“He was great craic,” 104-year-old Anna says of Joe Bruton. And she was just as effusive of Joe’s son, the man to whom she had come to pay respect.

“He was a good man,” she says. “He got a lot done.” 

Anna and her son Sean got their pew in St Peter and Paul’s Church well before the funeral rite began. 

They were among the local people who had come to support their own in the bereaved family’s hour of need. 

The future Taoiseach grew up on the family farm just outside the town, and he stayed put for the rest of his 76-year life. 

The community’s respect and affection were evident in how many poured into the church and watched the mass outside in front of a nearby big screen. That was for the Brutons in their hour of need.

Where this funeral differed is that it was hosted by the State to honour a man who had held the highest executive office. 

This ensued with all the tasteful pomp and ceremony that is on display on such occasions, led by the Defence Forces, and including their commander in chief, President Michael D Higgins.

John Bruton’s old colleagues, opponents, and admirers also all came in large numbers. 

Before the mass began, knots of Fine Gael politicians of today and yesteryear stood in the forecourt of St Peter and Paul’s, warming themselves with chat against the sharp morning air. 

They greeted each other like it had been way too long since the last encounter. 

Some among them have left public life decades ago and like old footballers you nearly expect them to look the same when they come out years later for an event like this. 

Of course, they don’t, but sometimes a second take is required before full recognition can be recorded.

Among the mourners were colleagues from the first government in which Bruton served in the 1980s. 

Michael Noonan and Alan Dukes go back that far with him. Of a more recent cabinet vintage were Nora Owen, Ivan Yates and Phil Hogan who served with him in the 1990s. 

Today’s Fine Gael ministers were also there in big numbers to pay homage to one who had gone before. 

And then up strolled Bertie Ahern, the deceased man’s sparring partner at Leader’s Questions for nearly a decade.

Also present was Mary Lou McDonald, today the effective leader of the opposition, a role that Bruton carried out for most of his time at the helm of Fine Gael. 

She was accompanied by Michelle O’Neill and Emma Little Pengelly, respective first and deputy first ministers of the Northern Executive. 

Bruton was among those who laid the groundwork for the peace process. 

During the homily at the mass, Fr Bruce Bradley noted that the deceased man “showed a capacity to stand in other person’s shoes, a quality of particular importance in the discussions and negotiations with Northern Unionists.” 

The presence of the two women illustrated how far the island has come since John Bruton first entered the Dáil in 1969, and even since he ended his tenure as Taoiseach in 1997.

Father Bradley’s homily summed up the man, including “courage, integrity, decency – the words recur again and again in the tributes paid to him since his death.” 

He also gave an insight into how John Bruton had been regarded by those who didn’t share his politics.

“I was particularly struck by one entry in the online condolence book,” the priest said, “where someone, signing themselves ‘FF supporter, Kildare’, wrote: ‘You treated your allies and those of us with different political persuasions equally and without malice’.”

Outside the church, the body was raised onto a Defence Forces gun carriage for transport to Rooske cemetery, 2km away. 

If he was looking down on the ceremony, the mode of transport might well have brought a smile to his face. 

He did not subscribe to the widely accepted orthodoxy that violence was necessary for the state to achieve freedom. More than once he spoke critically of the Easter Rising. 

Yet his final journey, the final honour being bestowed on him, was delivered by the army that was established from the embers of 1916. 

As the cortege left the church local people stepped forward and applauded their friend and neighbour, just letting the state know that first and foremost he was their man.

At the cemetery, the slow march by the military pallbearers came to an end near the assigned grave. 

The tricolour was removed and presented to Finola Bruton, a final memento of the state’s gratitude for the service rendered by her husband.

Leo Varadkar stepped up to give the oration, and just behind him stood the incongruous pairing of Tánaiste Micheál Martin and Michael Lowry. 

Martin was there in his public office role. 

Lowry, on the other hand, had been appointed minister by John Bruton in 1994 but had to resign two years later when he was under pressure for receiving money from Ben Dunne. 

Memorably, as he left office, Lowry described his Taoiseach as “best friend, best friend forever”.

Varadkar’s oration was wide and deep, touching on all aspects of the deceased man.

“John loved Ireland, and it was a real love,” the Taoiseach said, “not defined by dislike or fear of others, but by a genuine love of our country and what we could be. It was a noble, true and modern patriotism.”

When he was done, there was silence, an order, and the 21-gun salute. 

The shots rang out across the flat Meath countryside as if to say on behalf of the state: “Farewell and thanks for everything.”