AND NOW, the time had come and so she faced that final velvet curtain. For Mary McAleese, there was just one more plaque to unveil, one last cord to draw. After 14 years of splendid service as President of Ireland, she had reached her closing engagement.
Where would it be? What would it be? An opportunity to roll out the concluding canapés and champagne flutes, perhaps? Or maybe some farewell hobnobbing beneath the chandeliers for the great and the good?
But that was never Mary’s style, even if she did shine on major State occasions. She made her decision months ago, when a letter arrived requesting her to formally open a refurbished block of long-term accommodation units for homeless men.
“We invited her, but she named the day,” explained Larry Toumey and Tommy O’Reilly of the St Vincent de Paul. “She pointed out that this would be her last engagement and she wanted it to be here.” There were no brass bands to announce the President yesterday morning, just the bells of nearby Christ Church Cathedral chiming the 11th hour as her car drew up outside the Back Lane Hostel in Dublin’s Liberties.
There wasn’t a big crowd either; a mere handful of locals and a group of delighted primary schoolchildren from nearby St Audoen’s. Business as usual, really. Much of the President’s work during her two terms of office has been done beneath the radar.
Yesterday was different. The residents, volunteers and support workers inside the Back Lane Hostel were joined by at least four camera crews, a battery of photographers and a large contingent of reporters.
This was a very happy occasion, if tinged with some inevitable sadness. But it was a nice sadness, entirely appropriate for her perfectly pitched departure.
The children cheered when four Garda motorcycle outriders zoomed into the narrow street ahead of the car with its flags flying from the bonnet. They held up a big yellow card: “Mary McAleese. We will miss you” was the multicoloured message.
“Thank you, lads,” smiled the famous lady in the crimson suit and red shoes as she accepted it.
“We love you!” shouted one little boy.
McAleese and her husband Martin were taken on a private tour of the building, where she met many of the residents. The refurbishment, which cost €800,000 and was financed entirely by the SVP, provides permanent accommodation and support for 18 clients whose physical or mental health means they cannot live independently. Another part of the old building, managed by Depaul Ireland, houses a 42-bed emergency unit for homeless men.
The ceremony took place in the hostel’s simple chapel. “I’m moving home today, as you know,” began Her Excellency, using her own circumstances to talk about the importance of home in our lives.
She said it was through places like the Back Lane Hostel that the homeless can rediscover their sense of worth and rebuild their lives. While it is somewhere no parent imagines their child will ever be, there will always be those who, through circumstances, become “frail people” and put their faith in the hands of strangers.
The President thanked the men and women, the loving strangers, who make it their business to care for them. “They may be down, but they are certainly not out,” she said of the men.
Although McAleese has been fortunate to have always lived in happy homes, she recalled her childhood in Belfast when sectarian threats rendered her family temporarily homeless.
In the audience were some of the people she stressed are “worth investing in”. Men like Noel Fitzpatrick, who shyly presented her with a bouquet. And men like Frank Brady, who composed a poem for the occasion. He read in a faltering voice, drawing inspiration from sources such as Star Trek and Simon and Garfunkel. The room hushed for him and exploded in applause when he finished.
Was that a tear in Her Excellency’s eye? These are the sort of events that form the framework for the day-to-day work of a president. The days when people, who often work for scant reward or recognition, are honoured by the nation’s first citizen. The head of State comes to say “thank-you” on behalf of all of us. It matters.
She brought pride to the faces of the men who now live in the new en suite rooms. The President of Ireland, out of all the things she could have done, chose to visit their home on her last day in office. She came so she could wish the best of times to those who have seen the worst of times. “This place is evidence that love exists.” At 20 minutes to midday, Mary McAleese pulled the cord and parted the final curtain to reveal the plaque. Outside, she gave a brief press conference.
She agreed it was a sad day for her. “If you give me two seconds, I’ll be in floods of tears, but I don’t want to do that in public!” she said, paying tribute to the great team she worked with in the Áras.
Any advice for Michael D? “Oh, just to enjoy it. Enjoy being president. I woke up every morning full of joy. I loved every day on the job. He’s a very lucky person, as I was.”
Then, the soon-to-be private citizen posed with her husband for a group photograph with the children. She lingered perhaps a little longer than usual.
Sisters Catherine Fenlon and Eileen Kimmage waited by her car to wave her off. “See ya, Mary, bye bye!” called Eileen, who lives around the corner in John Dillon Street. “Ah, she’s lovely, isn’t she?” said Catherine, who is from up the way in Reginald Square.
“She’s a proper lady and he’s a real gentleman.” A neighbour walked past. “Carmel, we saw the President” they shouted.
And what about the next President? “Aaah, Michael D. We love him,” said Eileen. “He deserves a chance because he’s the oldest.” Catherine agreed. “My fella is the same age as him. He fell down the stairs a few years ago and is still hobbling around. But he’s a great man all the same.”
Back in the hostel, the excitement was dying down. Frank Brady, who read the poem, said he was honoured to meet McAleese and her husband – “magnificent people”. Frank is one of the residents in the new wing. He plays guitar, harmonica and piano and is also a fan of Michael D.
“I wrote to him and told him I enjoy his poetry. I didn’t think he’d write back to somebody like me but didn’t I get a phone call from his PA? She told me he had read my letter and wanted to express his thanks. At the time, I hadn’t as much as a shilling and she told me he was going to send me a few books. The way she pronounced it, I thought she meant ‘bucks’,” he laughed.
“Then a parcel arrived and it had two of his books. I was absolutely delighted. I have them in my room.” A day, indeed, of happy endings.
