In the autumn of 1970 Anne and I had decided we would like to have a second child. Again, Anne became pregnant immediately.

With this pregnancy, the demands of Justin, a decision to move house – combining our resources with those of Florence, a tumultuous political agenda, the first opportunities to represent the government in international meetings, and the need to maintain career employment, there were moments when Anne and I were completely exhausted.

The birth of our daughter on 27 May brought one such spell. Patricia Florence, named as planned after her two grandmothers, was born, like Justin, in Mount Carmel. This time the labour was longer and Anne was left too long in a labour room overheated by the bright sunny day. She developed an infection which prevented her enjoying as much as she might have done a baby girl who was delightful and warm, quiet and peaceful, and showed no lower lip to the world. She just wanted to feed and sleep.

My brother John, who had gone to work in England with Clarks, the Somerset-based shoe manufacturers, following his graduation, had become engaged to Marian, an attractive dark-haired Somerset girl, and they had fixed a July wedding date. While I geared myself to do John proud as best man, Anne found it uncomfortable to travel to England and participate in the celebrations. It was only made possible because her mother, and Polly, the long-standing housekeeper at St. Georges, felt able to look after both Justin and Patricia for a week.

While I realise that I have been extremely fortunate to have had exceptional stamina and staying power most of my life, I have nevertheless to acknowledge that there have been a few – mercifully rare – occasions when fatigue and the emotional strain of an event meant that my judgement suffered or a performance went much less well than I had hoped and planned.

One of these occasions was a public meeting arranged by the Irish Family Planning Rights Association at Dublin’s Liberty Hall on 30 March 1971. (Liberty Hall is the Liffey-side mini-skyscraper built as the Headquarters of the then Irish Transport and General Workers Union.)

I had worked hard on every sentence of my press release. I wanted the text to be clear, true and, if possible, above controversy. This was a tall order for a member of a government party that looked likely to throw out of the Senate a Family Planning Bill proposed by Mary Robinson, then a Trinity Senator.

The point to be made here is that, having marshalled all my thoughts for Liberty Hall and having geared myself up to say what I thought regardless of the consequences, I found myself at the lectern barely able to control my voice and read my carefully prepared text. Fatigue and emotion had wrung me dry and I just wanted to escape and get home, disappointed at so disappointing myself.

In looking over the Liberty Hall text, lodged in my papers many years later, I could only smile ruefully. It seems incredible that just over thirty years ago such a simple and obvious text should have demanded so much nervous energy.

Read more: 1972 – A Big Year: Three Referendums