Just Mary

by Mary O'Rourke

  At the time, I thought Charlie was above all a good leader. He had an air of competence about him, a stately demeanour and a confidence which meant that he was equal to any occasion: you wouldn’t have seen him, for example, having his hair ruffled at the Council of Europe, like Enda Kenny. His wife, Maureen Haughey (the daughter of Seán Lemass), was a wonderful wife and mother and hugely respected by the Fianna Fáil electorate. I know Charlie didn’t come out smelling of roses. Yet he did give me my first break, and in that sense, I feel that I owe him that recognition.

  Chapter 4

  LIFE AT HOME

  I worked too hard, of course. I realise that now. As Education Minister, I was the first person into the Department every morning. There was a lovely man at the gate and he would raise the lever to let me in and say, ‘You’re the first in again this morning, ma’am.’ Yet I loved arriving into the hushed building every day, seeing the place beginning to come to life around me, and everyone coming in for work and knowing that I had the huge privilege of playing such a key role in leading education in Ireland.

  However, the downside for me of having such a demanding and all-consuming public role was that I constantly worried about how my family would get on without me being around as much as I would have liked. Was I depriving my children of an essential element of their growing-up years, which would later impact upon their characters and qualities as adults and negatively affect their own future relationships and families? Was I denying my two boys some key ingredient in their upbringing which would leave them inadequate in their later lives? It was a huge dilemma, which many working mothers will identify with, and not one to be discounted easily. Of course you can make arrangements via home help and, if you are very lucky as I was, with the support of a strong and loyal husband or partner — but that doesn’t take out of the equation love and worry and care and the need to nurture and to be central to your children’s lives.

  When I married Enda, he was working for Hanley’s the wholesalers in Athlone. After about a year or so, he got an offer to join Jacob’s, which was regarded as one of the premier companies in Ireland at the time. They were a Church of Ireland company, which had started as a Quaker company, and Enda was one of the first Catholic representatives to join them, which was a big deal at the time. In the beginning, he was an all-Ireland representative and as such often had to stay away at night. I remember writing him many lovelorn letters, which I found years afterwards when he had passed away — he had kept all those letters for all that time. I would write to him care of whichever hotel he was in staying in. He wouldn’t write, but would ring me regularly. I used to pour my heart out to him in my letters: I was very lonely, as we were only just married. When I found the letters after his death, I read them all and I cried, thinking of all the love we had together!

  After a while, luckily, Enda got a Midlands region position with Jacob’s, which meant he was home at night, as with a regular job. It was wonderful, as he was there for the boys and was a real hands-on dad, great for helping with homework and taking them to sports games and scouts and all the things that children do. I was always regarded as the soft parent — the ‘good cop’, while Enda was the strict one — the ‘bad cop’. Feargal and Aengus would come to me to give out about Dad, and Dad would have to do the giving out and putting the foot down with them.

  For the years I was involved with the town council and the county council, I could manage home life very adequately: I knew my days and my working hours and they conformed to a pattern. I was able to combine my work in local politics at this stage very satisfactorily with my teaching job, and the boys’ life in primary school, Enda’s work and my own commitments could all be programmed together to make a satisfactory whole. I remember very well how, prior to my taking up teaching, my mother had said, ‘If you are going to go out to work, two things are important — do not farm out your children, and do get some help at home.’ The basis of her belief in not ‘farming out’ children, i.e. relying on crèches and so on, was founded on the conviction that children are best in their own homes with their own toys and comforters around them, in an environment that they know and love. To this day, I feel very clearly that this is so. Now I know such a thing is not possible for many working mothers, who must bring their children out to be minded and that there are very many childminders and crèche owners who do a wonderful job. I am merely relating here what worked best for me, not demanding or expecting that my approach should be for everyone.

  I was very lucky in that early on in my working life, I made the acquaintance of a Mrs Pearl Samuels. She knocked at my door one day shortly after I had taken up my role on the Athlone Town Council, saying, ‘You will need some help in your home now.’ We hit it off immediately and I engaged Mrs Samuels as a part-time housekeeper. This meant that when the children came in from primary school, she was there until I came home. Enda’s shirts and my blouses, instead of being un-ironed and rumpled, were always fresh and pressed, and in a whole lot of other ways, my life became a little easier.

  When I went into national life in the early eighties, it was of course much more difficult. I can remember that I had just started on my Dáil career when Enda sat me down one night and said, ‘Do you intend to be serious about this business? Do you intend to continue on your political path?’ I said that, yes, I did. ‘Well then,’ he replied, ‘there’s no point in you racing home every night up and down the Dublin/Athlone road.’ This is what I had been doing, driving back from Leinster House every night, so that I would be there for the children and see something of them during the week. Enda continued, ‘It is better for you to stay in Dublin. I can be Mum and Dad during the week and then when you come home, you can be Mum again.’ I knew it was good advice and we had a full discussion about it. From then on, we agreed that I should stay in Dublin on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights and come home on Thursdays for the weekends. It was easier said than done, of course, in many ways.

  In the beginning, I would stay in Buswells Hotel, which was very handy for work: you would land in the Dáil yard, take your hangers and bag out of the car and then go over to book in for the night, and you were all set. At night, however, I got very lonely for Enda and the boys. I could have gone down and sat in the bar, but then I was shy enough about doing such a thing on my own — not now, though. So I would usually just stay late at work. There were four or five of TDS I was particularly friendly with, and I was on good terms with many of the others too.

  All the while, Enda provided the steady hand at home and he was the rock to whom we all looked. He and I never had a formal division of labour, so to speak. He knew what I was doing with the children and I knew what he was doing with the children, and in that way we ruled out any reference to any of the developmental child parenting books which had begun to emerge at that time. We managed to forge our way ahead together without them. All the time I was always conscious — again I may seem to be preaching, but I need to say it — that children need a huge amount of love at all stages of their life, into adulthood and beyond. When they are adults, they usually look to someone else to provide that love and reassurance at a certain point, but whilst they are growing and maturing, there can never be enough love and the open expression of love between a mother, a father and their family. It needs to be said and done and affirmed and reaffirmed often.

  A very interesting development occurred when Aengus was about 14. He went through what I might call a ‘bold’ phase in his teenage years, wanting to go to discos and staying out a bit, although in a basically harmless way, and at this point, he and Enda were at a particularly spiky stage with each other — you know lads and their dads. I feared that my leaving them to go to Dublin might exacerbate the situation, and that they wouldn’t get on at all. But quite the opposite happened! I started to notice when I would come home that the two of them were like allies-in-arms and had become really friendly and matey in my absence. I would have cooked food for them for when I was away, leaving chickens and so on in the fri
dge for them — but I realised that nothing was being eaten. So one night when I came back from Dublin, I said to Aengus, ‘So what were ye doing?’ At that point, he told me, ‘We actually go out to the Chinese every night you are away, Mum — but Dad told me not to tell you!’ In fact, Ken So and his wife Suzie, who owned the Chinese restaurant in question, were to become very good friends of ours over the years, and particularly of Enda. Their delicious food and great company brightened up many a lonely evening for him whenever I was in Dublin or further afield for work!

  So my fears about Enda and Aengus falling out in my absence vanished, but there was the ever-present quandary in my mind — was I in fact doing harm to my children and to their childhood? I feel that many women, not just in politics, but indeed in any job that entails being out of the home for a considerable period each day, must share these thoughts and difficulties. In the end, it is up to each individual woman to sort out the bumps and hollows according to their own needs and means. For me, Mrs Samuels, even for a few hours a day, was an essential part of managing our family life. So much so, in fact, that she stayed with us for years after the children had grown up and gone away to their young adult lives — and she sadly passed away while still working for us. The boys grew very fond of her and always called her ‘Mrs S.’. God Bless you, Mrs S. and all the many other people like you all over the country who help to oil the wheels of family life! When I read profile pieces on such and such a woman who has made it to the top or who is in a very stressful, demanding job and I see that she has young children, I find myself hoping that she is making it in every sense of the word and that she has worked her own way satisfactorily through her dilemma.

  Of course I did my best at all times to be there for my sons as much as I could. I remember clearly one incident with Feargal around 1982, when he had just embarked on his career at UCD to study for a B. COMM. He had a steady girlfriend in Athlone at the time and they were a real item together — very much young love. He was at college in Dublin during the week and came home every weekend. By Halloween he had just been a month in college and was home for a long weekend.

  One morning, I was in the kitchen early, ironing. It always seemed that confidences were exchanged between me and my family when I was ironing. I suppose whilst I was physically working, my mind was free and I always enjoyed these interludes when one or other of my sons would come to me with something to say. On this occasion, Feargal came to me and said, ‘Ma, I am not going back to college. I hate it. I am really lonely. I don’t know anyone. It’s huge and I want to be at home!’ He was clearly very upset.

  For a moment, I was dumbstruck. What should I say? I remembered my own boarding school days when I hated being away, and Feargal and Aengus had been brought up very much in the heart of a hectic but loving family. Somehow, inspiration came, and I said, ‘Stay on until Christmas and we’ll see what you feel like then. If you still don’t like it, then you don’t have to go back. We’ll find some other way of furthering your career.’ I thought perhaps he could go to University College, Galway as a day student, travelling there and back on the train. There was a good rail connection. I said all this to him, and concluded, ‘Just stick it out until Christmas and then we’ll have a full talk again about it.’ He seemed satisfied with this pragmatic suggestion and went back to college happily enough.

  Feargal continued to come home every weekend, but he never again mentioned the fact that he wanted to leave. Christmas came and Christmas went, and he began to talk about people he had met, pals he had made, clubs he had joined, and I think the whole of the 14,000-strong student body of UCD lost its strangeness for him and he became attuned, acclimatised and absorbed by being part of that fine institute. In fact, at a certain point during his college days, Feargal and I set up an apartment together in Dublin for a while, as I was based there so much for work. It worked out very well and I was delighted, as I had him for company. Although of course he wasn’t wanting to be always sitting in with his Ma! But we got on very well.

  I tell the story because so often things are said and done in haste, and bridges are crossed which need not be. I think the Holy Spirit put the idea in my mind of how to meet that little crisis in a young man’s mind and in his mum’s mind. Feargal’s love affair continued, while Aengus was proving to be the typical rebellious teenager. He liked bright lights; he wanted to be in the happening places. He had a number of friends who were calling and ringing and going places all the time, and he provided many a heartache for Enda and me, particularly when he started to go out to teenage parties and dances. I remember waiting up until two and three in the morning, but what parent has not done so? What parent doesn’t worry as to the possible outcome for their teenager of that night’s festivities?

  I cannot emphasise how much Enda contributed to my well-being throughout my career in politics, and especially during my ministerial life, when the pressure was intense. I was able to come home every weekend to him, knowing that he had kept the home fires burning, both literally and metaphorically. He was there for the family and he was there for me. What a relief it always was, to come home to him from what was a hectic, overcrowded schedule. For all of us as a family, he was the ballast throughout the years.

  There were some very fortuitous developments in Enda’s own career, which he took full advantage of to be able to support me in mine. He spent a number of happy years at Jacob’s, as I have mentioned. Then, in 1975, he got the opportunity to buy into a local company, Midland Oil, with a man called Don Beddy. Don was offering Enda a managing role but also the chance to be a part-owner of the company. There was much discussion in the family about it. He would be leaving a safe, regular job with Jacob’s, who were such good employers: it was clearly a big risk to take.

  Midland Oil was a huge decision for Enda, but it paid off and worked out very well, both in terms of his own career and in terms of our family life. Now it’s a modern thing that guys are ‘house-husbands’, but Enda’s job meant that he could be at home every evening when the boys needed him — to help them with their night study, to be collected and brought to rugby, GAA, scouts and all the rest. For me, it was a great source of contentment to know that he was at home and the kids were in good hands. At the time and in later years, I still had a lot of angst sometimes, about whether I had neglected the boys. But it seems that I — we — didn’t, as they have both turned out fine. The proof of it all, if indeed proof can be taken from it, is that our two sons have grown up to be sensible, well-adjusted young men. They married and have families and appear to be getting on with their lives. I suppose that is the most any parent can work for and hope for at the end of the day.

  Chapter 5

  MY FAVOURITE MINISTRY

  It was the late 1980s and I was getting dug in at Education in Marlborough Street. I quickly set myself the task of getting to know all of the main players both internally, in the Department, and externally, in the various teachers’ unions, parents’ groups, the schools, the lobby groups and the universities. I loved it all and was determined to get ahead, to be progressive, and to make my name — all worthy goals for an ambitious politician. I knew early on in my stint at Marlborough Street that money was going to be very tight and that there would be no let-up in the financial constraints on the Department. Having staved off the threat of a change in the Pupil/Teacher Ratio, I cast about in my mind and spent time talking with all the various officials and interest groups about my wish to move forward in a developmental way which might not necessarily cost money — at least not upfront!

  One of the first initiatives I settled upon was the refocusing of the National Council for Curriculum and Assessment (NCCA), which had been set up by my predecessor, Gemma Hussey. Curriculum development is always a worthwhile undertaking in education, and I noted with interest last year that one of the first things Ruairi Quinn, the present Minister for Education, did when he came into office was to take action on the same issue — a wise move. Ably advised by Margaret Walsh, I asked Dr Ed Walsh to
remain on as Chairperson of the NCCA, a decision also enthusiastically backed by Charlie Haughey. I was careful to heed as well Margaret’s suggestion that it would be a good idea to appoint members of the various teachers’ unions to the sub-boards of the NCCA. All of this in place, we set forth on a programme of curriculum reform, firstly at Intermediate level.

  There had been for some time a series of examinations at secondary level — the Group Certificate and the Inter Certificate. The proposal was to merge both of these into one examination. I remember well the day Dr Ed Walsh came to see me in Dáil Éireann to discuss what we should call this new intermediate-level examination. Together, we tossed back and forth various suggestions for names and eventually came up with the name ‘Junior Cert’, which tied in nicely with the Leaving Cert. As we then moved towards formalising this new development, the marvellous Chief Executive of the NCCA, Albert O’Ceallaigh, was immensely helpful. He had a sure and light touch in all of these matters but he was also strongly professional. He guided the NCCA through this process at a very difficult time, and it was a good news story amidst the financial and social gloom and doom which prevailed at the time.

  My Opposition Spokesperson was now George Bermingham, a Fine Gael TD for Dublin North-Central, who was thoughtful in his Dáil utterances — far more considered and temperate, I felt, than I had been when in his position a few years back. It is funny how small utterances stick in your mind. George’s reaction when I unfolded the NCCA developments and the new plan for the Junior Cert, was ‘Two cheers for the NCCA in this regard!’ I thought it was a well-judged and generous response. George Bermingham later left parliamentary politics and is now a distinguished and well-respected judge.