THE FIRST and only time that I met Charles J Haughey was on Monday, May 22nd, 2006, at his home in Kinsealy. He died three weeks later, and my interview that day would, to the best of my knowledge, be the last one he gave, writes FRANK KENNEDY
This opportunity arose from an educational initiative, the Washington Ireland Program, in which I participated. One of the requirements of the programme was to approach a prominent person and question them about the key decisions and ambitions of their early life. It was on this basis that I wrote to Mr Haughey requesting an interview.
To my surprise, his assistant at Abbeville, Marie Sheehan, called to say that this request would be granted. She stipulated one condition only – the interview was to be wrapped up if Mr Haughey displayed signs of fatigue. None of my questions were vetted, nor any other instructions given.
On arrival at Abbeville, Ms Sheehan showed me into the library, where I waited for a short while. Something of a Haughey museum, the library walls were covered with photographs; single moments captured of personal and national history, with his governments at the Áras and Ireland’s 1990 presidency of the European Community featuring prominently.
Moments later I was introduced to the former taoiseach in his study. The man who sat there was quite different to the one in those photographs; he looked very frail. He spoke almost immediately about his health: “I have good days and bad days. There are some days when I could kick a ball. Yesterday was a great day.”
Before being asked a single question he said, without prompt, that: “The best thing I ever did was introduce the free travel. And I get letters to this day about it, thanking me for it.”
When asked why he had become involved in politics he was adamant in his response – it was “accidental”. Many of his school friends were from political families and he fell into politics through contact with them.
His own family, however, had not been a Fianna Fáil one, but rather his father had been a committed supporter of Cumann na nGaedhael, the precursor to Fine Gael. Why then did he join Fianna Fáil? He smiled broadly at that, the Haughey smile, definitely mischievous, and said that his father had indeed been “very Collins”.
Then he answered the question more directly; the reason given for joining Fianna Fáil was the same as for his interest in politics in the first place – contemporaries in his youth. In particular, he mentioned that Harry Boland and George Colley were already tied to Fianna Fáil, and “it was as simple as that”.
It quickly became clear that he greatly valued his loyal friends. He spoke of the architect, Arthur Gibney, who had died a few days earlier. On being asked, I confessed that I had not heard of Gibney, and was directed to the wall of the study, on which hung a number of prints.
These, he explained, were the different images that he had used on his personal Christmas card – Gibney had drawn them all. This was very impressive of course, but it seemed like a lot of trouble to go to every year – I wondered aloud could the same design not be used for multiple years. “Oh no!” he replied mournfully, seemingly appalled by the very suggestion. “Not done,” he said, in a remonstrative tone.
He talked about his friend for quite a while, calling him a “great architect” and noting that he had been president of the Royal Hibernian Academy. He appeared very affected by Gibney’s passing and recalled with fondness that “He used always say to me, ‘Ah, Charlie. You can’t be doing that’.” He did an impersonation of Gibney saying this, and then repeated “You can’t be doing that”.
The memory of an artist’s talent led him to say that he would have liked to have had more creative talent himself: “Two things I could never do were sing a song or paint a picture.” And he emphasised the point: “I’d give my life to be able to.”
Having been cautioned about over-staying my welcome, I began to excuse myself at this point, but was pleasantly surprised as he told me to “Stay and talk a while”. Having mentioned earlier that I was studying law, he returned to this now. Called to the bar himself, he spoke of the change to the form of address to judges of the superior courts. Until April 2006, it was permissible, and common practice, to address a judge in those courts as “my lord”. It is now restricted to “judge”, or in Irish “breitheamh”.
He said that he had tried to introduce this change in the Courts Act 1961 when parliamentary secretary to the minister for justice; the policy was implemented 45 years later. Using strong language to express his obvious displeasure at the use of “my lord” in Irish courts, he described the term as “tainted”.
From here, he moved to the motto of King's Inns – nolumus mutari– and translated it as "we shall not be changed". He felt this was very appropriate for the Inns, given the pace at which change among the profession moves, and was keen to emphasise that the meaning was not that barristers were against change in principle, but that it could only come from within, and certainly not from a parliamentary secretary.
The front doorbell rang. Then, after a pause, it rang again. Mr. Haughey picked up the telephone and said in a clear, ever so slightly vexed, tone that: “There seems to be someone at the door”. The implication of this message was that whoever was at the other end of the line should get moving and answer it immediately.
This mildly imperious gesture was a funny thing to witness, because it was in keeping with the manner that I assumed had been very much his style in his political heyday. But it showed a sense of humour remained as well.
Shortly after that, I stood up to leave, and as we shook hands he asked me to pour him a glass of water, pointing to a jug on the other side of the room. His appearance that day really was in complete contrast with the man who had once been so dominant a leader.
Mr Haughey was very gracious to give an interview to an unknown student when in the throes of his final illness. I said this to him on leaving, and he repeatedly wished me well for the future. On the No 42 bus back into the centre of Dublin the only thing I could do was wonder how he was going to pass the rest of the afternoon.
Frank Kennedy is a postgraduate law student at Oxford University. His account of the interview has been published with the consent of the Haughey family. The former taoiseach died on June 13th, 2006