I am in the Garden Room of Waterford’s Medieval Museum on day two of the inaugural International Festival of Time, Waterford, Ireland, and as I observe a family approaching the Vianney Halter vitrine, an engaging scene unfolds.

Vianney speaks softly to the lady of the party, and of course, she leans a little closer to listen. When Vianney speaks, you lean in and listen. You just do. He has the kind of voice that is instantly captivating. A joyous French lilt, oozing with boyish charm.

After a few minutes, he placed his Deep Space Tourbillon Resonance upon her wrist - the “watch that went to space”. Photos were taken, and the watch was passed around this small group to be admired. Did they know the significance of the piece or its maker? Who knew, and who cared? This was a watch exhibition quite like no other. A unique and intimate event, and one where Ireland’s oldest city opened her arms to the visiting craftsmen and gave them the warmest of welcomes.

Perhaps it was the informality of it all which made it different. At a Civic Reception given by the Mayor of Waterford, Joe Kelly there wasn’t a hint of stuffiness. Instead, what was expected to be quite a formal occasion quickly evolved into a relaxed party and a reunion of sorts. And, as “Joe” made his welcome speech, his enthusiasm was palpable. There was no mistaking his genuine delight at hosting a gathering of watchmakers in the grandeur of his office.

Afterwards I stole a few minutes with the amiable waiter serving the wine. His name was Ollie, and he was the manager of the Bishop’s Palace Café located next to the Medieval Museum. Did he know anything about the people gathered for the buffet? Or anything about Independent Watchmaking? “Not at this level”, he said, but he had sneaked a wee glance at the display of watches and had already singled out a favourite, the breathtakingly beautiful Central Impulse Chronometer by Bernhard Lederer. “A worldly man of good taste” I commented. Ollie’s presence became interwoven within the story of the event. The next morning he came in person to take and deliver individual coffee orders for the exhibitors. By the following day, he knew every watchmaker by their first name and all would have a personal welcome at his café each lunchtime.

When the event opened to the public from Friday morning onwards, I found that watching the visitors and their reactions was fascinating. Some people moved around the room, not sure what they were looking at, but they paused to admire nonetheless. Others stopped and quizzed the watchmakers at length, so much so that I would have loved to have heard what was said, but the hubbub in the room prevented such indiscretion.

The highlights? Far too many to mention. But of course some moments stand apart. There was that time two older gents came into the room dressed in what were clearly their work clothes and asked if we had any cheap watches going. As we laughed and chatted some more, they wondered if “one of those Irish lads who make watches were about.” Stephen McGonigle was summoned and spoke to them at length. As it turns out, both gentlemen were highly knowledgable on the subject of watches, and they returned the next day to tour the room once more, dressed in their Sunday best. On Saturday a wee Irish lad came to declare his interest in watchmaking, and was duly invited to an atelier visit this summer by one of the Masters. I saw parents scolding their children for pressing sticky little fingers against the pristine glass of the vitrines, while the watchmakers gestured that it mattered not a jot, and drew them in for a closer look. During the three day event a miscellany of visitors came, older people who had grown up wearing a mechanical watch, and younger ones who had grown into the appreciation of them. I saw no-one leave disappointed.

I should have taken more photos. I should have scrutinised the watches more, I should have taken more notes. We all say that after a watch exhibition don’t we? But the social interaction had me enthralled and I am not ashamed to admit it. Instead of reaching for a loupe, I chatted with the watchmakers, their wives and their partners. We talked about their families, their children, their daily lives. We all joked and giggled by day and those of us who could find the energy, squeezed into the Thomas Maher bar in the evening to raise a glass of Guinness and the odd Baby Guinness too, courtesy of the one and only Katie McElherron.

An unforgettable event makes wonderful memories, and this one created them in abundance. All weekend, the people mingled with the watchmakers, and the watchmakers mingled with the people, and within that beautiful light-filled room something special was born.