While taking a walk on Killiney Beach in Dublin with my father last summer we came upon these ruins, covered in graffiti, consumed with overgrowth and beer cans. A sad place, but I couldn't quite make out what it was originally, a strange mish-mash of rooms tacked on to one another with the most spectacular glassless panoramic views of Killiney bay. The cheap ruins of a make-shift building in a priceless location.
Then my father began to tell me stories of when he used to go there in the 1950s and 60s. There was a lady living there, during the day she'd bring big pots of tea out on the beach and sell them to people. Then in the evening the place would come alive with bands playing music, people dancing and singing.
Roaming around the now neglected ruins my father reminisced ,
'We'd stay up until all hours singing and dancing. Everyone would go there. You could drive your car right down to the place.' I decided to return to the cottage today with my camera, to capture a place that once was. This evening as I walked away from the building I looked back and began to see it in a whole new light. I could almost hear the live music carrying from it's windows and the trains thundering above it, bringing more party goers to join the foray. The sound of their laughing voices, frenzied chatter and engines purring to a park. The bewitching hour brought it alive again, just for a few moments.
After a few hours photographing the white cottage, as darkness gradually fell over Killiney Beach I came upon what initially looked like a search party. There were bright spotlights moving around the sand, flickering back and forth. As I moved closer I realised the lights were torches, attached to the heads of people who were fishing in the dark. Each one had a little tent perched further back on the strand so they could shelter and thread their lines and return to the waves to where their fishing rods nestled waiting for some unsuspecting fish to bite.
