IT took three years to build and just three seconds to demolish. The reinforced concrete cooling tower of Portarlington power station, once dubbed "The Wonder of the Midlands", was blown down yesterday, obliterated by surgically applied gelignite.
It was like a public hanging. The ESB, which commissioned English experts to execute the demolition, bussed onlookers to a field 400 yards from the site, where it had set up a covered wagon for press photographers to witness this extraordinary event.
A local accordionist, Louis Melia, turned up to play his own variation on a Phil Coulter classic, The Tower I Loved So Well, as people gathered to have their photographs taken with the 236 foot structure, Portarlington's only real landmark, in the background.
They included several retired workers from Ireland's first peat fired power station and some who helped to build it 50 years ago. One of them said he was not sorry to see it go, as the station had "served its purpose" and, in any case, it had closed in 1988.
But this was not the consensus view. "It's very sad, like a death in the family," said Ms Cathy Honan, the PD senator and resident of Main Street, Portarlington. She made the comment just minutes before 10.30 a.m., the appointed time for the cooling tower's "execution".
A man from the ESB, armed with a mobile phone, was in constant touch with the unseen control centre. Ambulance crews from the Civil Defence were on standby in case it went horribly wrong.
Residents of the new Pine Villa housing estate nearest the power station had been evacuated as a precaution. But wherever there was a good vantage point, it was taken up by townspeople and other sightseers as the silent countdown continued remorselessly to 10.30 a.m.
Some 20 seconds later, there was a loud bang to frighten away the birds - including a pair of peregrine falcons which had been roosting in the tower and are now, presumably, homeless. Then, even the press joined in counting down the final seconds "10 - 9 - 8 - 7 - 6 ..."
Finally, it happened. A loud explosion rocked the tower and it came tumbling down, twisting slightly before hitting the ground. A huge cloud of dust obscured the power station before drifting off in an easterly direction. When it cleared, the cooling tower was, well, gone.
The structure, taller than Dublin's Liberty Hall, had looked so solid minutes earlier. In fact it was so thin and insubstantial that there was almost nothing left. It was as if the Leeds based demolition experts, Robinson and Birdsell Ltd, had simply crushed an eggshell.
The men who had built it in the 1940s became local heroes because of the heights they scaled. It was Ireland's tallest structure for a few years until it was surpassed by the cooling tower at Allenwood, Co Kildare, which is to be "blown down" later this month.
As usual in Ireland, the campaign to save Portarlington's landmark got under way too late. The ESB, fearing long term liability for a structure with concrete flaking off, remained deaf to local appeals that it should be "saved".
All it was prepared to do was to give a public assurance that the "blowdown" would not stir up clouds of asbestos dust from the adjoining brick clad power station, which is being demolished piece by piece despite its potential value as a monument of industrial archaeology.
Senator Honan and others who mourn its loss insist the ESB only laid the explosive charges near the base of the cooling tower after it had got wind of a threatened court injunction to prevent the demolition - and then said it would be too much of a health hazard to take them out.
This is denied by the ESB. "There's no doubt that they rushed in the charges," Senator Honan declared.
"You can say all you like about the Huguenot history of Portarlington, but this power station was an Irish endeavour and it should have been preserved for posterity," said Mr Michael Cann, a Dublin born member of the local action group.
Many local people brought their cameras along to record its final moments and others, including children, went to the site later to look for small pieces of concrete as souvenirs of Portarlington's recent history, like those who still treasure grafitti scarred bits of the Berlin Wall.
"Maybe it will serve as a wake up call to protect what's left of this town's rich heritage," said Mr Cann.
Perhaps it will. Meanwhile, Portarlington's oldest building, the Huguenot Arlington House, now stands as a roofless ruin by the banks of the River Barrow.
