Once more with feeling as everyone wants to shake Bertie's hand and get a snap for nostalgia

DÁIL SKETCH:Bertie was doing what he does best, still putting himself about, even on his last day in the House as Taoiseach

BERTIE WAS happy on the plinth, in the sunshine, getting dragged in all directions by people clamouring to have their photographs taken with him.

Agreeing, always agreeing, to do "just the one more". He wouldn't want to disappoint anyone.

A Dublin lady he knows of old had somehow managed to make her way through the gates of Leinster House, and was now persecuting him with her little silver camera and stories about herself and why she thinks he's the bee's knees.

Bertie, with admirable patience, listened and laughed with her, and stepped in for yet another photo.

A large group of primary schoolchildren watched from next door, hanging on to the railings outside the National Museum. "Bye bye, Bertie!" they shouted, and the Taoiseach looked across and gave them a big wave.

Family members crowded around, holding up camera phones. Press photographers pushed and pulled passing politicians into the frame. Everyone wanted to shake his hand.

It was quite a scrum.

Slowly, Bertie made his way back towards the front door, only to be waylaid at the steps by some of his younger staff members. They all wanted their pictures taken with him, and he obliged, smiling happily as they maintained watery smiles and struggled to hold back the tears.

An active retirement group from Co Meath had already grabbed their shots with the Taoiseach. A knot of students hovered in his general vicinity, a bit uncertain about the protocol of the occasion.

But yesterday, once Bertie had cleared the obligatory hurdle of tributes to him in the Dáil, the protocol vanished.

"Any chance of a snap?"

"Course! Jump in!"

For sure, Bertie Ahern was bearing up well. But he was doing what he does best, still cheerfully putting himself about, even on his last day in the House as Taoiseach.

He was grace personified with the media.

What do you say to the man who seeks you out to say he never had a proper chance to say thanks, when you've recently been tearing lumps out of him in the paper? Who smiles and shakes your hand and leans in close?

"You were an impossible person to have a row with," Mary Harney said less than an hour earlier in the Dáil chamber.

You were difficult to oppose because you "could embrace and absorb any criticism to make it appear your own", remarked Eamon Gilmore.

You "heard, absorbed, responded, remembered and attended", said Enda Kenny.

And he was still doing it, even when the tributes were over and his 11 years at the helm in the House had come to an end.

What to say?

Lots of things to be said, but yesterday was not the day.

The one discordant note was struck by Sinn Féin's Caoimhghín Ó Caoláin, perhaps born of frustration because his party doesn't have the numbers to have a voice at Leaders' Questions.

So he took the opportunity to turn his "tribute" to the Taoiseach into a political statement on the health services, remembering to bring the situation in his own constituency into his contribution.

But it was a petty and ill-judged gesture. Deputy Ó Caoláin was the only speaker not to be applauded after he spoke.

The hour of glowing tributes may have seemed like rank hypocrisy to some, or proof to others that the Dáil is one big happy, back-slapping club. But the sentiments expressed were genuine and Bertie was worthy of them.

Enda summed it up with a quote from Thomas Jefferson: "'I never considered a difference of opinion in politics, in religion, in philosophy, as cause for withdrawing from a friend', and I say this to you."

Deputy Kenny, who has been accused of wrongly pitching some of his recent statements, caught the mood perfectly yesterday.

When his opponents/ acquaintances were on their feet saying nice things about him, Bertie affected to be absorbed by the contents of the reply he was due to deliver.

His head was bowed, but you knew he was listening.

Enda Kenny, in common with most of the other leaders, tried to define the "essence" of Bertie Ahern. He made a pretty good stab at it.

"I have described you, Taoiseach, as the ultimate paradox - a sociable loner." Bertie looked up briefly and smiled across at the Fine Gael leader.

When Enda congratulated him for his work on the Northern Ireland peace process, he looked up again and mouthed a silent "thank you". And there were anecdotes. Lots of little anecdotes.

Mary Harney, who has served with him in government for over a decade, spoke compellingly, and without a script. Her words were affectionate, often funny.

Bertie wore his gold silk statesman's tie and his good navy posterity suit. His thinning hair was a gleaming silver. It wasn't like that 11 years ago.

Tánaiste and Taoiseach-elect Brian Cowen barrelled in midway through the tributes. As he came through the upper doors, he whipped a plastic comb from his pocket and dragged it quickly a few times through his dark hair. He was still patting down his quiff as he headed down the steps.

The tributes concentrated on Bertie Ahern the man, the hard worker who kept his feet on the ground and established a unique rapport with the public.

His skill was mentioned with a mixture of awe and envy by his political colleagues.

But the morning never threatened to descend into something mawkish and teary. Although above in the visitors' gallery, where Bertie's team of trusted advisers were positioned, there were a few brimming eyes.

His brother, Maurice, watched from the distinguished visitors' gallery in the company of Bertie's long time friend Chris Wall. Bertie's sisters, Eileen and Kathleen, were also present.

There was mention of the Taoiseach's daughters. Doers, like himself "thank God", he said later: Georgina and Cecelia are abroad working.

Mary Harney pointed out that they were "tiny girls" when Bertie first became a minister, and the nation watched them grow up as his career progressed.

Grandchildren Rocco and Jay were stitched into the record too. Bertie beamed. He is the man who introduced an element of soap opera to Irish politics.

Finally, Brian Cowen, the next taoiseach, spoke.

He gave an impassioned speech, but at times it sounded more like a rallying cry to his troops than a tribute to Bertie Ahern.

When it comes to public speaking, it seems subtlety is not Brian's strong point. He could have been addressing the faithful at a Fianna Fáil ardfheis.

Nonetheless, the Tánaiste was rich in his praise for Bertie. It's just a pity he didn't fully capture the mood of the occasion. For a man who has a major reputation as a noted wit, Brian could have done worse than recall a yarn or two about his old pal Bertie.

And so, the time ticked towards the midday ending. The Taoiseach, who had looked a little sad and preoccupied during the speeches, rose to reply. He thanked everyone he had worked with. And thanked them again and just stopped short of thanking the Ceann Comhairle for the use of the hall.

Bertie finished with a quote from the Jesuit Fr John Sullivan. The outgoing Taoiseach sounded wistful as he read it to the hushed chamber.

"Take life in instalments. This day now, at least let this be a good day. Be always beginning, let the past go. Now let me do whatever I have the power to do." (Which, for the next two weeks, will be more encores than a U2 concert).

At five past twelve, Bertie left the chamber. When he returns he will no longer be Taoiseach.

Out he went into the sunshine, shaking hands and meeting people. Friends, supporters and political opponents. No hard feelings now.

The warm smile and the handshake. What to say? "It's a sad day, Taoiseach. A sad day."

Bertie paused, and whispered: "I just want to get through it. I just want to get this day over with and I'll be grand."

Then somebody else called and off he went, smile back on, off to shake another hand and stand in another photo.

" The tributes concentrated on Bertie Ahern the man, the hard worker who kept his feet on the ground

"Cowen's impassioned speech at times it sounded more like a rallying cry to his troops than a tribute