Farewell to a splendid statesman in Wales’ own seat of democracy
Yesterday’s impressive public funeral for Rhodri Morgan – in effect the country’s first-ever state funeral – marked a further stage in Wales’ development as a nation, argues chief reporter Martin Shipton...
stuck them on the Pippa doll.
“Mari took this doll back to school the next day with Rhod’s hair stuck on it.”
His brother, Prys, opened the tributes, telling the mourners his brother first decided he wanted to be a comedian – sending jokes to the Beano and Dandy “to earn a little extra pocket money”.
He said his brother got into politics while very young, despite not being from a political family. He told a tale of his brother confronting Sir Raymond Gower at a public meeting about the constitution of Cyprus – silencing the room.
Political colleagues Kevin Brennan, Paul Murphy, Carwyn Jones and Jane Hutt all paid tribute.
Mr Brennan said: “He saw the real potential of devolution before anyone else. Ironically, words cannot adequately capture this remarkable Welshman, this every man, this sometimes somewhat dishevelled figure with his unruly hair, who treated everyone equally and loved everyone of all races and backgrounds, particularly his Cardiff West constituents, who loved life and his family, particularly his grandchildren. He loved nature, to grow things in the soil, to swim with dolphins in Cardigan Bay. No words can adequately capture him.”
Mr Murphy said it was “no surprise” to him that Rhodri decided to become an Assembly Member. He described his friend of four decades as a “natural leader”.
Mr Jones read Dylan Thomas’ Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.
Carolyn Hitt recounted his love of sport, cousin Nia Powell described Rhodri as her “hero”, while Reverend Canon Aled Edwards also shared stories. In his retirement, he had taken up a number of hobbies, including playing the piano.
His piano teacher, Sally Tarlton, played a tune he had been learning recently – Take the A Train.
Music also came from The Hennesseys, Dave Burns also sang Labour anthem Joe Hill, and Cor Cochion Caerdydd sang anti-Apartheid anthem Nkosi Sikelel.
In emotional moments Efan Morgan, Rhodri’s grandson, sang the opening of Calon Lan unaccompanied before a full rendition from those attending.
Two more of the Morgan grandchildren, Steffan and Johan, read a poem in English and Welsh that Steffan had written and his grandfather had loved.
Cwm Rhondda and – to end the service – Mae Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau were also sung.
The coffin was carried out of the Senedd by members of Rhodri’s family and a warm, long round of applause broke out – lasting until Wales’ first First Minister was driven away from the Senedd for the last time. As his beloved family reentered the Senedd, applause broke out again.
A service of farewell will be held at Wenallt Chapel, Thornhill Crematorium today at 2pm.
YOU learn a lot about a nation from the way it honours those it most reveres. Rhodri Morgan’s funeral was a fitting farewell to a unique politician who made an impression on everyone he met.
It also displayed Wales at its spectacular best.
There was none of the pomp and sanctimony that would have set the tone at a state funeral in Westminster Abbey. On such occasions the character of the person whose funeral it is tends to be swamped by religious ritual to the point where the service could be about everybody and nobody.
From the moment Rhodri’s coffin appeared draped in the Welsh flag, you knew this would be a distinctive and memorable occasion.
Rhodri was deeply patriotic, although he never wore his patriotism on his sleeve. His love of Wales, its people and landscape was totally natural, but he could never be accused of being a professional Welshman – a charge that could be levelled at other politicians.
He was a true Welshman in the sense that his interests were not confined by the borders of Wales. He was not a narrow nationalist, but an internationalist whose interests were global.
His young grandson, Steffan, bravely read a wonderful short poem he had written in Welsh, describing how a book enabled you to travel anywhere in your mind. As a great reader himself, it was a poem that Rhodri loved.
Rhodri’s older brother, Prys, a distinguished historian of great erudition himself, gave an insight into what it was like to grow up in a household that had its foundation in Welsh scholarship thanks to their father, Professor TJ Morgan. But it was certainly no stuffy, elitist family home, as perhaps it might have been in Oxford or Cambridge. Members of the Morgan family were too aware of their own history, with an ancestor, Morgan Morgan, who was one of the leaders of the Rebecca riots.
Such a background placed Rhodri firmly in the tradition of Welsh radicalism, which he pursued all his life and which enabled him to become such a suitable leader to take Welsh devolution forward after its difficult beginnings.
Speaker after speaker referred to his humanity, his humility, and his ability to connect with ordinary people: qualities that are too rare in British politics today, infected as it is with shallow soundbites, facile smiles and deceitful rhetoric.
Rhodri’s communitarian values may have been grounded in Wales, but they linked him to struggles that have taken place across the world.
It was entirely appropriate in this context that Cor Cochion Caerdydd sang Nkosi Sikelele, which became an anthem in the long struggle against Apartheid that had Rhodri’s full support, and that Dave Burns of The Hennessys sang Joe Hill, a ballad written in praise of a Swedish American trade union activist who was executed unjustly in 1915.
Rhodri knew the song’s words, and sometimes sang them casually himself.
In line with Rhodri’s own thinking, it was a humanist event, led by Lorraine Barrett, a former Labour AM. The lack of a religious element left Rhodri’s personality, his achievements and his interests at centre stage.
But more than that, the location of the funeral in the Senedd was a highly significant moment for Welsh democracy, and for Wales’ development as a nation.
At a moment when it is on the verge of becoming a fully fledged Parliament in name as well as in powers, the National Assembly has demonstrated its ability to rise to one of the most sensitive of occasions: managing a nation’s grief at the sudden loss of a highly respected leader.
This was a secular occasion that succeeded in achieving an egalitarian dignity all of its own.
It’s a mark of the way the Assembly has developed as an institution that it could bring it off. Rhodri was referred to as a hero by his grandchildren. He was, of course, a hero in a family setting, but he also deserves to be remembered as a national hero.
He was largely responsible for turning the Assembly from a frail entity that looked as if it was going to fail into a body that can carry the weight of a national democracy.
Those of us who knew him will never forget the uniqueness of his personality, nor the immense contribution he made to our national life.
Future generations who study Welsh history will see him as a pivotal figure in taking its nationhood forward.
His personal legacy will be much more than a catalogue of entertaining anecdotes, interesting though they are. It will be that of a statesman who, rooted in his Welshness, was able to create a credible democracy thanks to leadership qualities that allowed him to work across party boundaries.
Nevertheless, it is a democracy founded on solid principles of fairness, social justice and the strong desire to create a better world. He understood as well as anyone the constraints that can place limits on progress. But he never swerved from his commitment to those strong, human ideals.
For such a man to be honoured at his time of passing at a state funeral conducted in the seat of democracy he did so much to create is something our nation can view with justifiable pride.