A reflection on Brexit written on 24th June

A few days into 2016 I was sat contentedly on a Norwegian train from Oslo to Bergen, pondering my resolutions for the New Year. As anyone who has taken it will know, that particular stretch of railway is a wonder of the world that meanders through snow drenched mountains for six gloriously slow hours. Christy Moore, as the soundtrack to part of my journey, sang in my ear of the sharp cliffs of Dooneen and the west coast of Clare in Ireland, as in real time the whitewashed vistas of epic ski runs and lakes came and went from the window. To Ireland! I resolved. And thence to Scotland! I wished to make acquaintance with the landscapes and people of the two remaining home countries that had somehow eluded me over my 34 years on this earth.

The following month, bleary eyed from the early flight, my companion and I sipped our first Guinesses in a charming Galway pub in the early afternoon. Over the days we were there, we walked and danced and sang in a fuzz of musical merriment. On the Sunday night, at an hour where in London each generation would be tucked up in bed, I found myself stomping my feet to a folk band in a low-ceilinged tavern, surrounded by men and women of all ages. Leaning across the table on which my beer was rested, I shouted a question above the music into an elderly Irishman’s ear “IS IT ALWAYS LIKE THIS IN HERE?” With a wink, he answered warmly that “yes, lad, it’s the best city in Europe”. In Europe.

A few months later, packed into a Ford Fiesta with two good friends, I crossed into Scotland on the M6 as sunshine poured through the windows. It was the start of an eight-day tour of the highlands on the NC500 route; a journey every bit as rewarding as the Norwegian railway on which the idea of it had been born. From the pink shadow sunset across the loch shore of Applecross, to the flings flung with embracing family members in Ullapool, we were met with humour and friendship, as well as many biting midgies. In the city of Inverness, we braved a busy pub to watch the England football team playing Russia in the first game of the European Championships. As might well be expected, mockery came our way thick and fast as the locals rallied around Russia. As the game ended, the perpetrators of the good-natured abuse bought us a round of drinks before taking us around town for a tour of the late night live music venues. “Ye’ve made oor day” was a farewell I recall being made to me by a Trades Union man named Iian, with whom multiple fats had been chewed over the day.

Over those two unforgettable trips I had furthered my resolution to know better the isles of the United Kingdom and the Republic of Ireland. Islands connected by language, music, literature, economics, and by the red shirts of the Lions. Hitherto, I had been brought up in southern England, with holidays each childhood year with the Welsh family in the Gower. I had studied in the South West, and lived and travelled throughout much of the rest of England before settling in London. Returning from Ireland in the cold of February, and from Scotland in the humidity of June, I felt a bond with these islands like never before.

Today is the 24th June 2016. The citizens of the United Kingdom have this morning voted to leave the European Union. Iian from Inverness and his countrymen returned a Remain vote of well over 60% of their population, representing the wish of every single Scottish local authority to stay. His day today, unfortunately, has most definitely not been ‘made’ by my countrymen from England and Wales, who have voted the other way. It is difficult to conjure a credible argument against a further independence referendum for Iian and his fellow Scots, for which the result at this point would appear to be to leave our union and go our separate ways.

I am moved simply to recount my heartbreak at the outcome of today, and at the further outcomes ahead of us as collection of nations. Just one short week ago, I was full of rejoice at the experiences I had in carrying out the resolutions born of my train journey.

I feel today like I have never known these islands less.

In Galway, that magical little Atlantic city on the very western edge of the continent, the old Irish gentleman shared his feelings with me that revealed his sense of a European identity. I do not know that old gentleman’s name, but I do know that following our referendum, and for which he had no vote, his beloved city is now located approximately two hours’ drive away from a land border with a newly non-EU country. Does anyone suppose this to be a harbinger of joy, or prosperity, or positivity? I’m afraid that is entirely lost on me, as is so much about this bedevilled day.