FROM THE ARCHIVES:The celebrations marking the 50th anniversary of the Easter Rising ended with the unveiling at Arbour Hill cemetery of a plaque with the names of some 60 volunteers who died in the Rising by president Éamon de Valera. This is an extract from the report of the event. – JOE JOYCE
PRESIDENT DE Valera faced the leaders’ tomb, while gathered closest round him were his old comrades of 1916 and the relatives of the others who died and whose memory was now being commemorated in permanent manner. Many of these were young, some of them children too young to fully realise the significance of the ceremony, but they did look quizzically at the tall figure of the President and the military men around him. Yet there were older people there, women who had lost their fathers fifty years ago, who were visibly shaken by the occasion.
The President’s address must have been the briefest of his career, certainly far shorter than any delivered during the commemorations of the past two weeks. He spoke in a strong voice, devoid of emotion, about those who had been his comrades and of the place where some of them rest. This is a holy place, he said, a spot where we come here yearly in pilgrimage to honour the 14 brave men whose bodies lie in the grave here. It is right, therefore, that the names of their comrades who also died for Ireland in Easter Week 1916 should also be before us here. He was sure, he said, that would be the wish of the 14 leaders, because they would wish that all would be together before the minds of those who came to the spot to pay their visit.
With that the President stepped back to slip the plastic veil from the plaque, a Roll of Drums was sounded, the Benedictus chanted, troops away on the square to the left presented arms, and the sound of the Last Post reverberated through that old cemetery, which holds such sweet, sad memories for so many. The National and Regimental colours dipped, and the clergy, gathered around the tomb beneath the golden cross, starts the De Profundis. They were assisted by the choirs who had earlier sung the Mass.
Once again, the troops presented arms, and as Captain Patrick Coakley hoisted the lone Tricolour the Reveille was sounded. The nation and the church had staged the last big commemoration of the Golden Jubilee of the Easter at Arbour Hill, where once the dream seemed to have been shattered in dismal defeat.
Save for an honour guard of four, the military and the priests withdrew. The relatives lingered on though. And sisters and brothers, children and grandchildren of the men who had been honoured by the nation for giving their lives in defence of Pearse’s republic, took photographs for family albums. An old woman, unashamedly in tears, kissed the plaque, then walked alone through the graves to the street. But the grandchildren of the dead had smiles as they were photographed beneath the monument. They were proud for something they have yet to fully understand.
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