The word had come from Mayo that public celebrations should be low-key. There was no sense of the country wedding atmosphere that accompanied Brian Cowen’s elevation
SOME INSISTED there was nothing new about it: “suits replacing suits”, declared a protester outside the gates.
But it was undeniable. The brand-new era was captured in a single scene in the corridors of Leinster House: the oldest of old-school Fianna Fáilers, Senator Terry Leyden, seen buttonholing newly-minted United Left Alliance TD Richard Boyd Barrett for a Seanad vote.
The ULA man appeared to be engaged. In fact, it was just that he was a bit taken aback, he admitted afterwards. Nearby, Willie O’Dea wandered through with a phone clamped to his ear, alone, subdued, growing accustomed to the new order.
Earlier, just before the ULA crew managed their entrance in a hail of celebratory noise, Joe Higgins refused to concede that this was a special occasion.
“No. It’s not a proud day,” he protested. “It’s part of my mission in life.”
He had something in common then with the personable new representative of the Spring dynasty. Arthur Spring wasn’t conceding to any pride – in himself or his relatives.
“I haven’t scored yet. There’s been so much political success in the family, it takes a lot to impress them,” he said, efficiently taking a call from a fruit and vegetable supplier for his juice bars.
“Yeah, same order as last week,” he said, as newbies all around him had their pictures taken on the plinth by excited family members.
Ruaidhrí O’Sullivan wore a woven sun hat boasting a large Healy-Rae band. He has made a point of getting a special hat made for each Healy-Rae election, beginning with Jackie’s in 1997. “But this one,” he said, “is a new breed. It’s smaller – because Michael is small.”
They had to scurry out of the way of Gerry Adams, flanked by Mary Lou McDonald and Sandra McLellan, as he led his troops across the plinth in the customary cacophonous, triumphal entrance. As the media corps struggled to identify the slew of new faces all around, it became evident that even the Shinners were having similar trouble. “Who’s the other woman beside Gerry?” asked a puzzled party stalwart.
A senior Fine Gaeler looked goggle-eyed when asked to identify his new colleagues milling around. “I haven’t a feckin’ clue.”
Fortunately, the unmistakeable, inimitable Mick Wallace appeared just then in a blindingly pink, open-neck shirt, sucking up all the media oxygen. Asked about his choice of clothing, he declared indignantly that he’d “put on a real fancy shirt for the day”. It was certainly fancy.
After that dazzling apparition, Mary Mitchell O’Connor’s vertiginous gold heels – toned with her glamorous champagne and purple ensemble – seemed almost muted. But weren’t they a bit inappropriate for the stately business of Leinster House, whispered a well-known media man. The colour? “No. The open toes.” That was a new one on us.
Predictably enough, the woman who careered down the plinth steps in her low-slung car last week said she wasn’t at all ashamed of her heels. “A lot of women voted for me and they know what I stand for,” she said firmly. Nor was she too proud to say that this was a day she had yearned for.
“I did a coaching course 2½ years ago and was visualising myself coming into Dáil Éireann.”
“So visualising stuff actually works?” squeaked an excited onlooker. “Well, I’m going to try and visualise myself now as a minister in five years’ time,” she said.
The new Wicklow TD Stephen Donnelly wasn’t too proud either to say he was “still pinching” himself, or to mention the number of times he felt “overwhelmed” during the campaign, worrying about funding and just carrying on, times when he had to pull in the car because his hands were shaking so much. “But I genuinely hope we can start now and do things differently . . . We can say whatever we want and that is very, very exciting.”
Luke "Ming" Flanagan turned up in his regulation black, zip-up jacket and button-up shirt. Was it the outfit he wore during the campaign? "Ah, I washed it since," he said with something approaching a giggle. "It's what I wear to keep warm and what I like wearing." And then he launched into an eloquent, heartfelt condemnation of the world's focus "on style over substance . . . A very good example of that is The X Factor, where you have bullying on television on the basis of what you look like. A woman like Susan Boyle comes on stage and everyone is amazed that she can sing. Why were they so amazed?"
Though a TD for just over a week, he has already had a hard media lesson in the way he was portrayed in RTÉ’s fly-on-the-wall documentary aired on Monday.
“I think I mentioned cannabis on about seven occasions throughout the whole campaign but they seemed to think it was relevant to put it in the documentary nearly on the same number of occasions. It’s a pity they didn’t concentrate a bit more on the turf-cutting issue, or on what I was talking about with regard to reforming local government . . . But listening to someone talking about cannabis is far more catchy than talking about reforming local government, which” – he conceded with a sigh – “would probably put many people to sleep . . .”
As a gloriously sunny morning gave way to a dull afternoon, the mood was lifted again as the newly elected Taoiseach appeared for his trip to the Áras. As the black Mercedes carried him through the gates, accompanied by the sirens of a motorcycle escort, he was greeted with a roar of joy from the crowd outside. But the truth is that it was comparatively muted.
The word had come from Mayo that public celebrations should be low-key. No Mayo equivalent of The Offaly Roverechoed across the plinth from the gates, no sense of the exuberant, citywide country wedding atmosphere that accompanied Brian Cowen's elevation less than three years ago. A new era indeed.
