It was an extraordinary weekend. A weekend of tears and jeers. Tears for the passing of the former Taoiseach Jack Lynch, jeers for his successor, Charles J. Haughey. It was extraordinary, too, that at the O Riada Requiem Mass in Cork's North Cathedral, Mr Haughey and Des O'Malley, a Jack Lynch friend and confidant, were seated together. They barely acknowledged each other and at the point in the Mass where the congregation is invited to offer a sign of peace to one another, they did not shake hands.
It was clearly a mismanaged seating arrangement. Two political foes with completely different views about how the art of politics should be conducted would probably have preferred to have been kept apart. And because all eyes were on them during the Mass, it would probably have been better, too, for the solemnity of the occasion if that had happened.
And then there was the spectacle of Mr Haughey's arrival at the cathedral, where he was openly derided by the Jack Lynch faithful standing outside. Despite the huge gathering, he seemed isolated, somewhat forlorn and ill at ease, not a characteristic of Charles Haughey.
He was never a lover of Cork because of Jack Lynch's overwhelming popularity in or out of power, and Cork people repaid the perceived animosity in kind on Saturday. As the funeral cortege moved over Patrick's Bridge and along Patrick Street, the jeers started. "Bastard", one man shouted. Another called out: "Are you selling any shirts today, Charlie?" There was booing and laughter.
Sitting in the back of his Mercedes, Mr Haughey looked straight ahead with stoicism. But he could not have been impervious to what was happening. It was a difficult, even a courageous thing for him to visit Cork for the funeral. He made his token appearance and, having done so, left town as quickly as possible. He did not appear at the graveside.
Part of the extraordinary atmosphere in Cork was the contrast in attitudes. People said an honest and decent son of Cork who had adorned the national game and achieved the highest office in the land was being laid to rest. The other former Taoiseach, though, had travelled a different route, the people said as well, and had demeaned himself and the office. Even in death, Jack Lynch continued to be a thorn in Mr Haughey's side.
That contrast was still the subject of conversation in the Cork pubs and on the streets long after Mr Lynch had been laid to rest. And if the term "the real Taoiseach" has now become something of a cliche, for the people of Blackpool and Cork, as well as for many others throughout the State, it rings truer than ever, given all that we now know.