Ceremonial leader more like Leader of the Pack as Burton boards the 39A
The sheer vulgarity of tipping-up in a coach for the annual Arbour Hill service of remembrance for the dead of 1916 seemed to leave some cabinet ministers a tad bewildered.
A somewhat flustered looking Justice Minister Alan Shatter announced after the ceremony: “I’m late for the boat — I mean the bus!”
But there was no sign of slumming it from President Mary McAleese as she made clear that whatever lessons she may have learned on her recent trip to the Netherlands they were certainly not drawn from the cheap and cheerful casualness of that country’s fabled bicycling monarchy.
As Ms McAleese’s state car swept into the drive- way of the Church of the Sacred Heart, we lost count of the number of her motorcycle outriders when they reached 18.
Indeed, the ceremonial leader of the country looked more like The Leader of the Pack as she was followed by so many riders in leathers and helmets.
The official Captain’s Guard of Honour from the Defence Forces is usual for this event — and actually comprises 29 service personnel — but surely, 29 outriders is way over the top for the head of State in this sorry financial state? Especially, as some have suggested, if we are going to do away with the Seanad, we might as well dump the presidency as well.
Archbishop Diarmuid Martin caught the mood well as he advised the nation to deal with the slump by shedding its “haughtiness” as he delivered what seemed a heartfelt message.
Emphasising the real-time generational pull to the Easter rebellion, he recalled how his then 12-year-old mother had later told him stories of the anticipation of the uprising in inner city Dublin, as she watched her older brother head-off to take up position at Jacob’s factory, while her sister joined the ranks at Liberty Hall.
With the perilous state of the country on this anniversary, a more sombre than usual hue hung over the event — from the high hopes of revolution to the grim realities of what one minister branded national receivership in just 95 years.
Archbishop Martin used his homily to insist that the real meaning of a republic was the equality of the people — that we were all in this together.
However, when it came to the communion, the priest came forward to give the front row, which included the president and Taoiseach, their wafers, while the rows behind had to queue.
As Mr Kenny left the church at the end of the ceremony, a senior military figure could be seen wetting his fingers and vigorously rubbing a mark off the back of Enda’s jacket — clearly, it is a strategic national priority for our shiny new Taoiseach to remain shiny for as long as possible.
One minister with her feet still firmly on the ground, or rather the lower deck, was social welfare supremo Joan Burton. She didn’t bother with the cabinet coach, or Mr Shatter’s imaginary boat — she paid her own way and got the 39A back to Leinster House from the church.
