It's a long, long time since a crowd applauded a march through the streets of Dublin city, especially the kind of march that fouls up the Friday traffic, shuts down the buses and drowns out a schoolgirls' Christmas choir, writes Kathy Sheridan at the Dublin march.
The union bosses leading the parade under a mighty Congress banner looked shocked. "Good man, Jack," shouted an ardent county council worker in their direction, clapping fiercely as they strode past that other old Dublin institution, Clerys. Ahead of the union bosses trotted two majestic horses, half a dozen Garda outriders and a large traffic corps Jeep. It must have felt a lot like old times for the men and women who had kept faith with the trade union movement through the mé féin years.
An early indication came that the struggle continues in all kinds of unexpected ways when a placard-waving Sinn Féiner attempting to steal the show by going out front was promptly bundled back to invisibility. Not far behind came Gerry Adams and the rest of his entourage, struggling through the throng to come out ahead.
The march was characterised by men, union men of the determined-looking, burly kind, the sort you'd want on your side in a scrap. Doug and Irene Farrelly, an elegant, retired couple from Rathgar, provided a contrast.
The former commodities broker and his wife, formerly of Aer Lingus, were there "on a point of principle. . . We want to see fairness for everyone. We are past the age of being disadvantaged but we don't want to see it happening to the younger people. This is about a fair wage. We have to be strong."
Marek Szczepanski and Michal Dabrowski, two young Polish men working in recruitment and human resources respectively, agreed it would cost them half a day's wage and that they personally had no problems with their employers. But like almost every man and woman in the crowd, they were keenly aware of the implications of the Irish Ferries debacle. "Nothing is happening to us now - but you never know. The situation may change".
An Irish woman employed in the call centre of an American multinational was loath to give her name. "The company has sacked people for joining unions. I don't think people realise that call centres are the sweatshops of the 21st century."
The INTO was out in strength, including three teachers who would only be identified as "from a school in Shankill". Was this because of the verbal lashing they got this week? "If you're talking about Joe Duffy," said one archly, "he is on the radio when we are actually working." They reckoned that seven out of their 25-teacher school had turned out and were still "not sure" if the missing hours would be docked from their pay.
Two sociologists, Barbara Bradby from Trinity and Barbara O'Connor from DCU, were here "to support the workers. . . " "It's the other side of globalisation," said Bradby.
Surprisingly, only one promotions company had the nous to parade its wares. Outside the newly-opened Spar on Merrion Row, 20-year-old student Maria Doogan was giving out some riotously popular free smoothies to the passing throng. By then, the march was coming to the end of the line. Up ahead, as the crowd snaked past Government buildings and into Merrion Square, where no one paid much attention to the speeches, a few Dublin Bus workers - some of the 2,500 taking part - were grimly discussing the behaviour of a "foreign national" driver who continued to drive his route during the march.
"Every foreign national refugee in Dublin Bus gets two years' tax allowance. . . That's discrimination and no one knows about it. Of course that's why he went on working." What would they do to him? "We won't talk to him."
Nearby, four black bus drivers walked together, with a clear agenda. "This march is about protecting our job and our future. This job is all we know. This is all we do. It's how we feed and clothe our family. Irish Ferries used to be a big company like Dublin Bus before it was privatised. If that is accepted, no one is safe." The four radiated pride that one of their number had managed to acquire a house, a car, a family.
They had heard about the other "foreign national". They didn't think it was about money. More probably, it was about fear of losing his job. "He is on a year's probation period and perhaps he thinks he can't say no. Of course he would not lose his job. But maybe he does not know that."
Yesterday's march was about solidarity. Sometimes, it just didn't seem like that.