong to the bar as much as the counter itself. He enjoyed drinking a bottle of Bass, sometimes accompanied by a small whiskey, taken at his own pace. He carried stories the way other men carried loose change, producing them at will—polished by repetition but never worn thin. Many of them reached back to his younger days, delivered with a mischievous smile, and the punchline was always worth waiting for.

Music was never far from him either. If the Furey Brothers were playing on the tape recorder behind the bar, Paddy would listen with a reverence normally reserved for Mass. Sometimes, in the middle of a conversation, he would reach into his pocket, pull out a tin whistle and start playing The Lonesome Boatman, the notes floating up over the hum of the bar as if they had been waiting for their moment.

For his day job, Paddy travelled to work on a humble Honda 50, heading for a very different world. When I knew him, he worked driving a bulldozer, crushing rubbish at the dump in Waterford—hard, honest work that bore little resemblance to the theatrics he provided at the weekend.

One of Paddy’s favourite diversions in the Anchor was chess, though not exactly as it appears in the rulebooks. This was full-contact chess, played with true conviction. Paddy was a fine player, but woe betide anyone he suspected of bending the rules. A disputed move could result in a firm grip on your shirt collar, and on one infamous occasion, when he was convinced an opponent had moved a piece by stealth, Paddy bit the man on the nose. Oddly enough, reactions like this did little to diminish his popularity.

I spent many weekends in his company, sitting at the counter, listening to the stories, the music, and the occasional argument. It was never dull, and it was always great fun.

Paddy Carroll died far too young on the 28th of March 1990, leaving behind a wife and family. But he was the kind of man whose memory doesn’t fade easily. In Dunmore East, his name is still spoken, his antics still recalled with laughter, and for those who knew him, Paddy remains firmly part of the village.

This photo taken in 1969, captures a moment of everyday life in Dunmore East. The photograph features Davy Murphy, who lived at the top of Island Road, directly opposite Fisherman’s Hall. Also in the picture are Josette Campbell and her young son, Steven Campbell. The photographer was David Campbell, whose late father served as the local sergeant in the village.

Davy Murphy and his wife were well known locally for baking fresh brown and soda bread each morning for the butcher’s shop. Ann Taylor recalls with a smile that Davy had her drinking stout in the butcher’s pub when she was still a young teenager — a memory that speaks to the easy familiarity and trust that existed in the community at the time.

Mrs Murphy, Ann remembers, was a beautiful woman and a great friend to Ann’s family in Loftus View. "People like Davy and Mrs Murphy were the backbone of the village — warm, generous, and deeply rooted in the everyday rhythms of Dunmore East. They are the kind of characters you don’t meet too often anymore, but whose presence is still fondly remembered."

In this photo, from left to right, we see Declan Butler, Ken O’Neill, Michael Walsh, and Myles Queally, photographed in the Garden of Getsomemoney on the day of their First Holy Communion. They are beautifully turned out for the occasion, dressed in their designer suits and the very picture of innocence.

These are the same boys I used to play with at lunchtime when I was attending school in the convent. Many of our games were inspired by whatever was popular on television at the time. In 1967, the big show was Batman.

The four boys’ roles were interchangeable from day to day, they alternated between Robin, The Riddler, The Joker, and The Penguin. I, of course, was always Batman, as I had a proper cape at home sent to me direct from Gotham City by Bat Post, though I was never allowed to wear it to school, while the boys only had towels at their homes, that they fastened around their necks with clothes pegs.

I often wonder what Mother Agnes made of us charging around the playground, singing “Na Na Na Na Na Na Batman” while pretending to punch one another. I’m sure she was puzzled and I suspect she may have prayed for us when she had a quiet moment alone in the Nun Cave.

The picture was tkaen by David Campbell in 1969 and captures a moment of laughter outside of Bill's on a sunny afternoon. Tommy's car had a reserved space right at the door of the pub and locals had the respect not to park there. Nowadays they'd park in your eye if you weren't blinking.

Miss Bena Galgey of Dunmore East occupies a small but significant place in the social and agricultural history of County Waterford. Her appearance in the local press, following her success at the County Waterford Ploughing Championships in February 1958, marked more than a personal achievement — it represented a meaningful shift in how women’s work on the land was being recognised.

At a time when farming was still widely perceived as a man’s domain, Bena Galgey’s first-prize win in the Tractor Section — a category confined to “farmerettes” — brought her into the public eye. The term itself now feels dated, but in its day it acknowledged the growing number of women who were not merely helping on farms, but competently and confidently managing machinery and carrying out work equal to that of their male counterparts.

Her victory meant that, for the first time ever, County Waterford would be represented in the Farmerette Class at the National Ploughing Championships, held that year in Tramore. The newspaper’s wording — wishing her success and assuring her of the support of both city and county — reflects the pride felt locally, not just in Bena herself but in what she symbolised for rural women across the county.

Farmerette competitions emerged in the mid-twentieth century as a response to social change. During and after the Emergency years, women increasingly took on roles that had previously been closed to them, particularly in agriculture where labour shortages and economic necessity blurred traditional boundaries. These competitions offered formal recognition of skills that had long existed but were rarely acknowledged publicly.

In County Waterford, such events carried particular resonance. The county’s mix of coastal communities like Dunmore East, small farms, and strong agricultural traditions meant that women were deeply embedded in daily farm life. Tractor handling, ploughing accuracy, and mechanical knowledge were not novelties — they were practical skills learned through experience. What changed was that, through farmerette competitions, those skills were finally visible.

Bena Galgey’s story reminds us that progress often arrives quietly. There were no grand declarations or sweeping reforms, just a woman from Dunmore East climbing onto a tractor, competing, winning, and earning her place on a national stage. For many young women looking on at the time, her achievement would have planted an idea — that competence mattered more than convention, and that the field, quite literally, was open to them too.

Today, her photograph stands as a record not only of her achievement, but of a moment when rural Ireland was beginning, slowly, to broaden its understanding of who belonged at the heart of agricultural life.

Angela Galgey was never destined to remain in the shadow of her sister. While Bena Galgey had already earned her place in Waterford’s agricultural story through her own achievements, four years later it was Angela’s turn to take centre stage — and she did so in emphatic fashion.

On 17 November 1962, the Tipperary Star carried the headline that sealed her place in ploughing history:

“Co. Waterford Woman – Queen of the Plough.”

The report described how the chief attraction of the second day of the National Ploughing Championships, held at Dovea, was the keenly contested competition for the coveted title.

The honour went to Miss Angela Galgey of Dunmore East, whose performance stood out among ploughwomen from eleven counties. That evening, at a celebratory dance in the Confraternity Hall, she was formally “crowned” Queen of the Plough by the Minister for Agriculture, amid the applause of an overflow audience. She wore a beautiful frock presented by Thurles Chamber of Commerce — a fitting symbol of the esteem in which her achievement was held.

What made the victory all the more remarkable was the family dimension. The competition ended with sisters in first and second place, Angela beating her younger sister Bena — also representing Waterford — by just seven marks. Miss Mary Murphy, another Waterford competitor, finished a further six marks behind in third place. It was a moment of county pride, with Waterford women dominating the field at a national level.

Angela’s success hadn’t come overnight. The newspaper noted her steady rise through the ranks: second at Killarney the previous year, third at New Ross before that, and second at Kilkenny in 1959. By 1962, she had refined her skill to the point where none of her rivals could match her accuracy or consistency.

The competition itself was a test of nerve as much as technique. Some competitors marked their opening furrow with the heel of the mouldboard, while others relied solely on their judgement, guiding their ploughs between red and white markers. But no matter the method, the result was the same — none could equal Angela Galgey on the day.

Her victory stands as a personal triumph. Alongside Bena’s earlier achievements, it represents a moment when women from small communities like Dunmore East demonstrated, on a national stage, that skill, discipline and mastery of machinery were not confined by gender. Together, the Galgey sisters helped redefine what was possible for women in Irish agriculture, leaving a legacy that still resonates in Waterford’s rural history. 

This colourised photo shows Margaret Walsh (RIP), another woman from Dunmore who took on roles that had traditionally been done only by men. The photograph shows Mrs. Walsh organising her passengers (42 in all) at Newtown for transportation to Faithlegg College. The boys who were all studying for the brotherhood attended Waterford De La Salle College daily. “They look like a right bunch of messers to me.” The following story appeared on the front page of The Munster Express on October 20th, 1972, when the paper cost just 6p, including turnover tax.

Our ‘Fare’ Lady:

A truly liberated woman is Mrs. Margaret Walsh of Coxtown, Dunmore East, who has just driven a “coach and four (wheels)” into a territory which up to now has been the uncontested preserve of the male population, at least in the Waterford area.

For Mrs. Walsh has recently passed her driving test — a driver’s test Class “E” that is, which entitles her to drive vehicles “having passenger accommodation for more than 8 persons in use for the carriage of passengers for reward.” She thus qualifies to drive public transport buses.

“Another blow for women’s independence,” the liberationists will declare, while the unaffected Mrs. Walsh sees her venture as a matter of necessity rather than a pioneering step for any particular cause, and takes it all in her stride.

Mother of four, Mrs. Walsh has in fact been driving buses for the past three years now, ever since Carbally National School closed down, but only on a limited “E” licence, which gave her permission to drive school buses, but only in the rural areas.

Her husband, Mr. Michael Walsh, who was a deep sea sailor on passenger and cargo vessels and for some time was a Waterford harbour pilot, died while still a young man in July 1970, and Mrs. Walsh then became sole provider for her family.

Two of her children, Gerald (15) and John (13), travel to school in Waterford on the ordinary bus service every morning to attend at Waterpark College, while her other son Michael (10) attends Killea National School and daughter Helena (8) is a pupil at the Mercy Convent in Dunmore East. “I want them to get the best education that is available to them,” Mrs. Walsh said, “but I couldn’t keep them at school after they reached the maximum school leaving age, if I had to depend on the widow’s pension.”

While Mrs. Walsh is fully qualified to drive any type of bus now, she does not intend to apply to C.I.E. for a full-time job as a driver at present. She adds with a smile; “I might consider it when the children are grown up and things are organised at home. At the moment I wouldn’t have the time.”

“Most other drivers are kind, especially the heavy vehicle drivers, and will pull in to let me pass when they see it is a woman driver, but there are others who must pass and keep ahead of me, for the same reason.” But they don’t bother her, and she enjoys her work.

Mrs. Walsh has another duty in the community confines of Dunmore East which is normally associated with the male of the species — she is treasurer of the recently formed Dunmore East United Soccer Club, who have been making a favourable impression on the Third Division since they joined the Waterford Junior League at the beginning of this present season.

The Kilkenny Division of the C.I.E. also has a female holder of an unlimited Class “E” driving licence, Mrs. Nuala Prendergast of Forrest Hill, Inistioge, who plies her school bus in the Thomastown area.

In this photo we see Buddy “Fancy” Power and Joe O’Toole celebrating Johnny Logan’s Eurovision win in 1987. I’m not sure if it was taken on the night of the actual song contest, as the celebrations would have gone on for some time afterwards.

The woman in the background seems to be eyeing up the ceiling somewhat fearfully, she may have been worried that if the cheering in the bar got any louder, the roof might just lift clean off. In those days, a win for Ireland meant that there wouldn’t be a sober man in the village for a week. They were joyous times. 

Scampi Sinatra — Mr. Showbiz of Dunmore East.

This photograph captures the singing legend they called Mr. SHOWBIZ. Scampi Sinatra, as he was also known, can be seen here straining at a high note during his weekend spot at the Candlelight Inn, Dunmore East, in February 1973. Mouth open, head lifted and eyes fixed on the ceiling, Scampi is fully committed to the performance — no half measures when fame is involved.

Scampi quickly became one of the greatest attractions in the area, thanks to his uncanny ability to accompany his master, Mr. Michael O’Dwyer, at the electric organ. While Michael worked the keys, Scampi took care of the vocals, delivering a repertoire of well-rehearsed airs into his own mini-microphone (visible to the right of the picture). Of all his numbers, it was always said that his favourite was “How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?” — a song he performed with particular feeling.

When not dazzling audiences in the bar, Scampi lived the relaxed life of a local celebrity. He could often be found chasing rats, or lounging by the Candlelight pool, posing patiently for photographs with guests — provided, of course, that a dog biscuit or bone was forthcoming. Celebrity access, it seems, did not come cheap.

A true canine superstar of the 1970s, Scampi also possessed a fine sense of humour. Anyone who met him will tell you the same thing — he was an absolute howl.

And so, if anyone reading this happens to have a musical dog at home and is stuck for Christmas present ideas, perhaps a mini microphone might be just the thing to set your pooch’s paw on the road to stardom. After all, anything goes in Dunmore East.