The Walshes and The Hearne's

This photo features the Walsh family enjoying an exotic foreign holiday, possibly at 'The Hut', in Kilmacomb. My cousin Mary was sure to bring her favourite book, Noddy, with her, in case she grew bored with all the excitement going on around her. My other cousin, Richard, was evidently tired of walking the four miles to the seaside every day and decided to bring his own car on holiday with him. I do not know how fast it went up the hills out of Woodstown or Dunmore, or whether the whole family fitted into it, but it certainly looked impressive.

My aunt Josie is also in the photo, holding the baby, who might be Gary Hearne. Ursula Walsh is standing at the back of the group and looks as though she is pleading for the banana sandwiches to be produced. There is another child in the photo whose face is hidden behind a shoe that is being removed; I would guess it is likely Michael Walsh.

The photo itself, I would say, dates from the mid-1970s, a time when the sun shone bright and warm every August for weeks on end. It was a time the likes of which we will never see again.

This photo features my two cousins, Ursula Walsh and Sean Hearne, clearly enjoying a morning in the sun. I would guess that it dates from around August, 1971 and was taken outside the Holiday Hut in Kilmacomb. Ursula seems highly amused at something Sean had just said.

This is a photo of my aunt Josie. The picture was taken at the Hearne home in Kilmacomb, probably in the late 1950s or early 1960s. She is trying in vain to get the dog to look at the camera for the perfect shot, but the dog has scented the stew she is likely cooking and couldn’t give a woof about being photographed.

This photo shows my aunt Josie Walsh, my grandfather Tommy Hearne, my uncle Tommy Hearne Jr., my aunt Margaret Hearne (née Keane), Margaret’s father Tom Keane, and her mother Della. As you may have guessed, it was taken on the day of Tommy and Margaret’s wedding in August 1965 at St John’s Church, Parnell Street, Waterford.

Margaret’s mother, Della, was a great character. She was the life and soul of every family get-together, and I’d imagine she probably stole the show on this day too.

This colourised photo is of my two uncles, Tommy Hearne and Michael Walsh. I’d imagine the photo dates from the early 1960s. Both men look like they knew how to do the Hucklebuck.

By the mid-1970s, Michael Walsh had left the Hucklebuck years behind him and had found Amazing Grace. He was by then an accomplished bagpipe player and often took part in the St. Patrick’s Day parades and any other marching occasions where he was needed. 

This photo was taken in 1975, on Mary and Pat Walsh's confirmation day. In the photo are Sean Hearne, sitting on the fence; Michael Walsh Jnr, practising for the circus with the ball on his head; Pat Walsh, who had just been confirmed; Michael Walsh Snr, in full marching costume; my mother, who was a sponsor on the day; and Phyllis Hearne. On the left of the photo, at the front, are Mary Walsh, my sister Carmel, and my brother Eric, eating a packet of Tayto.

This photo features my mother, Margaret, on the left, with my aunt Agnes beside her. The two boys are my cousins, Ian and Declan, and the two men are my uncles, John and Paddy Hearne.

John was an accomplished musician and can be seen here playing Slievenamon on his accordion. Declan looks very proud of his dad’s musicianship; Ian, somewhat less so. My mother appears to be thoroughly enjoying the performance, Paddy is tapping his foot, while Agnes seems to be thinking to herself, “He should be recorded.”

I’m not sure what the occasion was—possibly a wedding celebration. The floor is covered in cigarette butts and ash; the two boys clearly hadn’t yet learned the importance of an ashtray. Declan has a glass of beer at his feet—children weren’t served pints in pubs during the 1960s, glasses had to do.

All in all, it looks like everyone was having a good time—a real Irish family get-together.

This photo was taken on the wedding day of Paddy Hearne and Phyllis Dunne at St. John’s Church in Waterford in February 1967. It was clearly a great family occasion, the kind of day that would have been talked about for years afterwards, and it must have caused quite a bit of excitement when their photograph appeared on the front page of the News and Star on 10 February 1967. Not every wedding made the front page, so that alone tells you it was considered something special at the time. For the Hearne and Dunne families, this was a memorable day marked in church, in print, and no doubt in the minds of everyone who was there.

This photo features my mother with John Walsh, a brother of Michael Walsh. Judging by the expression of joy on my mother’s face, I first thought the baby must have been me, but apparently not. The occasion was in fact my cousin Pat Walsh’s baptism, and she and John Walsh were the godparents. Still, I am quite sure she looked even happier again at my own christening.

The photo is thought to have been taken in Ballyduff, where Michael and Josie were living at the time. Baptisms then were very much family events, remembered not only for the child at the centre of it all, but for the gathering of relatives, neighbours, and sponsors who played such an important part in family life.

Here we see my aunt, Josie Walsh, and my uncle, Tommy Hearne, standing at the back door of the Walsh home, possibly in Ballyduff at that time. Josie is wearing her apron and looks as though she might be in the middle of cooking lunch for her visitors. Tommy often called in if he was working nearby.

The family later moved to Portlaw, and I can remember eating rashers and sausages there, served with turnover bread. I’d say it was the first time I ever had to cut up my own sausage, as my mother had always done it for me up to that point. It was a sort of coming-of-age “high tea”. I knew then, at the age of five, that if I could cut up my own food, I was almost a man.

This photograph of my uncle, John Hearne, was taken during his time working in England in the 1950s. Like so many Irish men and women of that generation, he sought opportunities abroad that were simply not available at home. Work was scarce in Ireland, and the promise of a steady wage drew thousands across the Irish Sea.

John’s story, however, did not end there. After some years in England, he went to sea, travelling the world and experiencing life far beyond the shores of Waterford. Eventually, though, he returned to Ireland, making his home in Tramore, where he became a well-known and highly regarded block layer. His craftsmanship left a lasting mark on many building projects in Waterford, including one of the most significant community landmarks on Parnell Street — the Credit Union.

As for the moment captured in this photo, I’m somewhat uncertain of the details. I suppose it’s possible it was taken around midday, perhaps just before he rang the bell to gather the Irish workers for the Angelus — a pause in the day that connected them back to home and tradition, even while they laboured far away. The silver box might also have been a safe with an alarm bell on it that he was trying to open, I guess I'll never know.

John’s life was one of resilience, skill, and quiet pride. His journey mirrors that of countless others who left, travelled, and returned, carrying their stories, their trades, and their faith back with them.

This colourised photo shows my uncle, John Hearne, and his wife, Agnes, with their two boys, Declan and Ian. I’d date it to around 1964, most likely taken at Christmas. John was always somewhat house-proud, and would never have tolerated a tree growing in the sitting room unless it was the festive season.

The two boys are proudly seated on what look to be brand-new shiny bicycles, possibly a gift from Santa. Years later, they both graduated to motorbikes, but I think they had to buy those themselves.

As time moved on, life carried them in different directions. Declan moved to Australia in the 1980s, where he built a successful career in the building trade and made his fortune. Ian stayed closer to home and now works in Dunmore for Waterford City and County Council, keeping the village in fine shape by replacing footpaths, light poles, and whatever else needs attention. Thanks to his efforts, the place is always in great order, a credit to both him and his co-workers.

Let’s hope that in future years the council erects a big Christmas tree in the park in Dunmore, dressed with baubles and colourful ribbons, so that the children of Dunmore can share in the magic of a real Christmas atmosphere, just like the two boys had all those years ago.

The Cottage on the Commons

This photo shows Paddy and Kathleen Walsh, nee Whittle, standing outside their house on the Commons, probably in the early 1970s. It was originally Kathleen’s parents’ house, and at the time this photo was taken, Paddy and Kathleen used to stay there on holidays. One of their favourite pastimes was visiting neighbours’ houses to play cards and drink tea.

They were the parents of my uncle by marriage, Michael Walsh. Michael lived there as a child with his grandparents and attended Killea School. He met his future wife, Josie Hearne, on her way home from work one day. She lived in Kilmacomb at the time, and going across the Commons was the shortest route home. On the day they met, my uncle Tommy Hearne was with Michael. They were burning the ditches in an effort to keep the undergrowth under control. No doubt an invitation to go to a dance, or maybe the pictures, was given, and they carried on from there.

Michael and Josie’s daughter, Mary Walsh, remembers: “Many a holiday we spent in that house. There was no electricity or running water, just a well some distance away. Indoor toilets weren’t a feature either. Oil lamps provided the light at night, and an open fire provided the heat. We could see the sky up the chimney. There were High Nellie bikes at the house, which we sometimes used to go to Woodstown on. We spent hours out the front on the road, playing on the long summer evenings. What we lacked in modern conveniences, we made up for with fun.”

Michael’s brother Bobby and his wife Diane lived there in a mobile home for a few years in the late 1970s, before Kathleen decided to sell up. I seem to remember that the house was in poor condition by then. It was the end of an era for the Walsh family, but they never forgot those summer nights when they couldn’t watch the stars on the television, yet had a perfect view of the stars in the sky by looking up the chimney.

This photo shows my grand-uncle, Mikey Hearne, with Dolly the Horse and a cartload of children I don’t recognise. My grandfather, Tommy Hearne, is standing on the left. I’m not certain where the photo was taken, but I’d say it was somewhere near the Creamery Cross.

Many people will remember Mikey around Dunmore, where he and his horse worked for the council. Mikey and Dolly shared a special bond. After a hard day’s work—and maybe an ale shandy or two—Mikey could doze off in the cart and Dolly would make her own way home. She’d even open the gate and let herself in. Unlike the horse on television, she couldn’t talk—probably just as well—but she didn’t need to.

When Dolly died, it broke Mikey’s heart. He buried her in the field across from the house, and from then on he never set foot in her stable again. A few people asked him for the harness and tackle, but he refused to part with them. Mikey and Dolly were a true working team, and when she was gone, things were never quite the same.

This photo was taken at the Walsh family home in Portlaw on the day of my cousins’ Mary and Pat's confirmation in 1975. My mother was Mary’s sponsor. In the picture, from the left, are my cousin Pat Walsh, my grandfather Tommy Hearne, my brother Eric, and my mother Margaret. Beside Eric are my cousins Sean Hearne and Michael Walsh, my sister Carmel, and my cousin Ursula Walsh.

The three sitting on the designer bench are my cousins Mary Walsh and Gary Hearne. Gary was either teething or else his bottle was empty; whichever it was, he didn’t seem too happy. On the right of the bench is another cousin, Brian Hearne. Brian went on to work in the Strand for many years. They all appear to be enjoying the sunshine, apart from Gary, who was clearly throwing a tantrum.

One day during the summer of 1967, my mother, uncles, aunts, cousins and sisters, along with myself, went on a day trip to Tipperary. An extended family in three small cars belonging to my uncles ventured where few had gone before. Many stops had to be made along the way to eat sandwiches, avail of the ditch toilet, and deal with the after-effects of car sickness.

Eventually, after about four hours, we arrived at our destination—the Gleeson family home, relations of the Hearne family. My mother’s cousin was a nun, and she gave each of us children a blessing. My cousin Mary Walsh was also given a chocolate bar and a set of rosary beads. She is on the right of the photo and also has a purse of money in her hand. You can make out the crucifix hanging from her arm if you look closely.

Beside her is myself. I can still recall being disgruntled on the day, as I wasn’t allowed to wear my Batman outfit; my mother said that people in Tipperary wouldn’t understand. The three boys to the left of me, all dressed up in suits and ties, are my cousins Declan Hearne, Pat Walsh and Ian Hearne.

On the left of the photo are my two sisters, Barbara and Audrey. The holy mother was Jane Gleeson, and beside her is her own mother, Mrs. Gleeson. In the background is my uncle, Tommy Hearne, and I’m fairly sure his son John.

In those days, it was quite common for the menfolk to find the local pub and drink ten pints while the women chatted, drank tea and looked after the children. Miraculously, we all made it home safely after the long day. The blessing and Mary’s rosary beads must have gone in our favour.

Those were the days.

This photo was taken on Wednesday, the 26th of October 1955, at St John’s Church in Waterford. It was the occasion of my uncle John Hearne’s marriage to Agnes Smith. There was great celebration after the ceremony, and I believe John even played a few tunes on the accordion. Initially I wasn’t sure of all the names, but thanks to Ian Hearne I think they are all correct now.

Front row, from the left: John Smith, Mary Hearne, John and Agnes, the bride and groom, Mrs Smith, and Tommy Hearne.

Second row, from the left: The important looking man is Patrick Smith, and beside him are Josie Hearne, Tommy Hearne, and Bridget Smith. On the right of the bride are Dolores Smith, Paddy Hearne, and Martin Smith.

Back row: The first lady is Sarah Smith, Patrick’s wife, and beside her is my mother, Margaret Rutter. The next woman is May Smith, John Smith’s wife. The two men at the back on either side of the bride are Michael Quinn and Michael Connelly. The next couple are Noreen Smith and her husband Dick Smith and the little girl is Mary Smith.

This is a photo of my grandmother, Mary Hearne, taken in Kilmacomb, probably in the 1950s. She’s on the left in the picture. I don’t know who the other woman is, but she would have been a neighbour. My grandmother would only have been in her forties when this photo was taken, and the other woman was probably around the same age. The hardships of the times took their toll on women back then, but even though they didn’t have a hundred and fifty pounds a week to spend on beauty products and hair care, like women do today, they still managed to look glamourous. By this stage, my grandmother had given birth to six children, one of whom had sadly died as a baby. She herself died in 1964 and is buried in Killea, in the grave beside where my mother now rests.

This photo was taken on the day of my parents wedding, July 9th, 1951.

This photo shows my grandparents, Mary and Tommy Hearne, and I would guess that it dates from the late 1930s. I’m not sure who all of the children are, but chances are that at least some of them were their own.

This photo was taken in Kilmacomb in August 1975. It shows my uncle, Michael Walsh, with his two children, Mary and Michael. Also in the picture is Catherine Power, who at the time lived with Julia and Mikey Hearne in the house just beyond the Creamery Cross.

Every summer, Michael and my aunt Josie would come to Dunmore from Portlaw for a two-week holiday with their five children. They usually stayed either at Michael’s father’s house on the Commons or in the hut on Phyllis Hearne’s half-acre. They’d think nothing of walking to Woodstown or Dunmore for a swim, it was all part of the adventure. I remember Michael as a strong swimmer, always doing the side stroke. They never went out for the day unprepared—there was always a picnic packed and ready for the strand.

Nowadays, people travel thousands of miles in search of the perfect family holiday. Back in the 1970s, Michael Walsh and his family had found theirs in Dunmore.

Sean, Brian & Gary Hearne with Josie Walsh

The Well at Kilmacomb:

This photograph dates from the 9th of July, 1976, the day of my sister Audrey's wedding, and was taken at the Hearne homestead in Kilmacomb. It features Sean, Brian and Gary Hearne with Josie Walsh, all dressed up for a big day out. Like many old family photos, it carries more than the people in the picture. It brings back the place itself, the garden, the seat near the road where we’d wait for the bus, the yard, and one particular corner that held a great fascination for me as a child.

There was a well there, long before the luxury of turning a tap and expecting water to arrive on command. Water was drawn from it in buckets, as it had been during my mother’s childhood, and I suppose it was one of those ordinary features of country life that adults took for granted. To a child, however, it was anything but ordinary. It was deep, dark, mysterious, and, according to my mother, a mortal danger.

Anytime we visited Kilmacomb, she gave me the same warning: “Don’t go near that well.” She had very little faith in my balance, or perhaps too much knowledge of my curiosity. In her mind, it was only a matter of time before I leaned over too far and disappeared into it.

Her fear came from something that had happened when she was a child. Her brother Tommy, I think, had nearly drowned in the well, and the memory of it never left her. From then on, it became more than a water source. It became one of those family warnings, handed down with a mixture of truth, terror and imagination.

She used to say there was no bottom to it, just like the lake at Bellelake. If you fell in, you would be sucked down into the darkness and never seen again. That was the sort of thing adults told children to keep them safe, while at the same time making the place ten times more interesting.

Needless to say, the well was the first place I went every time I arrived in Kilmacomb.

There was no point in telling a child that something was dangerous and mysterious and then expecting him to ignore it. I had to look. I had to know what was in there. I would open the gateway that led to the dark abyss and wonder what might be lurking below. Water, shadows, old stones, maybe a frog if I was lucky, and perhaps, in my imagination, something far stranger and more dangerous.

That was the magic of visits to Kilmacomb. Ordinary things had stories attached to them. A well was never simply a source of water. It was a doorway into family memory, childhood fear, and a little bit of folklore. It was also a time when my curiosity, like the well itself, had no bottom either.

This photograph was taken on the 9th of August, 1961, at Kilmacomb, on the day my aunt Josie Hearne married Michael Walsh. The photo captures a place, a time, and a way of life that has mostly slipped away.

The young boy on the left is Tony Walsh, Michael’s brother. Also in the photograph are my two sisters, Audrey and Barbara, who served as flower girls for the day. They were dressed up to the last, and I’m sure they had been warned not to dirty their dresses. They had likely been told more than once to stand still and behave for the camera. A wedding photograph then was not taken lightly. There were no second chances, as there are nowadays, when you can scroll through twenty versions on a phone to pick the best one. Back then, you stood where you were told, looked towards the camera, and the moment was captured, for better or worse.

Michael Walsh had grown up living on the Commons with his grandparents. That wasn’t unusual in those times. Families were often large, houses were busy, and it was common enough for a child or two to go and live with grandparents, partly to help out and partly to keep them company. It sounds strange now, but it was simply how things were done. Children fitted into the needs of family life, and family life stretched across generations in a very practical way.

Michael himself must have been one of the tallest men around Dunmore at the time. He would have been around John Mahony’s height, which gives a fair idea to anyone who remembers John. In a small place, that kind of detail mattered. People were measured not in feet and inches, but by comparison: as tall as this man, as strong as that one, as quick as another. It was a local language everyone understood.

Apart from the people in the picture, one of the things that stands out is the road itself. The main road to Waterford was a quiet place in 1961. There were no markings on it, and clearly no great need for them. Today, that same road would be a steady run of cars, vans, lorries, and impatient drivers, but back then it still belonged partly to horses, bicycles, walkers, and the odd motorcar.

The only speed trap beyond the Creamery Cross in those days was Mikey Hearne’s own “speeding trap”, pulled by Dolly the horse on the way to Callaghane on a Friday evening. It was a different kind of traffic hazard altogether, and probably a more memorable one than anything the modern road could offer.

That’s what make old photographs so valuable. At first glance, this one records a wedding day, but the longer you look, the more it reveals: memories of the people who gathered, the road they stood on, the customs of the time, and the small touches of humour that belonged to everyday life. Josie and Michael were at the centre of the occasion, but the photograph has preserved a wider piece of Kilmacomb and country life as it was then. After all these years, it still has plenty to say.

This is another photo taken on the wedding day.

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.

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