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Aingeala Flannery on how Tramore summers shaped her writing: ‘ The past is a deep dark well; you drop the bucket and it’s surprising what comes up.’

The writer reflects on childhood holidays in Waterford, and the slippery nature of memory

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Writer Aingeala Flannery pictured in Tramore, Waterford. Picture by Dylan Vaughan

Writer Aingeala Flannery pictured in Tramore, Waterford. Picture by Dylan Vaughan

Aingeala Flannery with her mum Maudie and brother Noel in Tramore

Aingeala Flannery with her mum Maudie and brother Noel in Tramore

Aingeala Flannery on the beach at Tramore

Aingeala Flannery on the beach at Tramore

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Writer Aingeala Flannery pictured in Tramore, Waterford. Picture by Dylan Vaughan

My earliest childhood memories are of roasting hot summers, taking the bus from Waterford city to Tramore. And the first thing we did when we got to the beach was dig a cool dark hole in the sand to bury our food.

It was always the same: a plastic bag of buttered blaas with luncheon sausage. I remember one time we couldn’t find where we had buried the bag. So there was no lunch, just tea from the women selling kettles of scalding water up on the Prom.


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