Queen pays homage to the memory of those who died in the cause of Irish freedom
THE MOMENT came not in gilded majesty or 10-gun salutes. It came as an Irish military band struck up "God Save the Queen" and a host of old ghosts, dear and gentle, fierce and austere, hovered around a small, elderly woman, dressed in pretty ivory and sage, standing in homage before a sculpture inspired by the legend of the tragic Children of Lir and Yeats's Easter 1916. "All changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born".
Now on a grey afternoon, in this small city centre oasis announced by the flags of the four provinces and its dedication “to those who gave their lives in the cause of Irish Freedom”, the British national anthem was soaring above the clatter of the circling Garda helicopter and the ERU snipers perched on the spire of Findlater’s Church.
Wise heads had ordained that mere words would be superfluous on this day. Present and former taoisigh such as Albert Reynolds, Brian Cowen, Bertie Ahern and Enda Kenny were silent observers below, as the British monarch and the Irish President ascended the 22 steps to the sculpture platform, where the Irish Tricolour fluttered at half mast in a light breeze, overseen by a precision-drilled guard of honour.
Two Military Police wreath-bearers offered the wreath to the Queen to lay before the monument; another was placed by President McAleese.
There followed a minute’s silence, one of such depth and intensity that few present are likely to forget it.
Later, cynical old hands confessed to being “surprised” by the depth of their own emotions in those charged moments.
The sounds of dissidence were muted in this honoured place. The only visible sign of protest was a rather graceful flight of black balloons floating off to the side as Capt Joe Freeley began his recital of Liam MacUistin's poem Rinneadh Aisling Duinn (We Saw a Vision), symbolising rebirth and resurrection.
In the darkness of despair we saw a vision,
We lit the light of hope, And it was not extinguished.
In the desert of discouragement we saw a vision.
We planted the tree of valour, and it blossomed.
In the winter of bondage we saw a vision.
We melted the snow of lethargy and the river of resurrection flowed from it.
We sent our vision aswim like a swan on the river. The vision became a reality.
Winter became summer. Bondage became freedom and this we left to you as your inheritance.
O generations of freedom remember us, the generations of the vision.
A drum-roll accompanied the slow raising of the Tricolour to full mast, followed by a spirited rendering of the Irish National Anthem. Suddenly it was over.
Those present, it seemed, felt able to breathe freely again. As the President and the 85-year-old Queen made their way down the 22 steps, for a millisecond the President seemed instinctively to reach out to assist the older woman but thought better of it.
The Queen managed the steps without faltering and the two chatted easily as they walked past the dignitaries – Bertie giving a slight bow – to make their way back to the cars, one flying the British royal standard.
Next stop Trinity College, where the Union Jack flew overheard.
All is changed, changed utterly.
