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And little changed on the beach into the Sixties and Seventies.

There are photos of Mum, through her late teens and 20s, looking like a pin-up, posing with her sisters, my aunties Ann, Pat and Mag.

In the black and white shot, she is leaning into the arms of her mother, my late grandmother.

Here’s Mum (centre) back at the beach with her sisters Pat (left), the youngest, and Ann.

An upturned bucket and two beach balls provide evidence of a busy day’s play.

On the far right side, in a black and white patterned swimsuit, is my mother. The snapshot captures my face wincing with shock and delight as the icy cold waves hit my feet.

The brave would then run straight from the hot baths into the cold sea, while the timid would return to the sand and announce that it was time for tea. Back in those days, Collins’s and Daly’s tea-shops sold fresh pots of tea and homemade scones and apple tarts which you could bring down to the sand on a tray piled high with china cups, a jug of milk and a big tin teapot.

For the well-to-do, there was the fancy Castle Hotel.

At night crowds would flock to the Central Ballroom, where women danced in full skirts and stiff petticoats and big bands played.

When I was a teenager, the appeal of Irish summers wore off.

By then it was the early Nineties and my friends were going off to places with exotic names such as Costa Del Sol and Corfu.

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