Winds of Change in Dunmore

For generations, Dunmore East was first and foremost a fishing port. Each year the herring season brought the promise of good money, and the quayside filled with life. Some men went to sea on the trawlers while other men and women worked ashore, salting, kippering, and packing the catch for market. The harbour rang with their voices, the smell of herring hung in the air, and alongside the bustle of fishing, sailing and pleasure craft added their own touch of colour to the scene. It was a picturesque harbour, alive with tradition and character.

By 1963, that world was changing. The government decided to modernise Dunmore, entrusting the Board of Works with a harbour development scheme that would sweep away much of the old order. For many, it meant progress and badly needed improvement; for others, it meant the loss of a way of life. The work provided alternative employment in the village—my own father, Ernie, among those who laboured on the project—but it also marked the moment when Dunmore’s historic harbour crossed a threshold, stepping from its herring past into a modern future. This history retraces that turning point, when the harbour’s story was rewritten in stone and concrete, and when Dunmore East set a new course that still shapes its identity today.

This photograph, taken in August 1963, captures Dunmore East on the brink of transformation. At the time, the Board of Works’ Harbour Development Scheme was about to begin—a project that would alter the harbour forever. The days of the fisherwomen, who once stood on this very spot gutting and salting herring, had long since faded into memory. By then, a modern Ice Plant, built in 1957 and visible on the right of the picture, already signalled the move towards a new era. It was fitting, for cool heads would be needed in facing what lay ahead.

Earlier that year, the village had weathered the worst snowstorm since the 1940s and had, at least for the time being, won its “fish war” with the Northern Irish boats. Yet bigger forces were at play. The winds of change blowing down the river from Passage East carried with them a decision that shifted the long-anticipated harbour development away from Passage and towards Dunmore. When those winds finally settled, the destiny of the village would be rewritten.

Back in 1963, Dunmore East stood on the cusp of major change. Long celebrated for its character and natural beauty, the little fishing village had been selected by the government for a new programme of harbour development. How that decision came about was a story of compromise, ambition, and the stubborn realities of geography.

Originally, the government’s Swedish harbour consultant, Mr. C. J. Bjuke, had recommended Passage East as the most suitable site for a major fishery harbour on the south-east coast. But when engineers examined the ground more closely, they found unfavourable subsoil conditions that made large-scale works impossible. Passage was ruled out, and attention turned instead to Dunmore.

Even here, the challenges were clear. The harbour, though picturesque, was small and exposed. Donagh O’Malley, then Parliamentary Secretary to the Minister for Finance, admitted candidly that the site was “less than ideal.” To create a fully sheltered deep-water harbour of refuge would have been prohibitively expensive. The government, therefore, chose a middle course—a compromise plan that would not completely transform the harbour, but would provide much-needed improvements for the fishing industry.

At the time, the fishing fleet faced serious difficulties. Berthing space was scarce, with boats often lying four to six abreast along the pier. Deck space too was so limited that the harbour became dangerously congested during busy times. The new scheme promised relief: more berthing, greater working areas, and—most significantly—the separation of two vital functions. The east pier and extended south quay would continue to handle landings, auctions, and sales, while a new west wharf would be reserved for berthing, repairs, fuelling, and provisioning.

Other elements of the plan included raising the storm wall on the east pier, dredging the harbour to ensure a minimum depth of twelve feet at low tide, and building a new breakwater stretching northwest from the pier to the “island” rocks, closing the gap and reducing the swell inside the harbour.

Not everyone was convinced. At a public meeting in July 1963, fishermen, merchants, local councillors, representatives of the RNLI, and even tourism interests gathered to hear the proposals. Some regretted that Dunmore would not be turned into a fully sheltered harbour of refuge, but most welcomed the promised improvements. Others worried that the village’s character—its natural beauty and charm—might be spoiled. The government pledged to preserve amenities as far as possible, with the Office of Public Works’ architects giving attention to sympathetic design.

Construction inevitably brought disruption. Dredging and building works clashed with the very summer months when yachting and tourism were at their height, and there was no escaping the inconvenience. Still, the government pressed ahead, emphasising that the long-term benefits would outweigh the short-term discomfort.

Even charges became a matter of controversy. Pleasure craft had never before been asked to pay for the use of Dunmore’s harbour, unlike other major ports. The Office of Public Works intended to change that, but in deference to local sensitivities, postponed the introduction of fees until the works were well advanced.

Looking back today, the 1963 harbour scheme marks a milestone in Dunmore’s story. It did not solve every problem, nor did it turn the village into the great deep-water refuge some had dreamed of. But it laid the foundations of the modern harbour we know now. Chosen almost by accident after Passage East was abandoned, Dunmore East was set on a new course—one that has ever since balanced fishing, tourism, and local identity in ways that still shape the life of the harbour today.

This 1963 photograph of the harbour shows a scene that looks calm and peaceful, but it was taken at a time when Dunmore East was facing storms of more than one kind. While the Board of Works prepared to launch the Harbour Development Scheme, the fishermen were already fighting for their livelihoods in what became known as the “fish war” with Six-County boats.

In January of that year, the Irish Press reported the simmering tensions on the quayside. To the visitor’s eye, all seemed well: trawlers landed glistening herring, buyers moved among the boxes, and lorries rolled away with their loads. Yet beneath the surface lay a bitter row over whether Northern boats should be allowed to fish inside the three-mile limit. For local crews—and for the men who came seasonally from Donegal, Castletownbere, Howth, and beyond—it was a matter of hard cash and, for many, survival.

The Northern boats had clear advantages. They were bigger, newer, faster, and, crucially, heavily subsidised by the British government, receiving grants for boatbuilding, daily allowances at sea, and even payments per box of fish landed. As skipper Alan Glanville, an Englishman settled in Dunmore, put it: “They are better equipped, they land catches quicker, and they can fish in worse weather. Struggling local men, trying to pay off the debt on their boats and make a living as well, cannot compete with them.”

Resentment was not directed at the Northern crews themselves—admired for their skill and stamina—but at the economic imbalance. Landing earlier, the Six-County boats filled the buyers’ quotas, secured top prices, and left the local fleet to sell later in the day at depressed rates, sometimes even having to dump fish. The impact was devastating. Only a few years earlier, 40 to 60 boats from the Twenty-Six Counties had worked the herring shoals out of Dunmore; by 1963, that number had collapsed to just sixteen. Boats bought with Bord Iascaigh Mhara loans were being repossessed and advertised for sale abroad.

Herring was the lifeblood of the fleet—“our bonanza,” as the men called it. A good season could land £100,000 worth of fish, but by the early 1960s much of that money was flowing north. In one season alone, of £81,000 worth of herring landed, some £50,000 went to Six-County boats. Prices rubbed salt in the wound: a cran that fetched £6 in Dunmore might sell abroad for as much as £24 in Germany, Holland, or Czechoslovakia.

The Fishermen’s Association eventually imposed its own ban, refusing Northern boats the use of Dunmore’s harbour. Prices rose sharply as a result, but the scars remained. The newspapers called it “the fish war,” but for the men involved it was no abstract headline—it was the fight for a fair chance. It exposed the vulnerability of small, locally owned boats against industrial-scale competitors, and it marked a gear shift for local fishermen: from then on, Dunmore’s herring fishery had to contend with increasing competition from larger boats—including fleets from outside Ireland fishing near, and sometimes within, Irish waters.

For the fishermen of 1963, though, the issue was painfully simple. They wanted what their fathers and grandfathers had enjoyed before them: the chance to make an honest living from the sea.

In the summer of 1963, the Board of Works’ harbour scheme was no longer an abstract plan but a reality on the ground. For Dunmore East—by then both a thriving summer resort and a working port—the changes promised new opportunities for the fishing fleet, but they also stirred unease. Many feared that the very qualities which made the village attractive to visitors and yachtsmen might be swept away.

One of the strongest voices was Jasper E. R. Joly, a travel agent who spent much of each year in the village. Recently elected chairman of a joint committee of the Waterford Harbour Sailing Club and the Dunmore East Small Craft Owners’ Association, Joly argued that the scheme made no proper provision for small boats. In the Irish Examiner he warned that Dunmore’s existing arrangements—yachts safely beached in the inner harbour and rowboats tied to “frails”—would be disrupted, and that tourism could collapse during construction. “For the next two years, while the scheme is in progress, Dunmore is finished as a tourist resort,” he declared. “There is a very real danger of it being wiped out completely. It could become a ghost town.”

The numbers gave weight to his concerns. Between residents and visitors, some 125 small boats used the harbour each year, and the sailing club was growing, particularly among younger members. In August alone, boating visitors were said to spend around £15,000 in the village—a huge figure at the time. To cast them aside, Joly warned, would be short-sighted. His committee pressed the Board of Works for a slipway on the west wharf, moorings for yachts, space for small boats, and a site for a clubhouse and dinghy park.

He was not alone. Writing from London, Mrs. R. Otway-Norwood reminded readers of the Irish Independent that Dunmore was already under pressure in the summer, with mooring space hard to find. She feared that the new scheme, which filled in part of the harbour for fishing berths and servicing facilities, would make matters worse. “There will be very great difficulty indeed in preserving anything like the former facilities for pleasure craft at Dunmore East, when the Harbour Scheme is completed,” she wrote.

Other critics went further. In a passionate letter to the Irish Times in 1962, the architect Niall Montgomery condemned the destruction of the historic harbour stores and pier wall, it read as follows:

Some may think it improper of me to raise an intellectual protest against the harbour development in Dunmore East, yet it would be far more disgraceful to remain silent — to allow irony or apathy to muffle the cry of anger that should be heard each time a part of Ireland is sacrificed for money.

The works now in progress at Dunmore threaten to destroy not only the unity and amenity of the harbour, but also the distinction of a place that is more than just the centrepiece of a small, graceful seaport. Dunmore’s harbour is one of Ireland’s most remarkable achievements of marine architecture — strong, elegant, and splendid in design.

At present, the lower pier wall, which once formed part of the harbour stores, is being cut away along its inner length so that the historic stores may be swept aside and replaced with something “modern” and “efficient.” By this same logic, one could also have justified burning the Custom House forty years ago — an outrage committed under the banner of another ideology.

The existing harbour at Dunmore East was reputedly designed and built early in the last century under the superintendence of Mr. Nimmo, an engineer of the Office of Public Works. They stand as one of the earliest and finest architectural achievements of that young Irish administration, driven as much by zeal as by responsibility.

The architecture of the stores was alive with brilliance, where sunlight played on details and shadows. In bold stonework and noble dignity, they were as much a part of the harbour’s character as the water itself, providing a fitting complement to the warmth and richness of the village street.

The lower pier wall, divided by plain but economical projections and linked by recessed panels, each faced with granite blocks, was both powerful and harmonious in scale. Seen in long perspective, the wall and the stores stood in relationship to the lighthouse — a clean, simple shaft — and to the village, the backdrop, the immense sea, and the very structure of the cove.

Now, that heritage has been destroyed. What is lost cannot be recreated. It cannot be simulated by modern work. No skill of man — whether guided by the wrong hand or the right — can ever restore it.

Looking back now, more than sixty years later, these voices remind us of the tension that ran through the village at the time. On one side lay the promise of jobs and a modern fishing harbour; on the other, the fear of losing Dunmore’s identity as a holiday resort and place of beauty. In the end, buildings such as the lifeboat house, boathouse, and slipway disappeared in the name of progress. What survived was a changed harbour—but also the memory of a community that wrestled with what progress should mean, and who it was truly for.

This photo dates from mid-July 1963. Visitors and locals alike are seen soaking up the summer sun at Stoney Cove, with many taking advantage of the high tide to enjoy a swim in the clear water. Children often favoured this cove over others, mainly because of its closeness to the Bay Cafe and Gertie’s, where ice cream was always within easy reach. On the transistor radios of the day, Cliff Richard’s hit 'Summer Holiday' or Gerry and the Pacemakers 'I Like It' would likely have been playing — tunes that perfectly suited the carefree mood of the strand. Yet, while holidaymakers enjoyed their summer holiday in Dunmore, plans for the harbour’s redevelopment were already afoot, and not everyone liked it.

At the end of July 1963, a meeting was held in Dunmore East to discuss the £250,000 harbour development scheme. Work, it was announced, would begin at the end of the month and was expected to take two to three years to complete. The meeting was attended by engineers from the Department of Fisheries and the Board of Works, together with representatives of local organisations.

The centrepiece of the scheme — a new West pier stretching from the Churn in the middle of the harbour to the Island and linking with the pier beside the lifeboat station — was the main topic of discussion.

Mr. S. Mallon, Chief Engineer with the Department of Fisheries, reminded the gathering that the groundwork had been laid by the Swedish harbour expert, Mr. Bjuke, whose survey the previous year had produced the first serious plan to develop Dunmore into a major fishing port. Since the scheme was extensive and would affect so many people, Mr. Mallon explained, the engineers wanted to outline the details.

Assistant Chief Engineer, Mr. H. Delapp, set out the main points. The scheme aimed to provide extra berthage and more space on shore. Mr. Bjuke had concluded in his report that to give Dunmore proper shelter would require a massive breakwater, but the plan now being advanced would instead focus on dredging, giving an additional 11 feet of water at low water springs.

Moving House:

Much of the new land space, Mr. Delapp explained, would come from building the West pier to the Island and linking it to the lifeboat house. The Island itself would be demolished, the ground levelled, and the area reclaimed. On the Stoney Cove side of the Island, a new slip would be built to provide further berthage.

The East pier would see only minor work – resurfacing of the pier wall and a rise of 18 inches. On the West side, however, extensive space would be opened up. The Harbour Master’s house and the auction hall would both be moved further back, and a new breakwater was planned at the lighthouse. The Island road, too, would be widened to allow better access for lorries.

Not all were convinced. Boat owner and skipper, Mr. Alan Glanville, warned that if a West pier were built from the Island it would mean the end of the Island itself and with it the traditional anchorage for small boats.

Mr. R. J. Farrell, solicitor representing the Dunmore East Development Association, raised the issue of tourism. Dunmore, he reminded the meeting, was a great attraction for visitors at a time when the Government was calling for more tourists every day. While the Association supported measures to strengthen fishing, they could not overlook the importance of the village’s appearance.

Tourist Value:

“A pier on the West side,” Farrell declared, “would destroy the look of Dunmore East. It will detract from the tourist value of the village. I suggest that the plans be revised.” He went further, warning that Ireland, once known as the Emerald Isle, was in danger of becoming a “concrete isle.”

Mallon, however, was firm in his response. From a fisheries point of view, he argued, land space was every bit as important as water space. Even with the additional quay, Dunmore would still be cramped for room. He doubted whether the claim that the new pier would spoil the harbour’s appearance carried much weight.

The debate then turned to the need for repair facilities. Mr. R. Murphy, Lifeboat Engineer, noted that the Crosshaven Dockyard Company was eager to establish a small dockyard in Dunmore and would soon apply for permission. But Mr. Mallon countered that Dunmore was primarily a herring port. Boats that arrived in October came fully prepared for the season, he said, and extended repair facilities were not strictly required here. Such services might be better provided in other centres.

Mr. Farrell disagreed. The Development Association wanted the facilities already available to be retained – not least the anchorage for small rowing boats and yachts.

Boats Laid Up:

Others added their voices. Trawler owner, Mr. J. McGrath, pointed out that vessels worth thousands of pounds used the harbour each winter, yet there was no slip in Dunmore to lift a net from a screw. If a trawler broke down, it had to be taken to Arklow or Crosshaven.

Mr. A. Wescott-Pitt, Secretary of the Dunmore East Lifeboat, said it was vital that trawlers could be repaired locally, and a slip should be included in the new development. He reminded the meeting that in August of the previous year 110 pleasure boats had been anchored in Dunmore, yet no proper facilities were available for them either.

Delapp responded that a site might be provided for private enterprise to develop a dockyard, though he doubted there was room within the harbour walls for a slip. Farrell pressed the point, saying it was unacceptable that trawlers had to go abroad to be “slipped” and repaired.

Lawrence Lett, Chairman of the South-East Coast Fishermen’s Association, added that four boats had been laid up in Dunmore for more than a week the year before for lack of facilities. Fish buyer, Mr. P. O’Toole, suggested a slip could be built on the Stoney Cove jetty, while Mr. Glanville noted that every fisherman had, at one time or another, cursed the absence of such a facility.

Delapp closed the discussion by confirming that work would indeed start at the end of the month. The first phase would focus on repairing the East pier, with winter work concentrated on cliff excavation at the West side. The scheme, he said, would take between two-and-a-half and three years to complete.

The Attendance:

The meeting was attended by an impressive list of officials and local representatives: Mr. Rr. Cross (Chief Engineer, Dept. of Fisheries); Mr. J. P. Regan (Engineer, Board of Works); Mr. J. Quinlan (Asst. County Engineer); Mr. F. A. White (Dept. of Fisheries Inspector); Mr. W. Friel (Waterford Harbour Engineer); Capt. C. H. Hazel (Lifeboat); Mr. S. Ormonde, T.D.; Mr. D. Drake (Fishery Inspector); Mr. George Roche (Dept. of Fisheries Inspector, Dunmore); Mr. R. Shipsey (Fish buyer, Dunmore); Rev. M. Power, C.C. Killea; Mr. N. Kervick (fish buyer); Mr. J. McGrath (fish buyer); Sir Brian Warren (fish buyer); Mr. W. Power(fish buyer); Mr. D. Brazil; (Waterford Harbour Sailing Club); Mr. A. Harris; (Waterford Harbour Sailing Club); Mr. R. Ballintine; (Dunmore East); and Capt. D. Carroll, Dunmore East Harbour Master.

The harbour discussions of 1963 highlighted the sharp contrast between progress and preservation in Dunmore East. While fishermen pressed for expanded facilities, others feared the loss of the village’s natural charm. The struggle between industry and tourism would continue to shape its future identity.

To be continued......