Bertie Ahern stepped up to the microphone. He lifted his head, as if about to speak, but no words came. An Taoiseach paused. A graveyard waited.
Behind him, waiting too, stood Charlie Haughey's family. They had endured much in the last few days. Bertie raised a nervous knuckle to his lips, gathering his thoughts. Then he took a deep breath and plunged into his graveside oration.
Et tu, Bertie? That was never, ever, going to happen yesterday.
Three simple words from the current leader of Fianna Fáil about a past leader of Fianna Fáil tell us why: "He was one of us." There was a sense of determination and defiance about the Taoiseach's much anticipated performance at the graveside of Charles J Haughey. Fired up, Bertie's words were imbued with the emotion and urgency of a team captain making his All-Ireland winning address. You could hear the catch in his throat as he began barking out the words.
Setting out his stall straight away, there was no doubt where the normally cautious Bertie Ahern was coming from. This was a rare moment, when the trademark Ahern mumbling was replaced by straight talk. As ringing endorsements go, his emotional assessment of the life and times of Charlie Haughey was deafening.
"He was a LEGEND. And a MAN." With that, Bertie looked up and into the crowd, almost like he was throwing out a challenge: Go on. Disagree with me. If you dare.
His delivery was intentionally bold and unambiguous in what was a passionate gesture to mark the passing of a man he clearly idolises.
At the end of his oration, the Haughey family applauded. Tears welled in deputy Seán Haughey's eyes; his sister Eimear smiled across warmly and mouthed her thanks. Fr Eoghan Haughey walked past his brother's grave and threw his arms around the Taoiseach.
It was the ending that did it for most people in St Fintan's cemetery.
"Immersed in his many political battles, Charles Haughey would ruefully acknowledge to me that he enjoyed the proverbial nine lives," recalled Bertie of his mentor. "Charlie" he said, directly addressing the man who he obviously still believes is The Spirit of the Nation. He stopped for an instant. "Boss," he said wistfully, voice cracking. "The last of those lives has now been extinguished." It was a long time coming, but on a damp and muggy Friday afternoon by the sea in Sutton, Bertie Ahern nailed his colours to the mast, for once and for all, on the delicate subject of Charles J Haughey.
He might yet be nailed to the cross because of it.
All in all, Charlie got a grand send-off yesterday. But it should have been great.
The Requiem Mass in Donnycarney was magnificent, a great example of public/private partnership. The State laid on the cash and organised everything. Charlie's family and friends provided the music and the poems and the memories. They also availed of the opportunity to shine up the tarnished reputation of CJH, although words spoke during funeral rites don't always hold sway when the mourning period passes.
Seán Haughey had his say. So did Fr Eoghan. The congregation applauded. They were preaching to the converted. When Seán remembered how his mother once remarked; "It would seem everybody hates Charlie Haughey, except the people", there was sympathetic laughter. Yet the glaring fact was that an occasion of commemoration and a celebration had to be used as an opportunity to try and reclaim the reputation of the deceased.
Faces from the past emerged blinking into the sunlight for Charlie's final journey. Faces from the tribunals turned up. Faces we thought were dead and buried scuttled in, alive and shaky.
The millionaires paid their respects - not for the first time - to The Squire. The artists, writers and musicians came to say thank you. Prominent builders and publicans made the effort. Ray Burke was prominent. Pee Flynn grinned and gave the thumbs-up like he'd never left the political stage. Constituency locals filled the back of the church.
But overall, the crowds weren't great. It's because Charlie is gone too long from the scene, say some. History holds no interest for today's go-getting Ireland. The turnout for the recent 1916 commemoration tells a different story.
Sailors marched alongside the hearse. They shadowed his coffin up towards the Hill of Howth to St Fintan's. And to Charlie's plot, in a cosy corner under two sycamore trees with lovely views of Dublin bay to his left and his beloved Portmarnock strand to his right. A small crowd came to the cemetery. Builder Mick Bailey, fresh from having the country's biggest tax judgment ever registered against his company, looked pensive as he leaned against a large gravestrone.
It was raining now. Maureen Haughey, leaning on her sons for support, accepted the tricolour from her husband's coffin. Her grandchildren crowded close to her, holding red roses. At 4pm, they laid Charlie's coffin in the ground.
After the ceremony, people stood with their arms around each other and had their photographs taken beside his grave. "It's the end of an era", they told each other. "It hard to believe he's gone." Sunlight dappled through the sycamores, there's a small corner of St Fintan's field that will be, forever, CJ.
Rest in peace, Charlie.
