Just Mary

by Mary O'Rourke

  The atmosphere of that tense, uncertain time comes back so clearly to me now. There were meetings, sub-meetings and interviews outside government buildings; endless comings and goings. In the end, it crystallised in Albert Reynolds coming to a Fianna Fáil parliamentary party meeting and resigning as president of the party, ostensibly over the Brendan Smyth affair and what to my mind was the trumped-up story of a cover-up of what Labour insisted would have been important information for them at Cabinet. In hindsight, this was the beginning of the whole process of the clerical abuse of children being brought to light, and as such, it was a hugely important episode. Albert went to the Dáil the next day and resigned in a very emotional speech. His wife Kathleen and some of her family were in the distinguished visitors’ gallery that day, and of course Albert’s voice cracked. One phrase he said was so true and stays with me: ‘You will manage all the big jumps, but when it comes to the small ones, they’re the ones that catch you.’ And so it was with this. Labour sat well away from Fianna Fáil in the Dáil chamber, and the whole thing seemed surreal and uncertain.

  In the few days which followed, it seemed as if the Bertie Ahern/Dick Spring axis would be consummated and that we would stay in government. We had even been given our portfolios by Bertie: I had been told I would be Minister for Environment. I was pleased. I liked to be active and to work hard, and it seemed that this appointment would meet those criteria. That is how certain Bertie was that we would be in government with Labour: he had already prepared the files for each Cabinet member and decided who he was going to appoint in the key positions.

  But it was not to be. We all went to bed on the night of 4 December 1994 and woke up the next day to the Morning Ireland headlines: ‘A new development has cast doubt on the Dick Spring/Bertie Ahern burgeoning alliance.’ The Irish Times carried a similar lead story by Geraldine Kennedy, which seemed to hint at some big new revelation in relation to Harry Whelehan, although also in very vague terms, but which led to a scattergun reaction among the Labour Party members. Bertie Ahern was in Brussels in his role as Minister for Finance when this ‘story’ broke. While to us, it seemed that it was all most likely nothing more than smoke and mirrors, that night, when Bertie had returned from his trip and was crashed out asleep at home, he was woken at 2 a.m. by a telephone call from Dick Spring. Dick’s message was clear: ‘I’m sorry, Bertie, it’s all too much — our deal is off.’

  Even in time, none of us ever got to the bottom of the reason for that call to Bertie. It would later transpire that Dick Spring himself had got a call that night, and I wonder now if it had anything to do with some of the things which have since come out in the Mahon Report? Perhaps this is what gave Dick Spring such cold feet. For us at the time, it was a huge mystery — and it remains so today, in fact.

  While I fear it would be tiresome of me to recount in detail what has already been recounted in so many books, suffice it to say that during the 24 hours that followed, Labour agonised as only Labour could, before making an announcement that they would pull out to Opposition. In fact, they had already begun talks with Fine Gael and the Democratic Left. Some years earlier, of course, when offered such an opportunity, John Bruton of Fine Gael had been stiff and awkward and really hadn’t wanted to engage. But on this occasion, the then AG Dermot Gleeson made sure that a welcoming venue was found and the initial signals were good. And so for the first time in the history of Ireland, there was a break-up in government but no General Election. Instead, the Labour Party simply glided seamlessly over to what had been the Opposition benches and formed a new coalition government with Fine Gael.

  It was surreal, in many ways. The night before the formal announcement of the crossover, I had been on RTÉ’s Questions and Answers, and had had a rousing good night which had all felt so positive. But we all knew the signs. In the next General Election in May 1997, Labour would insist that the losses they suffered could largely be put down to their time in government with Fianna Fáil. It has always been my belief, however, that it was not the link with us that caused the electoral damage to them, but rather the fact that they had been able, in 1994, to so casually ditch us and move over to a new partnership so seamlessly.

  Chapter 10

  LIFE IN OPPOSITION

  New Year 1995 dawned chilly and unfriendly for Fianna Fáil, in political terms anyway. Bertie Ahern moved into his role as leader of the Opposition. I was to be Shadow Minister for Employment and Enterprise opposite Richard Bruton, and Bertie had also offered me the role of deputy leader, which I was delighted to accept. I suppose his thinking was perhaps that it would be a good idea to have a male/female team, and he knew too that I was a hard worker. I don’t think he realised until later on that I was also a bit of a wild card.

  We took over the fifth floor of the old Leinster House building. The big parliamentary party room was given a makeover, as was Bertie’s office adjoining it. I remember very well coming upon him one day, standing among the debris and the chaos of the workmen measuring and sorting out that fifth floor. Despair was deeply etched on his face. Of course, I played my cheerleader’s role and did my best to jolly him out of it. At the beginning of that time, Bertie was very disgruntled and down-at-mouth, and it was easy to understand why. He had been so close to becoming Taoiseach, with Dick Spring as Tánaiste — it had been within his grasp, but then had all simply dissolved into fairy dust.

  Meanwhile, I was quite happy to take up the mantle of Opposition. After seven long years of government, I felt it was time for a thorough appraisal of our time in government and for us to regroup and plan our way forward as a party now in Opposition, but with hopes of looking to government again when the time was right. I was also enjoying the simple, practical ways in which life was less fraught than before. I was delighted, for example, to be driving myself around again after many years of being taken up and down to Dublin by my trusty and dedicated Garda drivers. Of course, sometimes it was good to be dashed around, but I had always done my own driving at weekends at home or had been driven by Enda, and therefore had never been completely reliant on Garda drivers. By contrast, I knew some of my Cabinet or junior Cabinet colleagues were now finding being driven everywhere something very difficult to forgo!

  To me then and now, the freedom of the road was and is wonderful. With the wheel of the car in my hand, the tank full of juice and a good engine under me (something which Enda always looked after for me), I was a free spirit and could go wherever I wanted to go. Back then there weren’t the motorways that there are now between Dublin and Athlone, and yet, when I drove myself to work during those two-and-a-half years, the winding road and the endless recitation of the successive villages would form a reassuring background pattern to my life. Athlone–Moate–Horseleap–Kilbeggan–Tyrrellspass–Rochfortbridge–Milltownpass–Kinnegad–Enfield–Kilcock–Maynooth–Leixlip–Lucan and then Dublin: it was a rite-of-passage for me every Monday or Tuesday as I made my way up to Dublin, and every Thursday or Friday as I went home to Athlone. I can remember a motoring correspondent asking me at that time, ‘What is your favourite drive in Ireland?’ and, without any hesitation, I said, ‘The drive between Dublin and Athlone — because it means I am going home.’

  All in all, during those years, life was good for me. We were in Opposition, and I had a useful role to play. Home life was harmonious too: Enda’s health was good and our two sons were both working and happily married by this time. I was lucky in that phase of my public life, as indeed I was in so many others, that Enda was there for me always and that no matter what were the ups and downs, he was my full partner and my full supporter in them. Looking back now, I know I was very fortunate to have such a wonderful, loving person with whom to share my life. I knew, and know, that there were many who could not count on such happy circumstances. Enda and I supplied to each other what we wanted and needed, and I suppose all successful marriages must have that generosity of spirit and above all, that physical love which was the bedrock of our own relationship.

 
Before we worked together as leader and deputy leader in those Opposition years, Bertie and I had already been well acquainted with one another as colleagues, having worked side-by-side for many years previously. Initially, when I first entered the Dáil, I had been a bit in awe of him, I suppose — although he was not senior in years, he was senior to me in experience, having first got in as a TD in 1977. Bertie had subsequently sat beside me both at Shadow Cabinet (1983 to 1987) and Cabinet (1987 to 1992). He always had a habit of cracking his knuckles when he was speaking. In fact, from sitting beside him for five years at a stretch at one point, I can tell you that he cracked his knuckles incessantly, and I would always be asking him to stop it! I think it was a kind of nervous habit, for which he would always apologise. He certainly had bad dress sense too, and would often wear an old anorak that you really wouldn’t have worn — but maybe it was all part of his image as a man of the people? Anyway, the mid-1990s was not a time for bling. Haughey had had bling of course, but somehow in those days, we expected him to have it!

  In spite of his initial low spirits, Bertie was gradually able to take to his new role of Opposition leader, and began to make his mark in the Dáil and around the wider countryside. He had a job to do and, to give him his due, he did it magnificently, whether it was travelling to each constituency, speaking to local organisations, speaking at their social functions or whatever other events they had mustered up for his visits. And so it was that week-by-week, he mastered his role and week-by-week, he became very well-known and liked — and, in time, loved.

  As deputy leader I did a lot of travelling too: visiting constituencies, and mopping up if there were signs of unrest within particular areas, and there were always a lot of those, as with all parties. My new role also involved a good deal of TV and radio work. Then, as now, I found that type of exposure easy, although I know many people have difficulty in these situations. My trick when I was on the TV or radio was to always imagine I was just talking to Enda at home in Athlone, or the person immediately in front of me, rather than thinking that I was talking to the world at large. Also, I never went in for meaningless economic phrases or difficult words which no one understood, least of all me! I felt that, if you could talk normally in a normal tone and if you were open about your life, both public and private, it would ensure that people would listen and want to hear what you had to say. I found that approach very useful throughout my public life, and I am still using it now.

  Meanwhile, back at frontbench, Bertie was running a good ship. Early on, he determined that he wanted to preside over a party free from internal wrangling and rancour, and in the main, he succeeded in this. He always said that in Charlie’s time, there had been far too many divisions, leaks and backbiting. I didn’t subscribe fully to the view that under his benign influence, we could reach that heavenly place of no political divisions: I always felt, and still do, that where there is politics, there will be rows, and where there are rows, there will be divisions. I had experienced enough of it in my own constituency of Longford–Westmeath to know that this was the mainstay of constituencies all over the country.

  In November 1995, as I recounted earlier, my brother Brian Lenihan sadly succumbed to haemochromatosis. It was a hugely difficult time for everyone in our family. Brian had been our shining star. He was a good man in every sense of the word, and bright and intelligent as well. Throughout all of his long years in Fianna Fáil, as Tánaiste, as deputy leader and in various Ministries, he had never fallen into the dark ways of politicians who could be swayed by cash. In that, he was like my father and the rest of us who undertook a life in politics. You can say what you like about the Lenihans, but none of us as politicians has ever been involved in shady dealings — these would have been anathema to every one of us. With Brian’s death, I felt as though a part of me was gone, never to be recovered. He left us too soon but with such grace and such elegance in the face of his illness — the same as would be shown by his son, Brian, when he too departed this life.

  The by-election to fill Brian’s seat in Dublin West was to be held in April 1996. His son and my nephew, Brian Jnr, who had followed the usual processes to put himself forward, was nominated as the Fianna Fáil candidate. When young Brian had been christened, in fact, he was given the Irish name ‘Breen’, but once Brian Snr passed away and Brian Jnr became the candidate, he was just known as ‘Brian Lenihan’. It made things easier for everyone all round.

  It would be both a difficult and an interesting by-election. I was placed in charge of Laurel Lodge, a large urban area in the Dublin West constituency, and I worked very hard there. Many of the Fianna Fáil personnel based in Athlone and elsewhere in Westmeath joined me in the evenings as I went out with the Cumann in Laurel Lodge to canvass, and we covered the area twice over. I had fantastic support too from my very good friends, Kathryn Byrne and Margaret Walsh. Aside from my sadness at having lost my brother, I have some happy memories of that campaign, when I made some great friends in that area.

  Brian Jnr was a great candidate: a young man of 37, he was good-looking, strong and intelligent, and at the height of his energies. He had been responsible for all of the canvassing in the previous election in which his father had fought and, indeed, had often represented him at constituency functions and at organisation level. So it was hardly surprising that the members of the party wanted him to be their candidate now. There was no dissent or discussion about it. They went to the convention and they voted more or less en masse for Brian Jnr.

  Of course Brian himself canvassed far and wide and with great support. The Fianna Fáil Party were terrific and all the members of the frontbench came out and willingly did their bit for him. The day of the count dawned and we all assembled in the centre. In the beginning, the results were not too enthusiastic. Brian had polled well, but had he polled well enough? I was there from 9 a.m., and as the day went on and the preferences started to be divided out, Brian continued to gain more and more. By eight o’clock that night, it seemed clear that he was going to be elected.

  Bertie Ahern was also very committed to Brian Jnr getting the seat but, oddly enough, on the day of the count, he didn’t turn up until late in the day when it seemed that victory was already assured, and he arrived into the count centre to wild joy and enthusiasm. I have always felt a bit edgy about that — not for Bertie the heat of the day, in that respect. But in the end, what did it matter? Brian got elected and became a member of the Dáil and I was so happy to have him there. I remember saying afterwards, ‘It wasn’t Brian Jnr who won that election, but Brian Snr,’ and in some senses that was true, because loyalty for my brother was still very strong and his constituents wanted to ensure that his son got in. It was not very long before Brian Jnr would forge his own path and more than justify the faith everyone had shown in him.

  And what of the government itself during this period? Well, it was proving, under John Bruton, to be the opposite of what people had expected. Bruton was able to tame his impatience and learned to live with good grace with Proinsias De Rossa and Dick Spring. In turn, the various Ministers seemed to be attending to their jobs with great dedication and by and large, the country was beginning to gradually move out of the economic decline of the early 1990s. In fact, my feeling was then, and still is, that if that Fine Gael/Labour coalition had been able to hold on until the full five years were up, they would have won through the next time too. By 1997, however, the momentum was building generally towards a General Election that summer. This was indeed to be the case and soon we were all caught up in the fray of fighting for our constituencies. As for the Progressive Democrats at that time, they had a new leader in Mary Harney and during our two-and-a-half years in Opposition, she and Bertie Ahern had worked together very well in putting forward policies and in flailing the government on a daily basis, as was their role. Mary was quite a star, in fact, and led many Opposition campaigns with great vigour and success.

  Meanwhile, we at Fianna Fáil ploughed on and it was good to see cordial relations
gradually being re-established within the party, and a more even, more harmonious mood take hold. In theory, the next General Election was not due until November or December of 1997. But then, who wanted a December election? And so gradually, it became the accepted wisdom that the General Election would be held in early June of that year. We were soon working towards that and ensuring that throughout the country the Fianna Fáil organisation was primed and in good working order. Constituency conventions were held and the usual wars broke out between factions, but it wasn’t too long before the candidates were in place.

  It was sunny weather as our campaign gathered momentum, and Bertie sailed around the country like a blessed icon. The girls kissed him and he kissed them, from Galway to Kerry and Dublin to Donegal. He was a beaming, affable hero and hailed as such. It was as if the country was ready to be entertained again, and Bertie showed every evidence of being the one to do that. Perhaps he was helped in this by the fact that the three amigos, John Bruton, Proinsias De Rossa and Dick Spring, seemed to form a very stern triumvirate as they gave their governmental press conferences and as they moved about their various campaigns. Jollity did not seem to be the order of the day with them, that seemed certain!

  On the eve of the General Election, I can remember doing an interview for RTÉ’s Six O’clock News, in which I said it had been a sunny and happy election campaign. So indeed it proved for me and for many other candidates in the party throughout the country. Fianna Fáil won handsomely, with 77 seats, and decided to go ahead and form a government with a small number of PDS. Here Bertie showed his distinguishing skill as a political diplomat and facilitator between different parties with separate agendas, and sought to bring on board the Independents as well, so that he and we would have an extra cushion as a bulwark for government. These were skills he had been able to hone during his time as Minister for Labour in the late 1980s, when a key part of his role was to bring together groups with opposing interests into a workable and mutually beneficial cooperation.