Just Mary

by Mary O'Rourke

  Labour had not had a good election, and it remains my belief that it was because they had ‘crossed the floor’, so to speak, in the way that they had. Fine Gael had had a so-so result but it was Fianna Fáil who triumphed. In forming his Cabinet, Bertie invited me to take on the role of Minister for Public Enterprise, in relation to which many of the state agencies were amalgamated into one government portfolio. Mary Harney of the PDS was offered the position of Minister for Private Enterprise. We were both to have offices in Kildare Street: Mary would be in charge of nurturing and encouraging employment growth in all of the private businesses in Ireland; I would be responsible for all the state businesses, including CIÉ, An Post, ESB, Bord Gáis, Aer Lingus and many more. I was very happy to accept the honour given to me, and so, from their bases in Kildare Street, the two Marys would become the new tsars of business in Ireland.

  Chapter 11

  PUBLIC ENTERPRISE

  I approached my new role as Minister for Public Enterprise in a way which for the most part was very much in line with my own instincts — which were and have always been inclined in favour of the interests of the workers and the unemployed, as opposed to those of big business. I suppose these were values I had inherited from my father, whose own thinking, as I have recounted earlier in this book, was greatly influenced by the ideals of socialism — even though he ran Gentex very successfully for 20 years, employing at times well over a thousand people. For these reasons too, I had always been keen at various stages in my career to consolidate the strong links I had with the various trade unions — this was certainly the case during my time as Minister for Education, as Minister of State for Labour Affairs and indeed later in Opposition, as Shadow Minister for Employment and Enterprise.

  I remember well my first day in the Department in Kildare Street in June 1997. The Secretary General for Public Enterprise at that time was John Loughrey, and he met me on arrival. Then there was the usual drill when a new Minister arrives in office, by now familiar to me — meeting the various Assistant Secretaries throughout the Department and their key staff; the handover of the files for me to peruse, and so on. This time, there was a very crowded agenda indeed and I made it my first priority to set about meeting the boards of all the ‘semi-states’ (i.e. the state-sponsored companies and businesses). In the days which followed, I would go to meet with them at their various HQS and I was able to engage in some good initial discussions.

  It seemed to me quite early on that one of the most immediate causes for concern was the CIÉ group of public transport companies, and in particular, Iarnród Éireann — CIÉ rail. When I first met with their board and the then Chief Executive, I was party to a number of complaints — justified, it seemed — about the lack of finance being made available by government for the essential repair work needing to be done as a matter of urgency on railways throughout Ireland. I became very worried about this because I had the example before me of a number of years earlier when, in August 1980 and during a time when Albert Reynolds was Minister for Transport, there had been a terrible rail crash at Buttevant. On that occasion, 18 people lost their lives and 62 were injured. And yet for many years, nothing had been done to invest money in maintaining and updating our railway tracks or systems.

  It seemed that some of my worst fears had been confirmed when, on Saturday 8 November 1997, I got word at home that there had been a rail crash at Knockcroghery, a village about 12 miles away from Athlone, on the way to Roscommon. I went straight there, to find a scene of chaos. Thankfully no one had been injured severely, and there were just a few minor casualties. But it was clear that that rail crash could easily have been a rail disaster. The train had just come out of a level crossing when it came off the rails. Luckily it had been flanked by two high grass sidings, with the result that, even though it had been derailed, it had just come to rest against one of these. The train had been quite full with students and civil servants heading back from Dublin to the various towns in Mayo for the weekend. As I said, there were no serious injuries — some passengers were brought to Roscommon hospital, but by the next day they had all been released.

  The crash and the later findings troubled me greatly. It seemed that the cause of the accident was a faulty track which had given way, and that the track in question had been laid well over a hundred years earlier. The following Tuesday, I went to Cabinet to give a full account of the accident and I sought permission to employ outside engineering experts to investigate fully the precise detail of what had happened and what should consequently now be done to render our trains safe.

  A team of engineers, headed by a very competent Scotsman, was duly recruited via a tendering process, and they spent some weeks carrying out a very thorough investigation. Once this was completed, they came to visit me in my office, laid out the results and issued a very stark and comprehensive warning. They had done spot checks throughout Ireland and had concluded that there could at any time be a similar crash on any of our main track lines — and further, that if this should happen, the likelihood was that the result would be a deadly one. It seemed clear that the previous government would have been aware of the extent of the danger too, but in the straitened economic circumstances in which they found themselves, they had not been able to take any action. The ominous feeling I had had in relation to CIÉ was justified indeed, and now it fell to me to do something about it.

  I quickly brought a detailed Memorandum to Cabinet and said quite clearly that if money to do full remedial work on all the rail tracks of Ireland was not forthcoming, then I could not stay on as Minister in charge. What had always amazed me, in fact, was the very grudging support that railways got in Ireland, as compared to the situation in the UK and even more so in relation to countries such as France, Germany and Belgium, where the railway systems had always been hugely financed. But of course, as Minister I knew that the difficulty for Ireland was we had neither the long distances nor the large population needed for a railway transport system to be a success. However, whether they were used by one person or a thousand, it was also clear that many of our railway tracks were well over a hundred years old and needed massive remedial work, as confirmed by the Scottish engineer’s report.

  Cabinet was quickly persuaded that the job should be done, and we set up a Railway Safety Committee in the Department, with Pat Mangan, the then Assistant Secretary, being put in charge. I had and retain a great respect for Pat: he was one of those civil servants who worked at his job morning, noon and night and was full of integrity and sound advice. All of the staff in the Department took to this work with energy and enthusiasm: I think they had a sense that for the first time in many years, there was someone in charge who was at last going to do something for the railways of Ireland.

  We soon had a detailed proposal which I could put forward to Cabinet for approval, and for which funding was then agreed in principle. The Railway Safety Programme was conceived as having three distinct phases and would run over a total of 12 years. The first programme would be implemented from 1999 to 2003, and require a budget of €661 million; the second programme, with a projected budget of €512 million, would run from 2004 to 2008; the final phase was to be put into effect between 2009 and 2013 and would require a spend of €268 million.

  And so we embarked straight away on the first phase, and a four-year programme of remedial work on the rail tracks throughout the entire country began. I retained the services of the fine Scottish engineer who had advised us initially and he proved invaluable. But of course it was a thankless task in many ways. Yes, all of the country agreed it should be done and it was done, painstakingly and properly and safely — but to the external observer, what was to be seen in terms of tangible results? There were no shiny new trains. There were no sleek new railway stations. There were no new advances as such, because all the money was ploughed directly into the ground and into the essential repair work on the tracks. My satisfaction, however, lay in the knowledge that we were making the railways safe. Safety in matters of
transport was my guiding star and I never made any excuse for that. Why should I? If you are offering a public service which involves transport, well then, safety above everything else should be your motto.

  On a personal note, having been brought up right alongside the CIÉ station in Athlone, the railway had been central to my childhood in many senses. The railway station was exactly opposite the Gentex complex of buildings among which we lived, and indeed it became part of my playground. It was the playground too of the children of the Lally family. Martin Lally Snr was the Station Master and I can picture him standing on the platform station in his pristine uniform, raising his hat to every woman passenger. Old-fashioned maybe, but he was the salt of the earth and took such pride in his job, a pride which came across in the respect he gave to his workers and to all the passengers who travelled in and out of Athlone. My home town was quite a railway hub, as you can imagine, and it was pivotal in railway transport terms. Incidentally, my bridesmaid on my wedding day was Nuala Lally, the mother of the new Director of Public Prosecutions, Claire Loftus.

  Early in my tenure in the Department of Public Enterprise, in the summer months of 1997, the Mary McAleese saga began to unfold. The next Irish Presidential Election had been set for 30 October that year, and there had been one or two vague murmurings in the press that Mary was considering running for the Presidency, but nothing definite. For us in the Fianna Fáil Party at that time, the only person who looked to be shaping up as a possible candidate was the ex-Taoiseach, Albert Reynolds. But it was still early days.

  The Saturday in question had passed for me in a flurry of clinic work: having recently been re-elected, I was particularly busy in this regard at the time. Enda was a huge help to me in my clinic work, which I did each Saturday from home. During the week, he would have arranged by telephone those who wanted to come and he would then be there on the day itself, to show them in and move them up the line. All of this he did on a completely voluntary basis — remember, in 1997 we were still in a more innocent era, when personal assistants and such sophistications were relatively unknown in the lives of elected people.

  Anyway, earlier that week, I had had a telephone call from Mary McAleese, asking if she could call to see me that Saturday after my clinic. Enda and I had a habit of sitting down on a Saturday evening when the crowds were gone and having a drink and a chat together. It was a moment of relaxation, and we would then decide if we would go out to eat or have dinner at home. On this occasion, we were mulling over such trivial matters when the doorbell rang. Enda went to answer it, and there was Mary McAleese with her husband, Martin.

  I knew Mary at this time — I knew her quite well, in fact. Years ago in my early days as a TD — from 1982 to 1987, when Fianna Fáil were in Opposition — Eileen Lemass and myself, with the benign approval of Charlie Haughey, had set up a women’s group for the party. We ran a series of conferences around the country, each one a big success, and the group quickly grew in stature and in renown. Soon we had an executive group of women running the conferences from the Fianna Fáil HQ: there was Eileen Lemass, myself and a number of others, including Noreen Butler, Kathryn Byrne, Betty Coffey, Sadie Jordan and, of course, Mary McAleese. Mary was spirited, talkative, determined and knowledgeable. At that time she was living in County Meath with her husband and her very young family, which included twins. Our women’s events continued to meet with a great response, and good friendships developed between members.

  Time went on and by 1987 we were in government again. The women’s group changed as other women took centre stage, and from time to time I would hear of Mary McAleese, or I would hear from her. She had become a very busy person: a practising barrister, a professor at Trinity College and a presenter on RTÉ’s Prime Time. And I too was increasingly busy. So life moved on, but our paths would cross fleetingly from time to time and we kept in touch whenever we could.

  On that warm mid-summer day (now fifteen years ago) when Mary and Martin called to see us, we had tea and talk and no, they wouldn’t take a drink. As has remained her wont, Mary very quickly came to the point: she wanted to run for the Presidency and had come to ask my advice. True to form also, it soon became clear that she was very serious about this idea, and she proceeded to tell me how she intended to set about her task — she had already some very firm ideas in that regard. Crucially, Martin was in full agreement with her. We talked and we planned and I very quickly felt that they had a good chance of success. During the course of our conversation, I also incidentally discovered that it was Mary Leneghan (now McAleese) who was now talking with Mary Lenihan (now O’Rourke) — a quirky and odd coincidence indeed!

  Before Mary and Martin McAleese left Enda and me that evening in Athlone, I had pledged her my troth and promised her my support. She hadn’t asked me to, but it was something I wanted to do. I felt she would be a great candidate for our party and a more than worthy successor to Mary Robinson, who had blazed a trail for Ireland in her Presidency. Of course, the whole exchange of that evening was bittersweet for me, as I kept thinking back to the time seven years previously when I had been so involved in my brother Brian’s campaign for the Presidency, and had lived through the highs and lows of those exhilarating months with him.

  As also discussed that evening, Mary set about her strategy with intent, and next went to see Rory O’Hanlon. Then she followed through with all of the other approaches she had planned, culminating with an early visit to the Taoiseach, Bertie Ahern. Time went on and soon her bid to be the Fianna Fáil representative for the Presidency began to gain momentum. At that time however, the sure-fire bet in our party seemed to be Albert Reynolds, who had embarked on his own separate campaign, although soon another very renowned figure within Fianna Fáil — Michael O’ Kennedy — would declare his candidacy too. As well as Mary, there was at one point great talk of another Northern figure, John Hume being put forward — but that dissipated quickly.

  The parliamentary party meeting early that autumn was to be the decisive day for the Fianna Fáil candidate for the Presidency to be finally chosen. An amusing aside here is that three Lenihan votes were submitted on that occasion, and that each of us would back a different candidate! Brian Lenihan voted for Michael O’Kennedy, whom he knew through the Law Library and through legal work; Conor Lenihan voted for Albert Reynolds, who had always been a pal of his in the party; and I voted for Mary McAleese. So there was certainly not a combined vote from the Lenihan family for anyone in particular!

  The most interesting aspect of that party meeting for the vote was the role played by the Taoiseach, Bertie Ahern. Earlier in the summer, Bertie had taken Albert out to lunch and reassured him that he was going to be in his corner and that he would be supporting him all the way as the Presidential candidate. And so, Albert had gone into the vote that day, thinking that the Taoiseach was on his side — although a part of him must surely have been aware of just how cunning and devious Bertie could be. There had been a Cabinet meeting the day before the party meeting, and after the business part of the meeting was concluded, the Taoiseach had turned to the Cabinet Secretary to say that he wanted to talk political strategy with us. As soon as the Secretary withdrew from the room, Bertie began to talk about the forthcoming Presidential campaign. He left us in no doubt whatsoever that Mary McAleese was the candidate we should support, and when I spoke afterwards to fellow Cabinet members, they would confirm having had the same impression. That night, there was another meeting in Fianna Fáil HQ, at which the message was again repeated, albeit in various degrees of intensity, depending upon who was being addressed.

  The day of the parliamentary party meeting dawned bright and clear. I know from subsequent conversations that both Albert and Michael O’Kennedy had been told there would be no need to have a prepared speech — that there would, in fact, be no speeches. However, as it transpired, there were, and Mary McAleese was the only person to have done any preparation. Accordingly, she spoke fluently and very well, and left the other two far behind in her wake.
At one particular point later in the meeting, and in a gesture which would go down in party folklore, Bertie Ahern held up his voting card to Albert Reynolds to show that he had indeed voted for him. However, as many of us knew then and as all of us would know later, what Bertie held up to Albert may well have been his first vote but where did his final vote go?

  Mary McAleese won by a street and went on to be our very successful candidate in that campaign, and our President for 14 years. Obviously, when Mary McAleese became President, she represented at that point all of the people of Ireland and not any one party — but we in Fianna Fáil were always proud of the fact that she had been chosen by our party to be the standard bearer that autumn of 1997.

  Mary’s Presidency was, as we know, hugely successful. Right through her 14 years in office, she remained buoyant, warm, thoughtful and reflective: all of the things needed in a Head of State. Even in May 2011, each time I saw her on television with the Queen, I felt that whatever visit they were making would be a success with Mary in charge. She always exuded that reassuring air of confidence and capability. For me, it was an unfailing pleasure to meet her at the numerous official functions where our paths would cross. Whenever we saw each other, I was always warmed through by her enthusiasm and friendship, and she would always ask about Enda. Indeed, she would do our family the great honour of travelling down to be present in person at Enda’s funeral when he died in late January 2001.

  Back at the coalface of the Department, the next challenge up for me was Luas and how this huge public project could be advanced. Luas was to be an urban transport network for the city of Dublin, much along the lines of those which had been set up some decades earlier in various forms in most of the other European capitals — as always in these matters, we in Ireland had been slow to catch up. There was the DART, of course, which had been set up in the early 1980s and was a huge success, but since then, there had been nothing new in terms of public transport for the city, except for more buses and even those had always been dragged unwillingly from successive Finance Ministers. Luas as an idea had been knocking around since Brian Cowen’s time as Minister for Transport in 1993 to 1994, and when Labour crossed over and went into coalition with Fine Gael, it had become the remit of Michael Lowry and then of his successor, Alan Dukes. Luas was a big, big project and the provision of it could draw down some much needed European funds.