They were all waiting for a rap on the door to tell them it was time to die. On 5 May 1916, William Cosgrave heard something and wondered whether it was his turn. His cell in Kilmainham Gaol was next to that of Major John McBride. Both men, along with dozens of others, had been condemned to death for their roles in the Easter Rising.

That morning, Cosgrave, as he later recalled, "heard a slight movement and whisperings in the Major's cell. After a few minutes there was a tap on his cell door, then steps down the corridor, down the central stairs. Through a chink in the door I could barely discern the receding figures' silence for a time; then the sharp crack of rifle fire; then silence again.

"I thought my turn would come next and waited for a rap on the door, but the firing squad had no further duty that morning."

Later that day, Cosgrave was told that his death sentence had been commuted. He went on to serve as president of the first provisional government and was among the founders of Fine Gael.

What if he had been executed? Who would have claimed his legacy? Would this man, who became a central figure of Free State conservatism in life, have been claimed by the Provos had he died at the hands of a British firing squad?

Cosgrave lived to be a true blue Fine Gaeler, but another who has been claimed by that party has been the subject of much tittle-tattle in recent days.

Today Michael Collins will be commemorated at Béal na mBláth, the spot in west Cork where he died in a Civil War ambush. The oration will be delivered by finance minister Brian Lenihan. This scion of a Fianna Fáil dynasty will be the first prominent figure from the biggest political party in the state to grace the occasion.

That it has taken nearly 90 years for a Fianna Fáiler to be asked to honour a figure of Collins' status in this manner would be astounding in any other country. Here, the invitation to Lenihan still has the power to generate controversy.

Fine Gael senator Liam Twomey issued a ludicrous statement condemning the invitation to Lenihan. His comments provoked furious reaction in letters pages over the past fortnight, hitting out at the inaccuracy, insensitivity and base stupidity informing the statement. Yet a small minority of dyed-in-the-wool Blueshirts remain unhappy at a Fianna Fáiler commemorating the lost leader.

As a result, it is expected that the attendance at Béal na mBláth today will be swelled by Soldiers of Destiny, intent on ensuring that their man won't be ambushed this time around.

The mini-hullabaloo around the gig has raised a question that is bound to come more to the fore in the years leading up to the centenary of 1916. Who owns the patriot dead? In reality, no political party can claim direct lineage to specific slain heroes of the independence struggle. That, however, doesn't stop many of them robbing the relevant graves.

Fianna Fáil TD Mary O'Rourke's family was Republican on her mother's side but her father was pro-Collins.

"In 1916, we were all one, before there were any splits," she says. "I don't believe any party can claim ownership of one particular person from those times, but it has happened that everybody takes ownership of a little piece of some of them."

O'Rourke intends to travel to Béal na mBláth today to lend support to Lenihan, her nephew. She will not be armed.

As has been repeated ad nauseam over the past few weeks, Collins died before Fine Gael and even one of its parents, Cumann na nGaedhal, were formed. On the face of it, Collins had little in common with the grandees of that tradition, men like Cosgrave, Kevin O'Higgins and Desmond FitzGerald. Politically, and through friendships, he would have been more at home with many who gravitated towards De Valera's party after its formation in 1927.

Yet the Blueshirts have always seen a direct line from the Big Fella all the way down to Enda Kenny. (The pair do share a notoriety for riding bicycles. One of the few photographs of Collins shows him ready to mount and run from the Brits, while a recent pic of Enda had him togged out like Lance Armstrong, pedalling the Ring of Kerry.)

The chairman of the Béal na mBláth committee, Dermot Collins (no relation), says the committee is non-political, but he acknowledges that, until today, about half of the speakers in the 30-year history were Fine Gael politicians. The others were largely non-political. Among those who have delivered the annual oration were Collins' grand-nieces, former Fine Gael TDs Nora Owen and Mary Banotti.

"It's true that the party wasn't formed by the time that Collins died, but the lineage that followed, they identified with him," Collins says. "The party has always claimed Collins. It seems to be an Irish thing though. Various political parties fasten onto one historical figure."

Dermot Collins does dispute the suggestion that Mick would have had more in common with those who fought against him in the Civil War.

"Collins was very close to Arthur Griffith, who was very much in the Free State camp during those times," he says.

Poor De Valera shoved aside

Fianna Fáil has its own 1916 leader, who lived, rather than died, for Ireland. In recent years, however, while the fantasy bubble was being blown, poor, austere De Valera was quietly shoved aside. During Bertie Ahern's tenure, the figure of Pádraig Pearse was given far more prominence in Fianna Fáil iconography.

What Pearse, a symbol of tunnel-vision self-sacrifice, would have made of Ahern, now regarded as typifying tunnel-vision self-interest, is anyone's guess. But the Soldiers of Destiny claim him as one of their own.

The only real basis for the claim was a family connection. Pearse's mother Margaret joined De Valera in founding Fianna Fáil over a decade after her son's death. Whether Pearse would have done that is moot. His fidelity to the concept of absolute independence suggests he might have found common ground with the remnants of the IRA that then existed, rather than entering the Dáil.

Sinn Féin also claims a lien over Pearse, although Fine Gael rarely invokes his spirit, despite their right to do so.

The family connection appears to be a major aspect of claiming the patriot dead. Margaret Pearse told the Dáil debate on the treaty in January 1922 that she was speaking for her son.

"It has been said here on several occasions that Patrick Pearse would have accepted this treaty. I deny it. As his mother I deny it, and on his account I will not accept it."

And so, she joined Dev. But in the context of the march of a nation, could this bereaved mother (her other son Willie was also executed) claim to know how her elder son would have voted? Six years earlier, when a Republic was a pipe dream, everybody demanded nothing less. Who knows which way he might have jumped had he been allocated a greater span?

Family ties have worked in different ways with the patriot dead. Cathal Brugha was a hero of 1916 but later went on to represent the extreme element in the Civil War. Rather than surrendering to the forces of the Free State when surrounded, he came out with guns blazing and died in a hail of bullets.

His son Ruairí eventually joined Fianna Fáil and was appointed spokesman on Northern Ireland. In 1974, the party supported the Cosgrave government (led by WT's son) over the Sunningdale power sharing-agreement in the North. What would the uncompromising Cathal have made of that?

Family connections also bind Collins to Fine Gael. His grand-nieces Owen and Banotti both served the party with distinction, Owen as minister for justice in the 1990s.

"There was a line from the pro-treaty side down to Fine Gael," says Owen. "When I was a minister going around the country everybody was coming up to me to say they loved Michael Collins."

She has no problem with a Fianna Fáiler taking centre stage at the Mouth of The Flowers today.

"Michael Collins was the minister for finance at a difficult time and now Brian Lenihan is the minister at a time of saving the state. There is a coming together of that and he is not an inappropriate person at all to have there. It's a sign of maturity."

Other figures have also been claimed. Labour has always claimed a lineage from James Connolly. The party isn't the only one that wants a piece of that action.

In one of the more audacious attempts at grave-robbing, Republican Sinn Féin quotes Connolly on its web page. RSF does not accept the Good Friday Agreement.

The party quotes Connolly's words from Easter 1916: "The odds are a thousand to one against us, but in the event of victory, hold onto your rifles, as those with whom we are fighting may stop before our goal is reached."

The site adds: "To those people whom Republican Sinn Féin would consider having 'stopped before the goal is reached', I point out that the fact that James Connolly died on a chair should not be seen to infer [sic] that he wanted that chair placed at a table where a compromise would be the outcome."

Open season on dead patriots

The contention that Connolly would never have compromised on his goals has as much legitimacy as the suggestion that he would have approved of the direction of Labour under Eamon Gilmore. The fact is nobody has a clue.

And so it is open season on the patriot dead. Every party can claim each and every one for their own purposes, and will most likely continue to do so in the coming years.

Claiming others, whose legacies are less romantic and more practical, is unlikely to catch on. Arthur Griffith, for instance, died in bed, a broken man, as he watched the movement he had carefully constructed tear itself asunder. And De Valera and Cosgrave survived the killing and thrust themselves into the messy and often thankless task of building a post-independence state. Neither man features prominently in the current iconography of the two main parties.

By the way, next Sunday is the 35th anniversary of the death of De Valera, a man who ended up living rather than dying for Ireland. The absence of any specific commemoration speaks volumes.