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Dunmore East
Dunmore East is a small fishing village on the south-east coast of Ireland, 16kms from the city of Waterford. It sits on the western side of the Waterford Harbour Estuary, 4.8kms from Hook Head in Wexford.
Dunmore East, Co. Waterford, Ireland

Tall Tales

This is the type of boat I remember as a Trawler, not those big new things with sheltered decks

and other useless stuff.

Sheltered decks have made pussies out of fishermen.

Look at this craft Boyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy's, the only

place for the men to stand was to take shelter behind

the wheel house. No such nonsense as a sheltered

deck, if a Mon couldn't stand on deck beneath frost and

wind what use was he. It also made entering the galley

and cabin more rewarding as the deck would freeze

you.

Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh tiss the stuff of

real seafarin men. I remember those white waders that

reached a Mon's thigh, but you could turn down to walk

up the village for stout and fags. I remember seeing youngfellas (probably off some island on

the west coast ) coming up the road from the quay dressed in those white waders which were

turned down. This was to signify to one and all that they were Trawlermen. As a child I was

green with envy. I thought they looked so cool with fags danglin from their lips and bobby caps

tilted on the side of their heads.

Big speckled Aran gansies were also in, as were grey socks that you could wear beneath the

waders.

One winter when I was young, I remember trying to get me Mother to buy me a pair of those

white waders instead of wellies . I would have been in Killea school at the time and I was in

love with those wellies. I would have made some sight strutting up Killea hill in me big white

fishing boots. I actually think they were known as ''thigh boots''.

To this day I can still hear the sound of those generators coming from the Dutch and German

luggers as I stared down on their decks from the quay. There was always a smell of cooking

coming from the galleys, it mixed well with the cold crisp air on a December morn and the

smell of the herrings being landed and salted all around me. The noise of gulls and of fish

boxes banging as they were moved around is still in me mind, as is the scent of that van-nellie

rolling tobacco the Dutchmen used to smoke.

I'm going to make all attempts to purchase a pair of those white ''thigh boots'', a speckled

gansie and big trousers, and I'll have them on me Boyyyyyyyyyyyyy's the next time I return to

Dunmore.

A finer rig a Mon couldn't wear.

John Silver.

White Waders