THE culture of Irish state secrecy knows no bounds, if the recently released 30-year archive is to be believed. Lodged deep in the archive is a file extracted from the Irish embassy in the USA. The file is entitled 'Cattle Semen Export'. There is no explanation as to why such classified information should not be released to the masses for 30 years.

Was there a grand plan at play with the semen? Were they hoping to impregnate American cows with Irish genes in an effort to gain greater political pull for the diaspora? Were the bovine agents aware that they were being detailed to do the state some service? Who decides these things?

Apart from such musings, the main event documented for 1976 was the assassination of the British ambassador, Christopher EwartBiggs. The ambassador's car was blown up not far from the embassy building in Sandyford at around 9.40am on 21 July. A civil servant with the Northern Ireland office, Judith Cooke, also died in the explosion.

News of the killing reverberated around the world, and precipitated an avalanche of correspondence to the government, which has only now been released. Letters and telegrams from North and South poured in, the vast majority merely expressing outrage and sympathy with the bereaved families. But the sender of one telegram, from R McKee in Belfast, was in a less than conciliatory mood.

Addressed to 'Prime Minister Cosgrave The Dail Dublin', it read: "What are you talking about you are only getting now from the provos which we have had for seven years we never heard you squealing about anything in the North as you have hid the cowboys down there in the South you are now going to reap it".

Another piece of correspondence that stood out was from a consulting engineer in Dublin, John V O'Connor. He wrote the day after the killing, and his letter puts to bed the contention that a ruthless approach to business was introduced to the country only in the last decade.

His letter began by introducing himself as the employer of 12 people.

"We are burdened with taxation and are pursued relentlessly in this regard. The economic situation is such that every person here has to work hard to maintain themselves in employment and the available building projects are becoming fewer and fewer."

He pointed out that the company had a lot of clients in Britain.

"The killing of the British envoy has faced us with implacable neutrals where we once had good business friends and the loss of our contacts means that we will have to let some of our people go.

"I want to say that you should be made aware that the business community look to you for strong action in this matter. The feeling of rage and frustration at the loss of customers and markets that this slaying will create is almost tangible and this is combined with a feeling of shame that such a thing could happen in this country."

The man had his priorities. In reply, Liam Cosgrave's private secretary said the government shared the sense of revulsion expressed by the correspondent. But, to cover all bases at a time of murder, revulsion and shame, he added: "The green paper on the economy to be published later this year will deal with some of the other matters you mentioned".

Apart from the outrage, 1976 was the year of living dangerously for the incumbent president, Cearbhall O Dalaigh.

First there was a coalition government that didn't seem to want to give him the time of day. He had been foisted on them when his predecessor, Erskine Childers, died suddenly two years previously. In a former life, O Dalaigh had been a highly progressive chief justice, but Cosgrave's coalition was suspicious of anything that might be described as progressive.

So the twain didn't meet that often and when they did relations were cool.

Even a tiny detail like the statement expressing condolences to the queen over her representative's murder was fraught.

O Dalaigh's office drafted a letter in which the final paragraph read, "I assure your majesty of our deep sense of outrage at this heinous crime against both our peoples".

The government had some problem with that paragraph, although the reasoning was not articulated in correspondence.

That wasn't the only manure the poor man had to deal with. He also had to express his condolences on the death of the mass murderer Mao Tse Tung. The loss, he wrote, would "be badly felt by the Chinese people and by the friends of China throughout the world". Whether or not Ireland qualified as a friend of China was not obvious, as the experienced lawyer was playing that card close to his chest.

If Mao wasn't bad enough, poor Cearbhall also had to put up with Maeve Binchy. At the height of the summer, she wrote to the man in the Aras in tones that were decidedly Mae West.

"I wonder if I could come up to see you sometime when I'm in Dublin, " she began. "I know you are extremely busy, and you must be driven demented by all the calls on your time, but I often see in the paper that you 'received' so and so and was wondering very simply could I be received too."

Demented as the president might have been then, there was worse to come. Within months, the whole shebang reached a nadir with defence minister Paddy Donegan's attack on the president as a "thundering disgrace" for referring a draconian security bill to the Supreme Court. Cosgrave refused to censure his minister's carry-on. O Dalaigh felt he had no option but to resign.

The fall-out from this constitutional crisis precipitated another avalanche from the plain people of Ireland. One missive from Youghal district council to the taoiseach suggested that the august councillors were hell-bent on following the lead of the Skibbereen Eagle.

In a resolution dated 3 November and forwarded to the taoiseach, the council declared, "we demand the resignation of the government in view of the treatment of the former president and the constitution of Ireland".

And at this point we depart the official record for a different perspective on what happened next.

Here I must modestly declare that I had a small but significant role to play in the unfolding constitutional crisis.

Following his departure from Aras An Uachtarain, the former president upped sticks and moved to the southwest corner of the country, where he reposed with the blessing of nature. One day he happened into a shop in the local town whereon a boy . . . the labour laws were not rigorously enforced at the time . . . sold him a loaf of homemade brown bread. And damn fine bread it was too.

The warm loaf can only have brought pleasure to the palate of this distinguished jurist and leader at a time when he must have despaired of the country he had served. And for that offering of solace, I must claim credit for it was I who flogged him the bread.

So just as Spike Milligan had a role in the downfall of Hitler, just as big-mickey crime reporters are cleaning up the streets, I also can claim to have had status as a player. And in my case, it was at one of the state's darkest junctures. So there. Y'all have a great new year now.