At least it’s not on TV, Bertie

HUNCHED forward in the witness box, his slumped head cradled in the palm of his right hand, Bertie Ahern cut a lonely and dejected figure.

It was as if the sheer violence of the previous exchanges had drained him of the will to go on.

As legal warfare erupted around him, he appeared to have zoned out of the proceedings, perhaps finally floored by the weight of the allegations engulfing his premiership and endangering his place in history.

If events outlined by tribunal senior counsel Des O’Neill were true, it would mean the Taoiseach had lied under oath, that he had lied to the nation for the past 15 months and lied his way to victory at the general election.

The stakes could not be higher.

With Judge Mahon intervening to quell the 15-minute wave of outrage from the Taoiseach’s legal team, Mr Ahern rallied enough to again denounce Mr O’Neill’s suggestion he may have been involved in a “conspiracy” with AIB to cover a back-to-back bank loan while finance minister in 1993.

Minutes later he left the witness box he had entered five-and-a-half hours earlier — pensive, brooding and bristling with resentment at being placed in this position.

How different to the Taoiseach who took the stand by storm in September, delivering a bravura and unprecedented personal statement that ensured his version of events dominated the broadcast media for the next 24 hours.

Yesterday, Mr Ahern’s body language shouted his views far louder than his often terse statements could.

He spent the first 45 minutes in the witness box bent forward, barely lifting his head as he delivered answers as short as his fuse appeared to be.

At times it was difficult not to feel sympathy for the Taoiseach as private areas of his life were pored over in a way that touched on the borderline humiliating.

But then strange events occurred in Mr Ahern’s bank accounts between 1993 and 1995 and satisfactory explanations must be found if we are to be sure Ireland’s previously deviant political culture was buried along with CJH.

However, as Mr O’Neill outlined his scenario for the possible back-to-back loan, there was a feeling this inquisitor may have, for once, overplayed his hand.

Many find the tortured and extraordinary explanations for lodgments into Mr Ahern’s accounts, revolving around spontaneous “dig-outs” and unwanted “whip-arounds” laughable. Even some Fianna Fáil ministers, privately and, of course, strictly off the record, will admit their embarrassment at having to defend such claims — but there is also equally a lack of evidence for the theory outlined by the tribunal lawyers.

Mr Ahern’s testimony was littered with moments of unintentional comedy. The things he decides to get ratty about really can surprise.

His anger could not be soothed over claims he treated the apartment above the St Luke’s office as his own.

No, he insisted, senators and councillors also had the run of the place.

“The only thing I could control was the bedroom,” he announced. Once mental images of some 1970s-type medallion man playboy had been mercifully suppressed, an even sadder insight took hold. That of a minister of finance in a crumpled dressing gown blocking the doorway as he insisted: “No senator, the bedroom’s off limits, but you can have whatever is in the fridge if you want.”

And twice he implied the reason he failed to set up a solo bank account was because he was not sure if the separation would last. Perhaps plausible for the immediate break, but for seven years? Would Celia Larkin have been so keen to do all that toing and froing to AIB in O’Connell Street if she had known that?

Other answers came thick and fast. How did he save 50 grand? “I worked my butt off.” Why no paper trail of receipts: “What did you think I was, Scrooge or something?” And a reply that showed wherever the money came from it did not go on lessons in grammar — “It’s not odd. It’s not unusual. That is what I done.”

As the day of high drama finally closed, the room erupted as journalists scrambled to file, commentators huddled and lawyers hurriedly packed away their boxes.

Amid the flux, Mr Ahern stood briefly by the witness box, sucking his upper lip under his teeth, a sure sign he feels uneasy. If these proceedings were televised the implications for the Taoiseach would be dire.