© 2020 www.dunmoreeast.net. All rights reserved Last updated 24 May 2020
Made with Xara
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
Dunmore East, Co. Waterford,
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
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
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
A finer rig a Mon couldn't wear.