Just Mary (19 page)

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

N
ew 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.