Crossing the country in a chopper, security men, crowds – it’s all change for the taoiseach-elect
THE HELICOPTER lifted into the night sky from Dublin’s docklands. Enda Kenny looked out the window, watching the lights of the capital city spread out below him – a breathtaking sight.
He was lost in thought, a pensive finger pressed to his lips. Who’d have thought it? Taoiseach-elect. Returning home in a chopper (paid for out of party funds) for the declaration that Mayo had returned an unprecedented four Fine Gael deputies. He had to be there.
The noise of the rotors. That smell of aviation fuel. The twinkling tapestry unfolding below. High-octane stuff.
After all the years.
“Well, Enda. I think this is it. Finally.” And we look at the view, me and IndaKinny.
“Yeah.” He fell silent again.
Minutes earlier, Enda had been addressing a simmering rally of successful candidates, party workers and supporters. He entered the Burlington Hotel into a maelstrom of jostling photographers and cheering faithful. People falling over in the scrum of flying elbows and camera flashes. The cheers building from down the corridor in the banqueting hall.
Kerryman Mark Kennelly, his chef de cabinet, steered him through the madness.
“Ladies and gentlemen, taoiseach-designate, Enda Kenny!” Kenny hopped onto the platform and reached for his inner JFK. As he spoke, some of his more hard-bitten enforcers choked back the tears. An elderly man in a voluminous pin-striped suit fished a large handkerchief from a bulging pocket, wiped his eyes and blew his nose.
A young woman toppled from the chair she was standing on, still waving her little flag and hardly spilling a drop of drink – caught by a delighted young blueshirt.
He talked of duty and responsibility and “above all, in the midst of what is for many a national heartbreak, let us be mindful of each other”.
He had taken a phone call from former taoiseach Liam Cosgrave. The crowd applauded at the mention of the name. Cosgrave told him: “I am an old man, but you’ve made me proud.” The man in the suit blubbered like a baby.
It was a brief but galvanising appearance. As soon as the taoiseach-designate finished speaking, he was whisked out a back door and into a fast car. Security men whipped barriers across. The gateman saluted.
Changed times.
Enda sank back in the passenger seat. He had started his day in Castlebar and would finish it there. “I couldn’t see a thing going into the Burlington. It was a total blur. I just saw a wall of light,” he said, shaking his head.
It had been a hell of a day, but there was more to come. He didn’t leave the count centre until five in the morning.
The action began in the afternoon with the arrival of the candidates. The auditorium in The Traveller’s Friend theatre was stuffed with supporters. Michael Ring made a spectacular entrance on the shoulders of two supporters. To roars of “C’mon Ringo!” the unsteady trio, picking up speed, lurched dangerously down the hill to the front door. The wishbone of a chicken came to mind as one bearer headed one way with a Ringo leg and the other veered in the opposite direction with the other.
Undaunted, Ring conducted a radio interview from his lofty perch, one trouser hem above his knee and the corresponding foot hitting a woman on the chin.
His two bearers staggered inside, almost decapitating the Ringer on the lintel.
After the chaos caused by the Ringer – God bless his gusset seams – it was decided to sneak Enda into the building. He waited with his wife Fionnuala in a side room until it was time to enter the tumult. The future taoiseach swigged a bottle of water and made small talk. Fionnuala handed him her mobile phone and he read the message. “It’s from a doorman in a hotel in New York, wishing me all the best.” The candidates arrived. “Howarya, Mickey Ring, me aul’ segotia!” said Enda. The four waited. The noise of the crowd grew louder.
Finally, the double doors were opened and the four faced into a terrifying crush of photographers, reporters and television crews.
Fionnuala hung back. “Did you ever think you would see the day Enda would become taoiseach?”
“I could have told people that 20 years ago, if only they had asked me.”
She knows her politics. She was Charlie Haughey’s press officer during the turbulent years. She’s a good cornerwoman – lets himself out to do the business, comes in with the towel when needed.
Eventually, the media moved back and Enda moved into the auditorium. The reaction was visceral. The crowd rose and cheered. They stamped on the wooden floors and the balconies above. The whole building seemed to shake. Count staff rushed to the barriers to offer congratulations.
The taoiseach-elect moved slowly down the hall, accepting the good wishes of his countymen and women. At the far end, his sons Ferdia and Naoise waited, along with his brother Henry and sister Maria.
“I climbed Kilimanjaro with him,” said Paddy McGuinness, weeping copiously. “I’m a Monaghan man, living in Mayo since 1960. I can hardly talk, sorry, I’m so emotional. He’s going to prove the intelligentsia in the media completely wrong. He’s the new Jack Lynch. A fair, decent and honest man.”
Enda lapped up the adulation. “It’s not about me,” he kept saying. “You can feel the pride in these people. It’s hard to describe the feeling of it, really. I can see it in their faces. We’re going to make a new start.”
All the same, there has to be a personal aspect. A sense of vindication, at the very least? “I do see this as a vindication of my self belief and conviction. It’s not been easy, in many ways.”
AS THE DAY goes into night, we can’t help thinking that Enda is struggling to hold it all together. When he meets Kathleen Coady, the wife of the late Liam, his driver for many years, the two embrace. Time and again, the tears well in Enda’s eyes.
On the trip to Dublin, we listen to the radio. Seán O’Rourke welcomes Brian Cowen, who is on the line from Offaly. Brian is just getting into his stride when O’Rourke cuts him off: “Taoiseach, we have to go to Mayo where the first count is about to be declared.”
Then onto the madness of the Burlington. MEP Maireád McGuinness has left her mother’s 88th birthday to be there. “Mammy didn’t mind. She’s 88 but we are all up to 90.”
The clock is ticking towards midnight as Enda gets back to the helicopter.
We wonder how his father Henry, whose untimely death led to young Enda becoming a TD at the age of 24, would feel about his son’s achievement. Enda doesn’t answer. Again, his eyes brim and he looks out the window. “That’s Longford down there.” His mother Eithne was 93 recently. “I visited her last night. She had a Fine Gael sticker on her dressing gown. Her mind is sharp, she’ll probably say she wants to go to the Dáil with me. I’ll have to hire another helicopter.” Again, he’s struggling with his composure.
Suddenly, it’s midnight over Mayo. He hasn’t thought much about his new office in Government Buildings, or what personal touches he might bring. “Maybe the picture of Davitt, and I suppose we’ll have to have Mick [Collins] as well.”
The pilot, Tom O’Connor, comes through on his mic. “Mr Kenny, ATC and the staff at Knock airport pass on their congratulations.”
They are waiting on the tarmac. Some have brought their children. More photographs. On the drive into Castlebar, he points out landmarks. “Enda, back in Mayo now as taoiseach-elect. That must be some feeling,” we venture.
“That’s Swinford up ahead of you.”
Taoiseach? Elect? There’s a pause. And a sigh. “Yeah.”
He rings Fionnuala to make sure the two boys and Aoibhean, his daughter, will be at the count centre. Will he have a lie in on Sunday morning? “Sure I don’t sleep at all, for feck’s sake. I’m awake at five o’clock. It takes three weeks for an election to soak out of you.”
Enda goes home for an hour before returning to the theatre. The place is hopping. A publican from Kiltimagh tells us it’s a great moment. “I’m Fianna Fáil, but it doesn’t matter a s****. He may be a taoiseach for Ireland, but he’s a taoiseach for Mayo.”
The results are announced at four in the morning. “Dara! Dara!” chant the supporters of Fianna Fáil’s Dara Calleary. “Four-one! Four-one!” comes back the good-natured chant.
The three successful FG candidates are tossed around in the air. “Enda doesn’t like to be lifted,” we’re told. So he isn’t.
Two armed detectives materialise. Locals swarm the stage, the queue stretches down the steps. The taoiseach-elect poses for photographs until everyone is satisfied. He heads for home at five in the morning.
We want the best for Enda. He faces a torrid time. We remember Bertie and Biffo. Wanted the best for them too. Hoped for it. It ended in tears. Twice bitten (won’t even think about CJ Haughey) should counsel us to be three times shy.
We wish the best for Enda, pensive as he sits in the helicopter, looking down on the lights. And we apologise in advance to Fionnuala. He’s going to have a bloody awful job. But he’s not the only one.
THE VOTE TURNOUT TOPS 70%
MARGINALLY BREACHING the 70 per cent line (70.1), voter turnout edged gently back towards the higher turnout levels last seen in the 1980s.
Voters in Roscommon-South Leitrim were the Republic’s most enthusiastic, with 79.7 per cent coming out to elect two Fine Gael candidates and Luke “Ming” Flanagan. Enda Kenny’s remarkable feat of taking four Fine Gael seats out of five in Mayo was accomplished on the back of the second strongest turnout of the day, 75.2 per cent.
Dublin South East, at 60.5 per cent, saw the State’s lowest polling, almost certainly a reflection of high turnover on the register in the area.
PATRICK SMYTH
