Deep Drawn Presswork Ireland May 2026

The sound was a low, geological groan. The punch descended. The metal resisted, then yielded. When the press lifted, the disc had become a perfect, deep cylinder. Not a teapot. Not a part. Something new.

“You’re Eileen O’Maher?”

Now Eileen stood on the factory floor, alone. The last order had shipped three weeks ago—a batch of medical canisters for a German firm that had found cheaper labor in Poland. The roof leaked onto the 500-ton press. Rainwater traced rust-coloured paths down its iron flanks. deep drawn presswork ireland

“I was.”