"AGUS . . . sin e. Go raibh mile maith agaibh."
A pause. A deep sigh. A breaking voice? No obvious tears. With a little show of emotion and a cupla focail, the seventh president of Ireland, Mrs Mary Robinson, fulfilled her last public engagement in Smithfield, Dublin, yesterday before taking a plane to Switzerland.
Almost seven years back, homelessness had been the theme of her first official engagement. Now she chose to spend her last morning on a social housing project before she, too, left home. But it was "moving, not leaving", she told tenants and guests at the Focus Ireland project on George's Hill.
"I am moving out of Aras an Uachtarain, I am moving out of the Presidency, I am leaving Ireland to move to Geneva," she said. "But I take with me all that I have learned, and the enrichment of the last seven years, and the reference points and the way of doing," she continued. She returned to this during her parting address up in the Phoenix Park a little over an hour later, when she thanked the Irish people for the "great honour" bestowed upon her.
"I take with me the experience, the learning, the listening, the valuing and the extraordinary opportunity I have had to . . . observe very closely and to be something of a catalyst," she said. Referring to Northern Ireland, always so close to her heart, she reminded those present that she had reached out across the Border, "taking risks for peace".
This was relevant to her new role as UN Commissioner for Human Rights, she stressed, a role she described as "daunting".
The candle. We had almost forgotten. Up there to record these last few words and to witness the ceremonial sign-off, we wondered when she was going to extinguish the famous light. Quenching the flame which had burned brightly, if symbolically, for the past seven years would be her last official act, after all. And a photo-opportunity.
Oh, this would take place about 10 minutes before she was due to leave, we were assured. Yet even as she moved around midday to sign the instrument of resignation in the presence of the Taoiseach, Tanaiste, party leaders and presidential commission, the plug had already been pulled on the low-watt bulb in another room.
She had arrived a little late for the engagement behind the Dublin Fruit and Vegetable Market on George's Hill, with her husband, Mr Nicholas Robinson, her aidede-camp, Col Bernard Howard, and one of her longest serving security staff, Garda Alice Nugent.
"Chalk-stripe" was the media consensus on the colour of her suit. She looked gaunt, a little fragile. One tenant said she could "still do with a good feed".
Sister Stanislaus Kennedy, director of Focus Ireland, was in her element. Outlining the contribution of the Presentation Sisters to the new development - built to give affordable housing to about 100 people, including 40 children - the nun mixed metaphors, drew on every adjective in the book. The Presidency had been a symbol of reconciliation, healing, openness, tolerance, inclusiveness; Mrs Robinson had given people a voice and brought them "back into history", she said.
The tributes were not lost on the outgoing president. Why, she could do with Sister Stan's support over in Geneva, Mrs Robinson mused, though there might be one bone of contention. They would be on opposing sides in the All-Ireland Football Final. Out came a shout from the crowd. "Up Mayo!"
Fatima Aadan, a mother of three from Somalia, was determined to get a good photograph. Her eight-year-old daughter, Sharifa, was waving a Tricolour. All dressed up, Sharifa and her friend, Tracey Kiely, had been nominated to present the president with a book.
"Hi Mary. I'm Sophie Dibanzilwa," read one of the book's contributions. "I live in 605 Greoges (sic) hill, Dublin 7. I know that you were the only woman president in Ireland. But your (sic) not the last. I want to thank you for being President. But it is time to lay back and put your feet up."
Also in the crowd, Mary Kiely (35), mother of six from Limerick, felt very sad to see her stepping down. "I'd love to see her stay on but she had a better job somewhere else. She'll always be our president."
The George's Hill complex was a sort of wonderland, Mrs Kiely added. Rent at £20.04 a week, a meal for 95p, soup at 40p. When Mrs Robinson took office in 1990, there were 5,000 homeless in the Republic, according to official figures. Currently, there are no reliable national statistics. But child prostitution is on the increase, and in Dublin alone, almost 6,000 people - admittedly, not all without shelter - used Focus Ireland's services last year.
"The seven years has flown. I feel very enriched. It was a great honour, a great, great honour," the President told the tenants before leaving for the Park. "It is the greatest honour anybody can have. I will always treasure this part of my life, the seven years of my life, and the reference points you have given me in facing the challenging task."
It was a challenge that was of "huge interest" to Irish people, she said. Appealing to the many compatriots working with "the poorest of the poor", she hoped they would be her "eyes and ears".
Back up at the Aras, her eyes and ears during her term of office - her special adviser, Ms Bride Rosney - breezed in for the last banter with photographers just before the signing. It was low-key. Members of the presidential staff, including her long-serving personal assistant, Ann Lane, stood up on chairs with their cameras.
This was history, remarked the historian, Jim Duffy, who had played such a major part in the 1990 presidential election campaign. The only precedent had been that set by the late Cearbhall O Dalaigh when he had stepped down in 1976 over the "thundering disgrace" affair. His resignation had come in the post, so to speak, and could have been withdrawn until such time as a successor had been elected. Mrs Robinson could do likewise, if she saw fit.
In trooped the Taoiseach, Mr Ahern, the Tanaiste, Ms Harney, and the Opposition represented by the Fine Gael leader, Mr John Bruton, the deputy Labour Party leader, Mr Ruairi Quinn, and Mr Pat Rabbitte of Democratic Left. Also present were the Chief Justice, Mr Liam Hamilton, the Ceann Comhairle, Mr Seamus Pattison, and the outgoing Cathaoirleach of the Seanad, Mr Liam Cosgrave.
The President paid tribute to the Government leaders, the elected members of Leinster House, and the members of the presidential commission, all three being on the Council of State and charged with guarding the Constitution. "You had to operation on very tight margins!" she quipped.
Her final words were for members of her family, and she paid tribute to the support of her husband, Nick, and Ms Rosney. There were more photographs, and then the signing. "I, Mary Robinson, hereby resign from the office of President of Ireland with effect from 1 p.m. today, 12th September, 1997, given under my hand and seal, the 12th day of September, 1997," read the text.
The bust and portrait were already "in train". There was no Garda escort for the State car as it sped out to Dublin Airport. No Government jet; this was a scheduled Aer Lingus flight. "Go mbeannai Dia thu, a Mhaire, agus go dte thu slan," Sister Stan had said, bidding her farewell on behalf of the electorate. Agus go neiri an bothar leat, Citizen Robinson.
Lorna Siggins's book, Mary Robinson: The Woman Who Took Power In The Park, was published this week