Thursday, June 27.

Why Tagoat you might ask? That’s where we would be staying overnight before catching the ferry to Wales next morning.

It involves yet another ferry crossing, albeit only a short one. Took a slight diversion, stopping off in Waterford, the home of crystal, and an old Viking town.

The obligatory visit to the Waterford factory.

This is the largest champagne flute in the world. Over two metres tall.


Some of the wooden moulds used by the blowers, to form the crystal. This is the mould for the Irish golf open being played next week at Lathinch. We drove through there a couple of days ago. It was huge.

Bowl, having been blown, is being checked by the master blower for imperfections. On a previous visit we have seen this fellow drop a blown bowl into the scrap bin.

This one,

or, this one.

A couple of master cutters at work. All done freehand and from the opposite side of the object being cut.

This one being roughed by a five way axis mill. It will be finished by hand at a later date.

Samples of some of their special orders. When they have a special order, they actually make three. One for the customer, the second as a back up, in case of an accident, and the third as a back up to the back up. Usually the third ends up in the museum across the road.

This little fellow has been made for NASA, to celebrate fifty years since man walked in the moon.

Even this was made here. The holy grail.

The most poignant though, was this one, The 9/11 Memorial Statue. Standing over a metre tall, it makes one think of that terrible incident.

Off now for a look around the Viking quarter of Waterford.

This is how they arrived here.

The only remaining tower from the wall which surrounded the quarter.

One of the first friars.

The original Franciscan Monestary.

Who are you looking at?

Now these are old.

Anyone know who’s crest this is. Obviously they liked pigeons and chooks.

Must have been fairly big.

And it was. Still had the roots attached.

Now you don’t see many doors like this anymore.

Needed a rest.

Every street has a story.

If this did not get your attention to come into the store, nothing would.

Very upmarket bike rack.

Never seen this before. I believe they sold more than cockles after dark.

This would have been state of the art back in its day.

All this walking has created a terrible thirst, and look, a watering hole.

Inside resembles the outside, dated.

Posters from a bygone era.

Particularly this one. Read the bottom line.

Built them short back then.

Great piece of artwork.

Never thought we would see this in the memorial gardens. To see this piece of steel girder really drives the enormity of it home.

Wandered back to Bess and headed for Tagoat.

On arrival in Tagoat, we found our camp at the International Outdoor Activity Centre. We discovered that starting tomorrow was the Irish Scout Jamboree.

We chatted to a scout leader and explained that we were involved with scouts in Australia, and we were both Queens Guide and Scout. Even showed him my Queens Scout Badge, which I earned fifty years ago this year, and still carry it with me. It was then that he told us that he was the Chief Scout for Ireland. Forgot to take a photo.

Off to a nearby local for our last meal on Irish soil. Well this year anyway.

One thought on “ROAD TO TAGOAT.

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