THE DEATH OF A STATESMAN

I am proud to be able to say that I knew David Ervine quite well – or Davy as he preferred to be known. The first time I met him was about seven years ago, I was doing a series of articles on some of our high profile politicians, and the title I gave to his was ‘A Statesman in Waiting.’

And I am not alone in believing he had that potential, you have only to look at the range of politicians who have lined up with their tributes – not your usual standard stuff, but genuine and heartfelt.

I was watching the sad news on Monday evening and after focusing on him and the void his death leaves, attention switched to the tired old political wranglings of ’the old guard’. And I thought, if we ever needed a Statesman it’s now, and this is what we’re left with.

Right from day one I found Davy to be a genuinely nice guy, sincere and approachable, honest about his past and straightforward about the future. I remember him saying to me, ‘We – meaning the loyalist people of Northern Ireland – should have the courage to embrace our Irishness.’ And that’s brave, coming from a ‘wee man from Chamberlain Street’ in Protestant East Belfast.

I invited him to be a special guest at the launch of my first book, and he just turned up, like we’d been bosom buddies for years, and he sat for an hour or more in the middle of a circle of my family and friends, yarning and happy to be there.

I’ve met him many times since, and the odd thing is that while he might have been shaking hands with Nelson Mandela yesterday, George Bush tomorrow and a meeting with political leaders in Colombia or the Middle East sandwiched in between, he never gave the impression that it was difficult to fit me in. And that’s unusual, for it’s only when you listen to the tributes from Peter Hain, Mary McAleese, Bertie Ahern, Tony Blair and others that I am reminded just how significant a contribution he has made to Irish politics.

He and I talked a couple of times about me writing his biography. The last time we met was in the Lock & Quay in Groomsport and we agreed that I would make a start; ‘I’d like to begin my research by meeting your family, and then your friends, and then…’ but quick as a flash he interrupted me and disappeared. A bit out of character, I thought, until he arrived back at the table with a pleasant smiling lady.

‘Start now,’ he said. ‘This is Jeanette, my wife.’   

Sadly I never got around to doing much more, it would have been such a privilege, but who knows.

But how can a working class lad with the odds stacked against him rise to be treated as an equal on the world stage by the great and the good? How can someone who spent time in prison for his part in a plot to kill and maim, end up travelling the world as a respected authority on conflict resolution? That would be good to know, wouldn’t it? So I asked him. And he told me; ‘In a word? Honesty’. But knowing Davy as I was privileged to, I would add some more virtues; selflessness, compassion, courage, commitment, loyalty, humility and the ability to smile easily and not take yourself too seriously.

Senator George Mitchell said that there’s not a more impressive politician in Northern Ireland than David Ervine. John Reid said he is possibly one of the most eloquent politicians in Northern Ireland.

But somebody once said that if you really want to know what a man is like, ask his wife. And so I did. And Jeanette said, ‘Davy is a good man.’ I’d settle for that.