The Village People. (Page 02)

This photo is taken from one of the British Pathe newsreel films about the Shamrock Factory in Dunmore, made in the early 1960's. The factory was on based on the quay at that time. Dinah O'Regan is the first lady in the photo and Paddy O'Connor is the man. I don't know who the other two ladies are.

This is a photograph taken by David Campbell in 1969, during one of his trips home from America. It captures a moment between some familiar faces of the time. Standing on the left is Jack Doyle, with his young daughter Loretta. Alongside them are David Campbell’s wife and children, and Jack Murphy. The exact setting is uncertain — it may have been taken at the Haven Hotel or perhaps the Candlelight, and most likely on a Sunday morning.

This photograph was taken from a News and Star supplement published in 2016. I would guess the picture itself dates from around 1968 or thereabouts, and was taken at the Sports in Ballymabin.

The young sporting heroes featured are Eileen Bowe, proudly holding up her plaque, David “Sarge” Flynn, Margaret Pierce and James Pierce. In the background, keeping a watchful eye and making sure everything ran smoothly, is the parish priest, Fr. Tom Ahearne.

The Sports in Ballymabin were one of the great summer highlights in Dunmore at the time. They catered for every kind of sporting ability, and perhaps even for those of us with no sporting ability at all. There were wheelbarrow races, three-legged races, egg and spoon races, blindfold races and plenty more besides. There really was something for everyone.

Sadly, I don’t think I ever found an event that suited me.

I’m fairly sure I nearly won a race once, but my memory is that Ken O’Neill tripped me just before I crossed the finish line. Whether this was a genuine act of sabotage or simply a convenient excuse on my part is now lost to history. Either way, I don’t recall ever competing again after that disappointment.

To this day, the only medal I have is my communion medal.

A group of boys swear allegiance to the flag and promise to make Dunmore great again. The photo was taken by Helen Murphy in the mid 1960's.

Mrs. Dick Murphy, on the left, was a schoolteacher and taught in Killea school during the 1970's. I think she was in Bellelake School or Carbally School before that. The Nun in the centre is Mother Oliver and Mother Agnus is on the right in the photo. I don't know the other Nun's name or who the man is. The photo was taken in Mrs. Murphy's garden.

This photograph captures a moment between three familiar Dunmore faces: Avril “Murphy” Horgan, Jack Doyle and Joefy Murphy. The picture was originally shared by Avril on the “I Am Dunmore” Facebook page, where she added a note about Jack’s role in their childhood. For the Murphy children, Jack wasn’t just a neighbour or a friend—he filled the role of both uncle and father when they were young. Avril reflected on the closeness between the families, saying, “We had such a bond with the Doyle’s, Linda, Peg, Jack & Tom that we thought we were related.” 

Judging by the clothing and the ages of those pictured, the scene likely dates from the late 1950s, with Jack probably in his mid-twenties at the time. 

This photo shows John and Josie O’Connell on their wedding day. John was always known as Johnny Honda, though I don’t know where that name came from. He possibly owned a Honda 50 at some stage. Nicknames had a way of sticking, and in many cases the story behind them was known to everyone at the time and then gradually lost. He worked for many years in Power’s Seeds, and later as a groundsman out on the Industrial Estate. I remember him from Killea, where he was a neighbour when my parents got the house there. He was easy to place in the memory, usually with a smile on his face and ready for a laugh.

Billy Hearne was originally from Passage East, but he made his home in Dunmore and became one of those familiar figures who helped give the village its colour.

When I was growing up, Billy was well known around the place. Everyone seemed to know him, and most knew him by his nickname, “The Saint.” Like many a good nickname, it suited him and it stuck. It became part of who he was in the eyes of the community.

Billy had spent time fishing with Eddie Don at one stage, and I’ve no doubt on other boats as well. That life gave men a certain way about them. They had stories, humour, patience, and a toughness that came from working with the weather rather than against it.

He was also fond of a game of cards, and no doubt there were many evenings when Billy could be found in good company, enjoying the chat as much as the game itself. He had the sort of presence that made him memorable. Not loud for the sake of it, but a real character all the same.

One of the things people remembered about Billy was that he liked to smoke in the open air, long before anyone was talking about smoking bans in pubs. In his own quiet way, he was ahead of his time. He would take his drink outside with him, and you could nearly say he introduced the idea of the beer garden to Dunmore before the phrase was ever in common use.

Billy was also known for having a fine singing voice, I can remember hearing him singing a version of Marty Robbins song, ‘Devil Woman’, while sitting on the Storm Wall. In a village where music, song, and storytelling were never far away, being able to sing was no small thing. A good singer could hold a room, lift a gathering, and leave a memory long after the song was finished.

Billy Hearne belonged to that generation of Dunmore characters who were part of the daily life of the village. They were seen on the street, in the pub, on the quay, at cards, in conversation, and in song. They gave the place its humour and its heart.

And for those who remember him, Billy “The Saint” Hearne remains one of Dunmore’s real characters.

This photograph, taken in the late 1950s, captures a quiet moment of rest for the Doyles—Tom, Linda, and Peg—joined by a young Joefy Murphy. The four of them sit against a neat stack of freshly cut corn, taking a well-earned break after harvesting an entire field by hand. It was the kind of work that bound families and neighbours together, long before machinery transformed the rhythm of rural life.

You can almost imagine the day unfolding around them. Tom, no stranger to hard labour, would likely have swapped the cornfield for the sea that afternoon, heading out to fish as he’d done countless times before. Linda, meanwhile, would have donned her conductor’s bag and taken her place on the local bus route, a familiar face to everyone who stepped aboard the afternoon bus to town. Peg—ever the organiser—would already have been turning her attention to the upcoming Harvest Dance in the Fisherman’s Hall, ensuring every detail was just right for one of the villages’s most cherished annual gatherings.

And then there’s young Joefy, taking it all in. One can easily imagine the thoughts stirring in his mind, having witnessed Tom using a scythe all morning, “Farm work is not for me—I’m going to be a fisherman.”

John Grey arrived in Dunmore in the early 1980s, when the village still moved to its quiet rhythm of fishing, music, and the colourful characters that gave the place its charm. It didn’t take him long to find his way to the Anchor Bar, where the ever-hospitable Paddy Green welcomed him with open arms. Before long, his caravan—towed into the village by Kevin the Goat with his tractor—was settled behind the pub, and John had found his place among friends.

In time, he began working in the Candlelight, where the food became his true delight. He had a taste for garlic and bay leaves, which grew along the park wall, and he was rarely known to sit down to a dinner without the flavouring of both. If you went into Bill's during the 80's and smelt garlic, you'd know that John was there. 

His easy-going nature, humour, and generosity of spirit earned him respect throughout the village, and his presence became woven into daily life in Dunmore. When the day finally came that John passed away, the loss was felt deeply. The village mourned more than just a familiar face at the bar or a hand in the Candlelight kitchen—it had lost a true character, whose stories, warmth, and personality left their mark on all who knew him.

This photo recalls a night in Bill’s which marked John Bulligan Power’s 80th birthday, with friends gathered, stories flowing, and a cake on the table big enough to make the occasion official.

I’d say there was a slice for everyone in the pub that night. There would have been plenty of familiar faces, good chat, laughter, and well-wishes. John no doubt took it all in with his usual good humour, enjoying the company and the bit of fuss that comes with reaching a milestone like this.

I’d imagine it was a great night, held for a man who had earned every candle and slice of orange on that cake.

A photo of Joe O’Toole Snr, taken at the O’Toole farmhouse in Liccaun. 

For many in Dunmore, the name Jimmy Cullinane still brings back a smile and a fond memory. He lived in one of the houses behind Glenville Terrace with his wife Mary, better known as Cissy, and their two children, Michael and Eileen. 

Jimmy, also known as Slim, was the driving force of the village, the man behind the wheel of the Dunmore bus, working for Seamus Lynch. I can still picture him walking down the road after his lunch each day with his leather money bag in hand and a smile on his face. He’d give the bus a quick sweep before setting off on his route. Then, with a cloud of exhaust fumes trailing behind him and Consulate cigarette smoke blowing out the window, Jimmy would coax the old bus up Long’s Hill, stopping to gather passengers at the Dock before heading into town.

Away from work, Jimmy had his share of pastimes. He loved a game of Bingo and was even mentioned in a newspaper report in 1970 after winning £50 at a night in Tramore—a tidy sum at the time. Cards were another favourite, and Jimmy could often be found in the Strand with his regular crew: Paddy “Big Daddy” Kearney, Willie Donovan, Eddie Don, Richie Fanning, and anyone who was foolish enough to sit in on a game with them.

Jimmy was part of the daily life and character of Dunmore all through my childhood, and the fact that his name is still spoken with such affection today says a great deal about the man. He was a good one.

Jimmy “The Raven” Cullinane was another one of Dunmore’s great characters and one of the GAA’s most loyal fans. His love of sport and his enthusiasm for every local club and team made him a familiar and much-loved figure throughout the parish. Jimmy had time for everyone—he was always the first to congratulate a team after a victory, and just as quickly there to lift their spirits after a defeat. His good humour and kind manner became part of what makes him so fondly remembered.

The Waterford Hurling team was his greatest passion, and he took immense pride when his two nephews, Sean and Eamon Cullinane, broke onto the county panel, it was a dream come true for him. Jimmy was not only a supporter of the Waterford team of the day, but also a storyteller who could bring the past alive with tales of players and matches gone by.

Away from the side-line, Jimmy was the life and soul of every gathering he attended. His trademark party pieces, which included his unique match commentaries, the famous cap-in-hand dance, and his renditions of The Bog Road and Cill Chais, gave endless joy to all who saw him perform them. In the 1960s, he also became well known for his lively performances of The Hucklebuck. Local women were often wary of dancing with him as they couldn’t keep up with his energetic steps. He’d wiggle like a snake and wobble like a duck, and all people could do was stand around in a ring and watch.

However, Jimmy was more than a GAA supporter, a dancer or an entertainer—he was a gentleman, a friend to many, and a true Dunmore character. He’s another one whose presence is sorely missed, but the memories will always remain with those who knew him.

In this photo we have Sean “Nick”, Catherine and Joe O’Toole Jr., with Nellie Dunne keeping an eye on them. I’d guess the photo dates from around 1964.

This photo shows Tom Murray, relaxing in his good clothes, probably on a Sunday afternoon. It must have been one of the few times he was ever out without his work clothes on and without a ladder somewhere within reach.

When I was growing up in Dunmore East, I can never remember seeing Tom idle. He was a master carpenter, and if there was a building repair job going on anywhere in the village, you could be fairly sure Tom Murray had a hand in it. Roofs, windows, doors, floors, sheds, extensions, repairs after winter weather — whatever needed doing, Tom was the man people turned to.

He belonged to that generation of tradesmen who seemed able to fix anything, often with very little fuss and no great speech about it. They arrived, looked at the job, measured it with the eye of experience, and somehow made the problem disappear.

Tom and Lala O’Rourke were, to home improvement in Dunmore, what Lennon and McCartney were to music. They were part of the background of the village, as familiar as the harbour, the cliffs, and the sound of the kittiwakes on the quay.

This striking photograph captures Enda Flynn standing proudly beside what was said to be the first, the fastest, and the finest car ever to drive across the Commons. Local legend has it that Enda set out for town one day with the simple intention of buying a bicycle — but fate, and a fine motor car, had other ideas. The story goes that when he spotted this gleaming machine, the bicycle was quickly forgotten. By all accounts, he made a very good choice.

The image was featured in the Gaultier Calendar of 2017, where it stood out as a favourite among many — a reminder not just of changing times and modes of transport, but also of the wit, spirit, and spontaneity that have always been part of life in the Barony of Gaultier.

Paddy Regan and Geoff Power were neighbours in Killea for many years, and like all wise neighbours they knew the value of looking out for each other. Both men had learned long ago that Killea in the winter could be one of the coldest and windiest places on earth.

So, while others spent their August days soaking up the sunshine, Paddy and Geoff were busy preparing for the darker months ahead. Together they stacked timber, sharing stories and laughter as the woodpile grew high. To them, the clatter of logs and the smell of fresh-cut wood meant comfort and security when the winter gales would howl in from the sea and up the Killea Road.

By the time the first frosts arrived, they were ready. While the August sunbathers later shivered and complained about heating bills, Paddy and Geoff could settle into their armchairs, warmed by the glow of their open fires, content in the knowledge that preparation always pays off.

As the saying goes — age brings wisdom, and in Killea, wisdom brought warmth.

This photo taken in Gregaridda, Dunmore East, dates from the 1930s and was originally shared by Eddie “Duffin” Fitzgerald, R.I.P.

It’s a family photograph, but also one with a great deal of local history behind it. Standing at the back are Eddie’s great-grandparents. His great-grandfather had just lost his sight at the time the photo was taken. According to Eddie, it happened suddenly, almost overnight.

In the front row is Eddie’s grandfather, Pat Fitzgerald, along with his grandmother, Annie Power Fitzgerald. In Annie’s arms is their son, Paddy Fitzgerald, who would later become well known in Dunmore East as the local postman.

Also in the front is Eddie’s great-aunt, Jane Fitzgerald McNamara. Jane was the mother of Abbie McNamara, another well-known Dunmore East character.

Photos like this hold whole stories within them — generations, hardships, local names, familiar faces and the quiet links between families in Dunmore East. What may look at first like a simple gathering in a field is really a little piece of village history, preserved through memory and shared originally by those who knew the people behind the names.

This photo captures three men taking a break from a hard day’s work to pose for the camera: Jimmy and Anthony “Fancy” Power, and Mick D. It was likely taken in the late 1950s in Portally. The two young Powers, fit and able-bodied, were working under the watchful eye of the older man.

In those days, the men of Portally balanced two jobs during the summer months. Mornings were spent hauling lobster pots into their punts and bringing in bountiful catches each day. By afternoon, they would swap the sea for the fields, turning and cocking hay under the warm sun. It was a life of relentless labour, but there was a harmony between land and sea that shaped their days.

When evening fell, they had a choice to make: a stroll down to the village, or a longer walk to Ballymacaw, where a small bottle of stout awaited as a reward for the day’s work. Portally’s position between Dunmore and Ballymacaw meant they could follow their whims. If they wanted excitement, they would go to Dunmore; if they wanted a quieter night, they chose Ballymacaw.

This was summer in another era, when the living was easy in its own way, measured in tides turned, hayricks built, and quiet drinks shared among friends. The photo freezes a fleeting moment in time, when hard work was rewarded with simple pleasures. They may not have had much by modern standards, but in some ways, they had everything the modern world is missing.

“This picture was originally shared by Ringo Regan on Facebook, having been supplied to him by Colm Power."

This picture features Kathleen and Pat Gunnip, possibly attending a wedding. Pat looks very fresh-faced in the photo, so much so that you might wonder if it was his first time inside a bar. If it was, he seems to have settled into the surroundings well enough, with a pint on the table and his arm around Kathleen. Hopefully, he enjoyed the pub experience; he certainly looks very relaxed and pleased with himself for someone in unfamiliar territory.

This colourised photograph captures Kathleen “Morrissey” O’Driscoll during her wild motorcycling days in Dunmore East. A proud member of the local “Hell’s Angels” chapter, Kathleen was known far and wide as the fearless rider who tore through the village at breath taking speeds. The Gardai had no hope of catching her on their bicycles — no matter what they did, they couldn’t stop her. She was a rebel without a pause. 

This is a photo of Kitty Taylor, studying the order book when she worked in the Shamrock Factory during the early 1960s. 

Mickey McSweeney was for many years the manager of the South and East Coast Fishermen’s Co-op in Dunmore East. Originally from Baltimore, but married and settled in Dunmore. He became a well-known and much-respected figure around the harbour, remembered by fishermen and villagers alike as a gentleman in every sense of the word. In a place where the fishing industry shaped so many lives, men like Mickey were central to the daily working life of the port — dealing with boats, landings, buyers, workers and all the unseen business that kept the Co-op moving. He is one of those harbour names that still carries a quiet respect in Dunmore East.

Photo 75 - Four Dunmore Girls

In this picture we see Rita Murnaghan, Brid Morrissey, Margaret Power and Christina Murphy, all dressed up and out for the day, possibly on a school tour.

This is another of Rita Murnaghan’s photos. This one was taken on the occasion of Margaret and Mick Sheehan’s wedding day, September 2nd, 1972.

It features Brid Morrissey, Jackie Murphy, Christina Murphy, Margaret Power, Agnes Abrahamsson nee Regan (R.I.P.), Rita Murnaghan and Willie Dunne (R.I.P.).

Rita recalls, “We were the original Dolly Birds back then. I guess now we’re the Golden Girls.”

This picture was originally uploaded to Facebook by Jack Martin. According to the information given by Jack, and from comments on the post, the men featured are:

Back row from the left: Unknown, Issac Ryan, and Paddy Fitzgerald,

Front row from the left: Omney Butler, John Cullinane and Pat Fitzgerald, grandfather of the legendary Gaultier footballer, Eddie ‘Duffin’ Fitzgerald.

This iconic photo dates from 1982 and captures the day the legendary “Butchers Beer Squad” set off for Thurles to support Waterford in the Munster hurling final against Cork. It was a great sporting occasion, at least in theory, though for some of the men pictured here the hurling may not have been the main attraction.

The squad gathered outside the Butchers Bar in Dunmore East, full of confidence, thirst, and civic pride. Some of them hadn’t been outside the door of the Butchers in years, never mind as far as Thurles, but on this day they were ready for the road. Waterford were playing Cork, the sun was shining, the bus was waiting, and the refreshments had clearly been organised with great care.

At the head of operations was the Beer Meister himself, Alan “Big Al” Kearns, who did his level best to keep discipline among the ranks. It was not an easy assignment. The atmosphere was high before the bus had even left Dunmore, and by the time they reached Thurles, the occasion had already proved too much for some of the travelling party. A few, it was said, never managed to get off the bus at all.

As for the match itself, memories were vague by the time the squad returned home. No one seemed too sure who had won, whether Waterford had scored, or if any of them had actually seen a sliotar struck in anger. But that hardly mattered. The day had become less about the result and more about the expedition itself — a grand outing, a mighty session, and a chapter in Butchers Bar folklore.

It was a bit like what is often said of the 1960s: if you can remember it, you weren’t really there.

This is a photo of Linda Doyle, sister of Tom, Jack and Peg Doyle. For many years, Linda was Jimmy Cullinane the bus driver’s right-hand woman, and anyone who travelled on the bus in those days would remember her well.

Linda would make her way from seat to seat with her leather money bag hanging at her side and, more often than not, a cigarette in her hand. She collected the fares, kept order in her own way, and knew the passengers as well as Jimmy knew the road. If you happened to be a few pence short, Linda would overlook it. If you wanted to get off at a place that wasn’t officially a stop, she’d let Jimmy know as he approached it. Between them, they ran a service that was as much about people as it was about timetables.

Linda also had another important duty — keeping Jimmy’s cigarettes lit. Jimmy didn’t like taking both hands off the wheel to strike a match, so Linda would oblige when she was aboard. Of course, if she wasn’t there, Jimmy would chance it himself. Such were the ways of the time. There was often such a cloud of smoke on the bus that, had there been a fire, no one would have noticed the difference.

It was a different world then, back in the days when doctors could be found advertising their preference for one brand of cigarette over another on TV, I think it was Carroll’s that one doctor preferred. However, Linda wasn’t one to be swayed by TV adverts, she smoked Craven A and she certainly seemed to enjoy them.

This photo recalls a parish trip to Mount Melleray, suspected to have taken place in 1955. The names below come from a Facebook post by Helena Synnott. The photo itself is one my mother had.

Back row, left to right: Michael Walsh, Bridget Doyle, Michael Cleary, Linda Doyle, Ann Colfer, Sean Fitzgerald and my uncle, Tommy Hearne.

Front row, left to right: Chrissy Mitten, Alice Duffin, Peggy Mulally, Margaret Walsh, my aunt, Josie Hearne, and Betty Ivory. 

There are still people in Dunmore who remember the great day trips of the 1950s, when a group would gather after Mass or outside a shop, bags packed for the day, and a bus waiting with its engine coughing at the roadside. The trip depicted in the photo was to the Cistercian abbey set on the slopes of the Knockmealdown Mountains in County Waterford. It was a place known for quietness, prayer and welcome, and for many it felt far enough from home to be a proper adventure. They went for the day, and by all accounts it was a good one.

There was prayer, of course, that was at the heart of the trip. They attended Mass, walked the abbey grounds, and spent time in the stillness for which Mount Melleray was famous. The monks’ way of life made an impression on visitors. There was mainly silence, interrupted only by the bells ringing out the simple rhythm of the day. For people coming from busy homes, farms, shops and parish life, there was something powerful in that peace.

But it was not all solemn faces and folded hands. Far from it. There was great craic on the bus, with stories and a bit of gentle slagging from the back seats. Someone always knew a song to sing, and someone else had a yarn that improved every time it was told. By the time they reached Melleray, they had laughed themselves silly.

Food was part of the pleasure too. The high teas were remembered nearly as fondly as the prayers: strong tea, bread and butter, cakes, maybe ham or eggs, the sort of spread that made people sit back and say they wouldn’t need another bite until morning. And, though it was a pilgrimage of sorts, nobody thought too badly of having an ale shandy or two. It was drank in good humour and good company, never too much to spoil the day, just enough to sweeten it.

Trips like this were popular in Ireland at the time. In the 1950s, when money was often tight and foreign holidays were beyond most households, a parish outing or religious trip gave people a welcome break. A bus journey to a holy place, a seaside town, a shrine or an abbey could combine devotion, sociability and a rare change of scene. These outings fitted the Ireland of the day: strong parish ties, a deep Catholic culture, and a love of travelling together, even if only for a day. Pilgrimage and religious travel had long been part of Irish life, and places such as Mount Melleray drew visitors because they offered both spiritual meaning and hospitality.

For the Dunmore group, the day was remembered not because anything unusual happened, but because everything ordinary came together well. The bus journey was lively, the prayers were sincere and the tea was plentiful. The shandy was harmless and the company was good. They came back refreshed, with holy pictures in their pockets, stories for the neighbours, and the pleasant tiredness that follows a long day out. They had gone away together, prayed and laughed together, and returned home with a little more lightness in them than when they set out.

Trips to Mount Melleray went into decline when foreign holidays became popular during the 60s and 70s, but enjoyed a resurgence during the mid-1980s, when statues started to move in grottos all over Ireland. People flocked to holy places and stood for hours in the heat, or the rain, depending on the day. After a long stand, people might start to get dizzy and their vision might begin to blur. Oddly enough, that was when the statues would begin to move. People would leave those grottos feeling very pleased with themselves after seeing the statues doing a little dance before their eyes. It made them feel special, knowing that they had witnessed something miraculous.

This photo of Buddy ‘Fancy’ Power was taken at the dispensary wall. Buddy was toying with the idea of becoming a mail order husband at the time, but the post box was too small for him.

This photograph of Annie Molly was originally uploaded by Colin Acheson. Annie was known locally by the nickname “Gong Gong”, a name said to have possibly come from her time as a nurse. It is likely that patients wanting her attention would ring a bell rather than call her by name, and the nickname stayed with her. Local historian, Ann Taylor, does not recall Annie being involved in medical care, but the photo suggests she was.

Annie is remembered as a capable and practical woman, especially skilled at sewing. Her needlework was always very much in demand, and she often made curtains for people around the village. Given her possible nursing background, she may also have stitched minor wounds when a doctor wasn’t available — and even if she didn’t, those who knew her felt she certainly would have had the skill for it.

But Annie is remembered for more than her work. My mother often spoke about her with great warmth, especially about the laughter they shared whenever they were in each other’s company at dances. She said, "Annie would have you in stitches."

By all accounts, Annie had a great sense of fun and knew how to enjoy herself. She was one of those people whose presence brought life into a room, and whose memory still carries laughter with it.

This is a photograph of Dick “Bulligan” Power, a man whose life has been closely tied to the sea. Over the years, Dick has known both the good times and the hard times that come with that way of life, and he has faced them all with the same steady nature.

Those who know the sea know it doesn’t offer an easy living. It can be generous one day and unforgiving the next. Dick has seen both sides of it, yet he seems to have taken everything in his stride, never getting too excited by the highs or too defeated by the lows.

There is something admirable in that kind of character. Dick’s calm approach to life, shaped by years of experience and patience, is a reminder that not everything needs to be met with fuss or complaint. Some people teach by what they say, but others teach simply by how they live.

We could all learn a thing or two from Dick “Bulligan” Power.

Another man, the likes of whom you don’t meet every day, out strolling in the summer sunshine with his lady wife.  

You might mistake this photo for a scene from a film, but it's actually Margaret and Paddy Barry enjoying a pleasure trip off the Hook on board ‘The Catherine’, likely on a Sunday afternoon.  

A man seldom seen without a smile on his face throughout his life. The world needs more like Nick.  

I’m fairly sure this photograph captures Paddy and Mary O’Neill on their wedding day, both of them looking very glamorous. The cake beside them looks like a work of art, and no doubt it was made with fresh eggs.

Paddy holds the distinction of being the first person to introduce chicken to the palates of Dunmore residents. Before this great culinary breakthrough, Sunday dinners were said to have featured pigeon, seagull, or crow. There was some early scepticism that chicken would not take off like other birds, but within months, demand had soared.

I remember attending one of Ken O’Neill’s birthday parties as a child — the only party invitation I ever received. Many of our schoolmates were there, and we were all thoroughly enjoying ourselves. Paddy even brought us to see the chickens, which added great excitement to the occasion. We all tried to mimic the sounds the chickens made, and I was judged to be the best at it.

As the afternoon went on, a few of us were playing at the bottom of the garden when three shadowy figures emerged from the woods. Before us stood John “Busty” Griffin, Gerard “Gus” Walsh, and Gerry O’Regan. They were not there to play. They were mad as hell and demanding cake.

Ken informed them that all the cake was gone, but generously offered to provide eggs so they could bake their own. Gerry O’Regan, however, took offence at this proposal and declared himself to be Johnny Ringo, inspired by a character from the film The Gunfighter, which had been shown the previous week on RTÉ. He then astonished us with the speed at which he drew his imaginary gun.

Fearing the confrontation, my friends and I quickly mounted our imaginary horses and fled back to the chicken ranch, with Johnny Ringo metaphorically firing shots at us as we galloped away.

It seems Gerry O’Regan’s cake demands that day were not unique. Before long, he had earned the permanent nickname “Ringo” — the boy with a reputation as a formidable gunfighter with a sweet tooth.

This mixture of Convent classes, photographed in 1967, earned the nickname the ‘Flower Power’ children and have long been regarded as the brightest group ever to pass through the school gates. It was a time when boys had their hair cut with blunt scissors and pudding bowels, (Note the crooked fringes) whereas the girls all look like they just left the hairdressers.

Many of this group went on to become consultant doctors, rocket scientists, astrophysicists, and other professions I’d struggle to spell. Dunmore will hardly ever see such concentrated brain power under one roof again. Oddly enough, I’m right in the middle of the bunch—there’s always going to be one I suppose. 

This photograph captures a moment from the parish trip to Avoca in 1952, a day that would have been looked forward to for weeks beforehand and talked about long after the bus returned home. Parish outings like this were rare treats at the time, offering a break from routine, a chance to see new scenery and, just as importantly, an opportunity to enjoy one another’s company beyond the boundaries of Dunmore East.

Standing at the back of the group and looking relaxed, are Neddy ‘Duffin’ Fitzgerald and Pat Crotty—no doubt providing the craic on the trip. In the front, from left to right, are the priest’s housekeeper, Josie Ducie, Ina Power, Monnie Murphy and Margaret Walsh. Also included is a friend of Maureen Mason, whose name has never been verified in relation to this photograph.

Avoca, with its gentle hills and famous valley, would have felt like a world away in 1952. For many on the trip, it may have been their first time travelling so far for pleasure rather than work or necessity. A journey like this then would be comparable to going to Thailand by today’s standards. This image preserves the spirit of a time when community life revolved around shared journeys, shared meals and shared stories. It is a small but telling reminder of how parish life once knitted people together, creating memories that, decades later, still find their way back into view through photographs like this one.

This is the legendary Gaultier team of 1969 who won the Kiely Cup Special Hurling Championship in that year. 

They were by name:

Back Row Left to Right: Richard Quann, Ian Power (RIP), Paul Power, John Flood, Brian Power, Pat O’Toole, David Flynn.

Middle Row Left to Right: Peter O’Sullivan, Neil Collins, Gerry Flood, John Quilty, R. Murphy, Pat Power (RIP), Michael Flynn.

Front Row Left to Right: Eugene Power, Colm Power, Paul Collins, Kieran Flynn.

The adults on the field: John Collins, Maurice Power, Rocky Power and Paddy Power from Ballinkina.

Shamrock was once a thriving industry on the quay in Dunmore, operating from what had been an old kipper house on the Dock Strand side of the quay, before the business eventually moved up to Coxtown. In the early 1960s, film crews from British Pathe visited the factory several times, fascinated by the work and the mystery of what exactly the “Shamrockers” were up to.

This photo captures Willie Dunne in 1962, wielding a high-powered hose to clean the Shanoon Shamrock, just in case one of Bill Power’s cows had left an unwelcome “gift” on it. 

The factory owners were nothing if not inventive — in the run-up to St. Patrick’s Day they even ran a laundry service. You can spot some of the washing drying in the background. Once the shamrock was rinsed, the same water was re-used to wash the clothes, leaving them faintly tinged with green. Locals believed it was lucky to wear garments coloured that way on Patrick’s Day. 

Long before anyone had ever heard of the Green Party, the Shamrock Factory was already practising its own kind of water conservation eco-initiative. Dunmore, as always, was a step ahead of the rest.

This is a photograph of Denis Myler R.I.P., Paddy “Dursey” Healy and Paddy Mulally R.I.P., which was first uploaded by Karen Walsh to the ‘I Am Dunmore’ Facebook page. It looks like they were at a wedding, maybe in the Candlelight. It likely dates from the early 1970s. 

This photograph has the classic look of a 1950s studio portrait, said to have been taken in Tramore in 1954. It features Dick “Bulligan” Power, Maurice Mahoney, and Billy Butler Power. Studios of the time often used painted backdrops, curtains, stools, and carefully arranged poses, with one person seated and others standing nearby. The result was formal but warm, capturing the men at their best in the style of the period.

I have previously colourised this photo, but this version is zoomed out to show the full extent of the stylish manner in which the men dressed. They didn’t go to Tramore in their everyday harbour clothes, they knew they were representing the village and didn’t want to let Dunmore down.

This is a photo of Nurse Barry, Dunmore East’s Jubilee nurse during the 1950s and 60s. She was the first person to lay eyes on me on the morning of my birth in Dunmore. It was such an important life changing event for me, it’s a shame that I wasn’t dressed for the occasion. 

Jubilee nurses were part of the older district nursing tradition in Ireland. They were usually trained nurses who worked out in the community rather than in hospitals, visiting people in their homes. In the 1950s and 60s, especially in rural areas, they were an important link between ordinary families, doctors, maternity services, and local health authorities.

The name “Jubilee nurse” came from the Queen Victoria’s Jubilee Institute for Nurses, founded in the late 19th century to promote trained district nursing. The term continued in common use in parts of Ireland long after the original Victorian connection had faded from everyday memory. In some places people simply used “Jubilee nurse” to mean the local district nurse.

Their work could include visiting the sick, dressing wounds, helping with elderly or housebound patients, assisting mothers and babies, giving advice on hygiene and child welfare, and sometimes attending to minor injuries. In many villages they were among the most familiar medical figures, especially when getting to a hospital or doctor was not easy.

In the 1950s and 60s, a Jubilee nurse might travel by bicycle, bus, car, or on foot, depending on the district. She could be called to cottages, farms, seaside houses, and crowded family homes. Her work was practical and personal: checking on new mothers, weighing babies, changing dressings, watching for infection, advising families, and sometimes being the calm person in the room when others were worried.

They were not quite the same as hospital nurses. Their work depended heavily on judgement, independence, and local knowledge. They knew the families, the houses, the hardships, and often the private troubles of a community. In that sense, they were both medical workers and trusted local figures.

By the 1960s, Irish health services were changing, with more formal public-health nursing structures developing. The older “Jubilee nurse” name gradually faded, though the work itself continued under district nursing, public health nursing, and community nursing.

I don’t know what the occasion was when this photo was taken, maybe a pioneer social or some such event. It features Mary Mulally, on the left, Peg Power in the middle, appearing very amused, and Ann Fitzgerald on her right hand side.

Margaret Walsh is seen here up on the Shanoon, gathering shamrock for the local factory. In the early 1960s, shamrock picking around Dunmore East was not just a bit of seasonal gathering; it was part of a small local industry.

Shamrock was picked locally, including up on the Shanoon, and then brought down to the Shamrock Factory on the quay. The factory operated from what had previously been an old kipper house before the business later moved up to Coxtown.

The Shanoon shamrock was then washed and packed before being sent off around the world as a little piece of Ireland for St. Patrick’s Day.

Nancy Murray, sealing up a deal of Shamrock prior to export. This photo is from 1965. 

This colorized photo from 1963, shows Billy Power shovelling herrings into a barrel during his pre-Ice Plant days. Also featured is Tommy "The Bomber" Mullally, hammering the lids onto the barrels as quickly as he can, ensuring the fish stay securely inside. 

The players are, in a clockwise circle from the front, The Shepherd, Eddie Cullinane, unrecognised top of a head, Maurice ‘The Crab’ Power, Patsy ‘Fancy’ Power, Laurence ‘La La’ O’Rourke, Mickey O’Toole, I think, and Peter Queally. Bottles of Guinness, Harp and Smithwicks adorn the shelves. I can almost smell it.  

Elaine Don is puzzled by a suspicious looking bag of white powder that she discovered amongst the shamrock bags.