By a lonely prison wall in a corner of Mountjoy, the 10 coffins rested in positions corresponding to the graves beneath, where the bodies had lain for 80 years. Known as the laurel garden, the area is just a piece of lawn now, with a barely a shrub. But it didn't matter yesterday when, finally, the State brought its own laurels for the dead men.
A desolate place at the best of times, Mountjoy was particularly miserable on a wet grey October morning. And yet the weather played a part in the solemnity of the event, as prison officers formed a guard of honour in the rain, while dignitaries, led by the Minister for Justice and the current prison governor, stood with their heads bared.
It fell to the governor, Mr John Lonergan, to pay the first of the day's many tributes. The men who were about to leave the prison would take much of its history with them, he said, their graves having been a focus of school tours and other jail visits for many years.
He had never accepted the right of prisons to retain the bodies of the executed, he added, and the State was doing the right thing in giving them back to their families. But on a day of closure and forgiveness, he also noted that contrary to long-circulated rumour, the conditions of their bodies when exhumed suggested the men had been well treated and given decent burials. The balance in Mr Lonergan's speech was a keynote for the day.
The prison ceremony had been a private affair, about 100 relatives attending and acting as pall bearers. Once outside the gates, however, the Army took over. So did the public, hundreds applauding as the hearses emerged from the jail, in a feature which would continue throughout the ceremonies.
There was applause as the cortege passed the GPO, and again as the coffins were carried into the Pro-Cathedral. Sometimes it had a determined, almost rehearsed look about it. But although the attendance along the route included many well-known republicans, among them the leaders of the 32-county Sovereignty Committee, there were few overtly political displays. Even a souvenir shop in O'Connell Street promoting Tricolours at £1 a piece reported "not great" business.
It was only at the gates of Glasnevin Cemetery that the coalition threatened to break down. The arrival of the Taoiseach and members of the main parties drew mild applause. But when the Sinn FΘin leaders - among the last arrivals - reached the gate, there was raucous cheering from their supporters.
Once the head of the prisons chaplaincy service, Father Fergal McDonagh, began the prayers, however, calm was restored. And the Taoiseach was given a polite hearing throughout, even when he said it had been "quite wrong for anyone to stretch the democratic mandate of 1918 far beyond its natural term".
For the most part, Mr Ahern stuck to the theme of the justness of the War of Independence, and the right of succeeding generations to honour it.
With an eye, perhaps, on the current world situation, he also compared Ireland in 1920 with America in 1776. And when a volley of shots and the playing of the Last Post had brought the day's ceremonies to an end, the latter theme was echoed by one of Kevin Barry's relatives.
Fiona Maher, a grandniece, said the ceremony had been "terribly moving" and that in particular, seeing the famous name on the hearse's brass plate, her relative "became a person again, there in the coffin".