Andrew's Stories

June 1963, a time of great excitement and even greater precipitation. President John F. Kennedy was visiting Ireland, and my employer, PYE TVT, had magnanimously offered a fully equipped and manned outside broadcast van to Teilifís Éireann to assist in the television coverage. Our van was set up near the Áras an Uachtaráin, the official residence of President Éamon de Valera, in the verdant expanse of Phoenix Park. Little did we know, we were in for a drenching experience that would leave us longing for the relative dryness of a fish tank.

It rained almost the entire time we were there. Not just a gentle drizzle, mind you, but a torrential downpour that seemed determined to soak us to the skin and beyond. Our task was to lay out camera cables across the wet grass, which quickly turned into a slippery, mud-splattered ordeal. We sloshed about, trying to avoid looking like bedraggled otters, but with little success. The highlight of our soggy endeavour was to be a tree-planting ceremony involving both Presidents. The plan was simple: wait for a miraculous pause in the rain, dash outside, and capture the historic moment for TV viewers worldwide. It sounded straightforward enough, but the weather had other ideas. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, huddled under makeshift shelters that did little to keep us dry, the rain finally eased. A flurry of activity ensued as both Presidents were ushered outside, shovels at the ready. We sprang into action, cameras rolling, trying to look professional despite our waterlogged state.

President Kennedy, ever the picture of charisma, managed to appear effortlessly dapper even as the drizzle resumed. President de Valera, with his stately bearing, seemed equally unfazed by the weather. They planted the tree with smiles and handshakes, the picture of diplomatic poise, while we captured every moment, hoping our equipment wouldn’t short-circuit in the damp. As soon as the ceremony concluded and the Presidents retreated to the dry comfort of the Áras an Uachtaráin, the skies opened up once more with renewed vigour. We embarked on the exhausting task of packing up, slipping and sliding in the mud, and attempting to dry out our equipment and ourselves.

Once everything was finally stowed away, we faced the daunting prospect of moving our soggy selves and gear to Galway for the next day’s reception at Eyre Square. But that, as they say, is another story. For now, we took solace in the knowledge that we had played our part in a historic moment, even if it meant being more soaked than a tea biscuit in a toddler’s cup.