Tired Enda Kenny faces firing squad at National Museum’s 1916 exhibition

To the sounds of gunfire and shattering glass, the Taoiseach walked on slowly past the tattered flag of the Republic and calmly entered Execution Corner.

A man’s voice echoed through the gloom. That same speech, those same words, over and over until they lodged in the mind.

“Irishmen and Irishwomen: in the name of God and the dead generations from which she receives her old tradition of nationhood...”

The Taoiseach stood against the grey walls of a prison yard, a big sign in capital letters superimposed on the old photo behind him.

“COURTS MARTIAL AND EXECUTION.”

The photographers lined up and began to shoot.

Was it for this?

And it was, for this, that the men and women of the Irish media died and went to heaven?

The Fine Gael leader was attending his first public engagement since last week’s general election, when his Government was summarily dispatched by an angry electorate.

With so much talk of failure, retribution and stoic acceptance in the air, the venue couldn’t have been more fitting.

Not for Enda Kenny, though. Everyone else at the Proclaiming a Republic: the 1916 Rising exhibition found themselves humming a few bars of Analogy Once Again.

He was at the National Museum at Collins Barracks on the Dublin quays at noon yesterday to launch one of the highlights of the Ireland 2016 centenary programme: a marvellous exhibition on the Easter Rising featuring many objects from the period on public display for the first time.

Clip-clopping

The Taoiseach, who looked extremely tired, was putting a very brave face on events.

“I thought all these cameras would have worn out over the last three weeks, but they don’t seem to be,” he joked when he arrived, only to be put up against a wall and surrounded by a firing squad of reporters and cameras.

As he spoke, the words of the Proclamation drifted in from the nearby exhibition while speakers gently relayed background sounds of Dublin city life 100 years ago.

Enda’s replies to questions on Irish Water, the disastrous election campaign and his plans to try to put together a government were punctuated by the clip- clopping of horses’ hooves on cobbled streets.

But no point in shutting the stable door now for his stricken Coalition.

He spoke of a “bruising” election following “five difficult years” and his upset at seeing so many of his party’s TDs losing their Dáil seats.

Badly damaged, his time as leader of Fine Gael is now at the pleasure of his colleagues. But for now, Enda Kenny remains as Taoiseach. He rose to the demands of that office yesterday.

The electorate gave its verdict on his Government and he will do “what the people expect us to do”.

He didn’t try to explain why he thought they voted so decisively against the Coalition, nor did he attempt to make excuses for their shortcomings or argue their case one more time.

“As the leader of the largest party and as the Taoiseach, it’s my responsibility to work to see that that process is put in place, and that includes the Fianna Fáil party,” he said, stressing what is needed now was “a government that will work in the interests of the country in the time ahead”.

He had wanted and asked for a return of the Fine Gael- Labour Coalition, but didn’t get it.

“That’s why I’m engaging now in a process of discussions with groups and individuals and parties who have ideas about how that might happen,” he said.

With the media in tow, he embarked on a tour of the exhibition, beginning with a chat with “the curatorial team”.

They have put together an absorbing, thought-provoking display, and best of all, admission to view the treasure trove of objects is free.

Casement’s coat

“Is that Roger Casement’s coat?” asked Enda, fascinated by the heavy grey overcoat in one of the display cabinets. “Off the submarine? And that’s the overcoat?”

He pored over the famous order written by Eoin MacNeill, countermanding the rebellion: “Volunteers completely deceived. All orders for tomorrow Sunday are completely cancelled.”

Fine Gael was not proposing to do away with water bills, or Irish Water, said the Taoiseach, indicating no such U-turn from his party on that particular front.

Looking at MacNeill’s note, did he think about those Fine Gael election volunteers around the country who were feeling a bit deceived by the lines they were ordered to tell the voters, no dissent allowed when they voiced their doubts?

He saw the table from Liberty Hall on which the Proclamation was written, leaning over the rail and studying it like a tallyman at a count.

And he saw the Irish Republic flag which flew from the GPO, a chunk of it torn away in battle.

On so to the execution and courts martial area, where all the cameras were poised and nibs were licked.

Pictures of executed volunteers lined the walls and dead men’s personal possessions filled the glass cases.

“They’ll be posting up photos of the Cabinet in a couple of months,” whispered one observer. “This is gold. Absolute gold.”

Patrick Pearse’s last letter to his mother. Con Colbert’s cap. Rosary beads belonging to Joseph Plunkett and another set belonging to Seán Heuston. Willie Pearse’s cut-throat razor. James Connolly’s bloodstained vest.

Enda took his time examining them all.

As he moved on, the soundtrack of gunshot and falling masonry and the Proclamation going with him, he murmured: “You could spend a month in here, couldn’t you?”

Or however long the negotiations to find a government might last.

On past the roll call of the dead, past Pearse’s delicate spectacles and a bayonet made from garden shears. There was another cut-

throat razor – Tom Clarke’s, laid out with other objects on a table covered in blue velvet.

Conscious of the cameras, the Taoiseach didn’t stand too close to it.

He didn’t linger either at the video running on the opposite wall, interlacing scenes from 1916 Ireland with lines from newspaper stories from the Ireland of today.

They included one on the continuing steps to solve the homeless crisis and the death of a homeless man on a street next to the Dáil.

Of all the quotes ranged around the various stages of the exhibition, one of them will have had a particular resonance for beleaguered Enda Kenny.

It’s from Michael Collins. “Let us be judged for what we attempted rather than what we achieved.”