We Remainers aren’t going away

My voice is often recognised by people who don’t know me. My face, which is unmemorable, less so. But once I open my mouth it’s not uncommon at railway stations, on buses or at the supermarket till for someone to approach and ask me to confirm I’m Mr Parish, or Malcolm Parris, or whatever. I make no boast: anyone who appears from time to time on radio and television gets recognised a bit, and over many years this has been my experience too.

But something has changed in recent months, something I can’t ignore. In the past, the enquiry ‘Are you Matthew Parris?’ was made mostly out of curiosity. Occasionally (when I’ve confirmed it’s me) this might be followed up with ‘I often read you in the Times or Spectator/like your BBC Great Lives programme/agree with what you said on Newsnight’ etc., but kind remarks like these have been ventured in the spirit of needing to say something to fill an awkward pause. I’ve shaken hands, said thank you, and that has been that.

It’s different now. Those who come up to me are doing it as a kind of affirmation for both of us. One feels like an Early Christian in pagan Rome, being recognised by another in the Believers’ flock; or a member of the French Resistance spotted by a comrade-in-arms. Sometimes it’s almost confiding, conspiratorial. ‘Oh please keep it up!’ a stranger will implore. ‘Don’t give in!’, ‘we’re with you’, ‘we need voices like yours’, ‘stick to your guns’, ‘you’re not alone’, ‘there are lots of us’. I find it tremendously morale-boosting.

Why? Because between myself and the stranger there arises an immediate understanding of what it is that he or she wants me to keep up, what guns they want me to stick to, and which battle they don’t want us to concede.