SHE will take her place on the viewing stand today, acutely aware of the mantle she was handed down. Her grandfather was one of the leaders during Easter week. Eamon de Valera's American birth saved him from the firing squad. His youngest son, Terry, was born three weeks before the Civil War broke out in 1922. He in turn begat Síle, the elder of two daughters.

She, along with her cousin Eamon �? Cuív, represent most of what remains of the post-colonial tradition of political activity pursued down through the generations from a nation's birth. The Cosgraves and Fitzgeralds for instance, other dynasties borne out of the ruins of 1916, no longer supply a member to the national parliament. Only the de Valeras persevere, and even that representation will be reduced when Síle steps down at the next election.

Today will be poignant, she says. Her father, Dev's only surviving son, will accompany her. Both father and grandfather, along with her mother, feature in photographs on the mantelpiece of her office in the Department of Education. She doesn't express any ambiguity about the commemoration.

"There has been criticism but I think it is appropriate that it is military, after all 1916 was a military affair. It's also important that we embrace that part of our history.

Other countries always commemorate these types of occasions, one that does it very well is our nearest neighbour, Britain.

She remains loyal to the history as written in the decades that followed the violent upheaval at the birth of the state. That could be expected when one considers that Dev, as effective victor, had a large input into writing that history. The revised view around the leading characters of 1916 is something that particularly gets up her goat.

"As a result of the revisionism that grew up, the character of Pearse in particular has been subjected to a stereotypical image and that does upset me. You have people saying they were zealots and that they had no mandate. Look at the time.

"There was a European war on. Constitutional change had been tried. There was the formation of the Ulster Volunteer Force and only then did you have the Irish Volunteers. You have to see things in that progression. Somebody didn't wake up in the morning and say, ?Let's have a Rising.'

"In terms of a mandate, Jefferson didn't have one. Neither did Washington or Mandela. Things have to be put in a proper context."

Her own mandate came at the tender age of 22, when she was elected to the Dáil in 1977. Within four years, she found herself thrust to the forefront of the question that had dogged the island since her grandfather's time. The hunger strikes were wreaking havoc both within Northern Ireland and between the Republic and Britain.

De Valera made her feelings known. She described Margaret Thatcher as "callous", souring the diplomatic tone of the time. "I was asked to withdraw the remark by senior figures in the party, but I wouldn't. It was a humanitarian matter and I felt it was callous that it wasn't being addressed, " she says.

Then she was invited to attend the bedside of Bobby Sands, as he entered the final phase of life. Two years previously she had been elected to the European parliament and it was in that capacity she was invited.

The family name, however, and her stated Republican views, would also have had an influence. With fellow MEPs John O'Connell and Neil Blaney, she was brought into Long Kesh in a van with blacked-out windows. O'Connell, a medical doctor, filled the other two in on what to expect.

"He told us that the hearing, the vision, everything breaks down so I knew what to expect in terms of the physical ramifications. When we went in Bobby Sands was lying flat on the bed, a sheepskin under him. I was told that was to save the bones coming out through the skin. There was a bowl of corn flakes at the bottom of his bed.

"John O'Connoll asked him would he call off the strike and he replied gently, ?No.' I had decided on the way up that I wasn't going to ask him. What he had chosen was such a painful and slow death that one doesn't go into that lightly, so I had to respect his decision."

Sands died within days of the visit. Later that year, De Valera lost her seat. She attributes at least some element of her defeat to the forthright views she expressed on the North at the time.

"They were views that weren't being expressed by everybody at that stage in terms of Republicanism. If you look back now, you'd say what was all the fuss about.

There has been a tremendous shift of opinion." Maybe so, but at the time Republicanism was associated with murdering anybody deemed to be a legitimate target, not to mind those filed away under collateral damage. De Valera doesn't accept that, in terms of context, she was out of time on this one.

"My view was we have very strong Republican views in Fianna Fáil and we took a particular road in the formation of the party, a constitutional route. So I believed for us to express Republican views in that context was quite legitimate."

Her defeat was followed by another in the first election of 1982, but these acted as a curtain-raiser for the second act of her political career, one that went back to the future with the family name.

She was born in Dublin in December 1954 and attended Loreto Convent in Foxrock, before going on to study history and politics at UCD. (Her cousin �? Cuív is also the product of a south Dublin home, although his demeanour at times appears designed to suggest he was raised by coyotes in the wilds of Connemara).

Even in childhood, the family name was writ large. For while Dev may have been a hero to the soldiers of destiny, another constituency saw him as the man responsible for the Civil War. She remembers her first political question to her father as, "What's the difference between pro-Dev and antiDev?"

"Sadly, I was made aware of it in the playground, but only really when elections came up. When I used to hear people saying civil war attitudes where dead, I would have a wry smile to myself. In my teens, even, I found that if introduced to somebody people would have made up their minds whether they liked you or not.

Thankfully, those attitudes are gone now."

An interest in politics brought her to a local cumann in the old Mid-County Dublin constituency, although she says she looked at joining Labour before settling for the family firm. Asked to run as a second candidate where it looked like there was only one safe seat, she was swept into the Dáil on the Jack Lynch tide of 1977.

Two years later, she was attributed with kite-flying for a challenger when she appeared to criticise Lynch. Enter Charlie Haughey, whom she says she supported from then until his final exit in 1992. She thinks that the passage of time will present a "more balanced" view of Haughey, FF speak for ?the service he did to the state was more good than bad'.

Despite her support, he never promoted her to office. After losing in '81, fate intervened. She was in Ennis for an annual event commemorating her grandfather in his old constituency when local stalwart Bill Loughnane died suddenly.

"I was on my way to Shannon to fly back to Dublin when we got the news, " she remembers. "So I stayed and after the funeral some of the local party members approached me."

She lost in '82, relocated at weekends to the Banner, and headed the poll five years later. She has been returned every year at every election since. While out of the Dáil she went back to college to study psychology. She has remained single, but says she is fortunate in the friends she has.

In 1994 Bertie Ahern asked her to shadow the arts portfolio. Three years later she got the main job and is credited with making a decent fist of it. One of her legacies from the portfolio is the Access fund for public works of art, the fruits of which can be observed in public spaces throughout the state, particularly main roads.

In 2002, Bertie bore bad tidings. No more room at the top table. "Naturally I was disappointed, but the Taoiseach said I could have the pick of junior ministries. He said, ?I presume it's education Síle, ' and of course he was right."

Her current responsibilities include the youth sector and adult further education.

She enjoys the work, getting a particular kick out of the results from literacy campaigns and the myriad of youth projects that the department supports. Despite enjoying the fulfilling number, last November she told Bertie she was stepping down at the next election.

"I gave it a lot of thought, " she says. "I will be 52 at the next election, 30 years in public life. If I didn't have a go at another career now, I never would. I want to complete my PhD in psychology and I'm working on a book. After that, I'll see what happens."

Fast forward to last February. Bertie promotes Mary Wallace to fill the vacancy left by Ivor Callaly. Sean Haughey, bearer of another dynastic name, is snubbed. The backbenchers are up in arms. And the question of Síle's continuing tenure as a junior minister is attracting both speculation and the ire of ambitious TDs. There was talk that Bertie would be loathe to move against a de Valera. There was talk that he was just leaving her there till after the Easter commemorations. Then Bertie appeared to hint - in Ennis of all places - that perhaps Síle should go sometime before the election. Within days, she announces that she and Bertie had a deal all along since last November. They had agreed she would go at the end of this year.

"I proposed the timescale for me to step down when I told the Taoiseach of my plans. I didn't see any need to make that public and besides it would only fuel speculation as to my eventual replacement.

"Then the media misinterpreted his remarks at the conference in Ennis. He said there was a tradition that if somebody isn't running some time very near the election they would step down. It wasn't putting pressure on me. That was what we had agreed.

"I eventually went public because the speculation was absolutely ridiculous at that stage."

It wasn't that simple. She admits laying false trails by inferring in interviews in both December and early February that she would be staying on.

Still, a two-week wonder towards the end of a 30-year career means the whole thing will hardly register in her memoirs - unless she uses the opportunity to fire off a few missíles.