The Irish border question has grabbed political headlines this year, but spare a thought for those who live near it. The border takes a haphazard route along river banks, and even through farms. I recall visiting a farm in Fermanagh: I drove into the farm from Northern Ireland but the farmer showed me an exit which led straight into the Republic. For a number of years the Methodist Church in Pettigo (NI) had a minister whose house was on the other side of the border.
This porousness is remarkable considering the historical conflict between our two countries. To this day, many Irish call Northern Ireland ‘the North’, as if to deny the border exists. One feels sympathy for those seeking to trade across the border who are desperate for some clarity from the Brexit negotiations. Switching from pounds to euros every time I cross is a tangible reminder of its presence. If the UK leaves the customs union and triggers a hard border after Brexit, it could throw the union into political crisis. But one wonders whether the locals will do what they have always done through periods of political tumult — adapt their lives around the border, acknowledging its presence but carrying on with their business all the same.
This letter appeared in The Spectator Christmas issue
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