There was no etiquette book for this. Fine Gaelers stood around the heaving count centre in Castlebar, not knowing how to act or what to say. Kathy Sheridanin Castlebar
Oh sure, they had won three seats out of five. In fact, so devastating was the party's Mayo blitzkrieg that the last seat was down to a death march between three outgoing TDs, none of them Fine Gael. Nationally, the party gained 60 per cent on its seat numbers. Happy days then? Hardly.
As the national tallies rolled in, a "Mayo government", the dream scenario that had galvanised an entire county for Fine Gael, featuring a cabinet table graced by Enda Kenny, Pat Rabbitte, Bernard Durkin, Emmet Stagg and Michael Ring (all Mayo men), evaporated in moments.
"Dream on, baby," sniggered a Fianna Fáiler, who admitted that he had little else to laugh about, given the "f**kin' unbelievable" prospect of "Unofficial Fianna Fáil", aka Beverley Flynn, "holding Bertie to ransom" in a new government. But Fine Gael's dilemma was more piquant: "It's a bit like having a cake without the candles," said Pat O'Connor, the party's director of elections in Mayo.
What happened? "I think the media in the last 10 days turned very subtly against Enda Kenny. The Dublin media by innuendo were talking about him as 'a country lad' and the message being conveyed was 'could someone like that come in and steer a ship that was going well . . .' Oddly, in the last few days, we were coming up again," he said, in the wistful tones that characterised Fine Gael's mood.
When Enda arrived at around 5.40pm, driving a black Mercedes, with his wife Fionnuala beside him, it was to hear himself declared elected on the first count, a considerable advance on 2002 when he had already written his concession speech before being elected at 2am. But the mood of the waiting crowd was hardly triumphant. As well-wishers descended with emotional hugs and handshakes for the couple, activists were agitated about the lack of atmosphere. "It's too quiet," said one. "Too civilised," said another. What had the Kennys been doing all day? "We got the kids off to school and hopped into bed for a few hours," said Fionnuala happily. "Oh, maybe I shouldn't have said that," she winced, adding that of course - um. They also listened to the radio a lot, and had been on the phone a lot and . . . So how did so many of us get it so badly wrong?
While her husband was telling everyone that yesterday - "a trying and sensitive time for many candidates" - was not the day for analysis, Fionnuala mused that "early on, the polls were pointing a certain way . . . There was always a large percentage of 'don't knows' that had come from Fianna Fáil at the beginning and they reluctantly went back".
At the heart of much half-hearted Opposition analysis yesterday was a sense that the people had spoken, but had lied through their rotten teeth. Sure, they said they were worried about health, but they voted with cowardice and their wallets. "I think the people failed to highlight their real priorities," said O'Connor, diplomatically.
Meanwhile, the poignant figure of Jerry Cowley wandered from interview to interview, being asked why the people for whom he had virtually sacrificed his political career - Rossport and the Shell to Sea campaign - had given more than 100 votes to Michael Ring and only 72 to him. "I was disappointed, but I did my job. People said if you're politically wise, you'll move away from the issue. But I represented the people. The people of Mayo took a gamble [ on electing a Mayo government] and they took everything, including my votes."
As Enda tried to talk above the mighty din surrounding Michael Ring's arrival at count central, a local man wondered about Mayo's future. "Instead of a Mayo government for five years, we'll have five backbenchers. We'll be looking for Beverley to tip us a favour. Imagine that for an outcome . . ."