The Times We Lived In: Dancing out of step with the Dáil on neutrality

Published: May 11th, 1967 Photograph by Eddie Kelly

Fine Gael TD James Dillon  dancing with Mrs Dillon at the Fine Gael dance in Clery’s ballroom, Dublin
Fine Gael TD James Dillon dancing with Mrs Dillon at the Fine Gael dance in Clery’s ballroom, Dublin

‘Good posture makes you look elegant and exude confidence,” the ballroom dancing rule-book declares. “Hence the old adage, ‘Persistent practice of postural principles promises perfection’.” The same might be said (if you can say it without stumbling) of politics.

Stepping it out in our photo are James Dillon, Fine Gael TD and one-time Minister for Agriculture, “dancing with Mrs Dillon at the Fine Gael dance in Clery’s ballroom, Dublin on Tuesday night”.

Mrs Dillon appears to be enjoying herself. The photographer has captured her in an unkind pose, as if she has just spotted a giant spider on the chandelier – but there’s a birdlike energy in the movement of her head, and she has taken care with her appearance. (Compare her understated dress and jewellery with the full-on Mary Quant-style outfit of the singer).

What, though, of Mr Dillon? Maybe he has been carried away by the music, and is in a gentle post-prandial doze. More likely, from the set of his jaw, he’s checking out the moves of his political partners – and is not best pleased by why he sees.

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It wouldn’t be the first time Mr Dillon found himself out of step with the prevailing political music. He resigned from Fine Gael when it went along with Éamon de Valera’s policy of neutrality during the second World War. He was the only politician in the Dáil to vote against it, and when the Taoiseach suggested this was an unpatriotic stance, his retort was a tongue-twister which would give the ballroom dancing rule-book a run for its money. “I’ll have you know, sir,” he informed Dev, “that my father, John Dillon, and my grandfather, John Blake Dillon, gave of their gallant best for this country while your ancestors were bartering budgerigars in the back alleys of Barcelona.”

Unfair, we know. But still. Drum-roll for the sheer brass-necked breakneck brilliance of it.

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