That muffled tune you may have heard on the West wind this morning was my late father singing happy birthday to Éamon de Valera. Dev would be 141 today had he not departed this life in 1975, aged 92. To say my father admired de Valera would be unnecessary understatement. He believed this most controversial figure of 20th century Ireland walked on water.
On the only occasion when I saw my father and Dev together, my father was speechless, a condition to which he was not prone. It was 1968 at Portahard, near Frenchpark/Ballaghaderreen, where Ireland’s first president Douglas Hyde is buried. The occasion was an event marking the 75th anniversary of Hyde’s co-founding of the Gaelic League/Conradh na Gaeilge in 1893.
It was the only time I saw Dev in the flesh. He was tall, pale, 85, shuffled along, and, being blind, was led by an aide de comp. Such was my father’s reverence I thought he might even check Dev’s hands for the nails with which he was crucified down all the decades. I would not have been surprised either had he checked the then president’s feet too for similar marks, (in case such might present difficulties when walking on water).
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This was impossible as Dev wore a fine pair of black leather shoes as befitted the office he held and the enormous Rolls-Royce in which he travelled. I had never seen a Rolls-Royce before.
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My father’s unalloyed admiration for Dev was a gift to those among our neighbours who felt otherwise, some of whom referred to de Valera, derogatorily, as “Nedeen”’ accused him of impoverishing the country in the 1930s and, worse, said he was responsible for killing Michael Collins, a fiction made history by Neil Jordan in his film of that name.
Even that Ballaghaderreen man, and later Fine Gael leader, James Dillon did not spare Dev. Accused by the latter of being pro-British during the second World War (Dillon was the only TD to oppose Ireland’s neutrality in that war) the bould Dillon responded: ‘’My ancestors fought for Ireland down the centuries on the continent of Europe while yours were banging banjos and bartering budgies in the backstreets of Barcelona.” Six beautiful Bs, in a neat sequence.
Happy birthday, Dev, and RIP.
Messiah, from Latin Messias, Greek Messias, for “the anointed one”.
