History of England 1-6

It almost collapsed. Deadlines for agreement came and went. Ian Paisley’s Democratic Unionist party wanted nothing to do with the whole affair. It was made acidly clear to the prime minister that his presence was needed if any sort of deal was to be reached. ‘This is not the time for soundbites,’ he declared before setting out. ‘Let’s leave them at home. I feel the hand of history on our shoulders.’ He was much mocked at the time, yet after only three days the warring parties laid down their fears, prejudices and hatreds. The Republic gave up its constitutional claim to the six counties, while England repealed the act of 1920 that had formally divided the island. While both nations therefore retained their interests in the affairs of the Province, they had in a sense withdrawn from it.

Blair was perhaps more fortunate than his predecessors. His allies and delegates were more emollient; he inherited happier conditions; above all, the Province longed for air, as the referenda on the agreement made plain. And Blair was obviously sincere in his desire for a settlement that would benefit all. In the end, only the Democratic Unionist party refused to accept the treaty, and the overmastering pull of peace drew the scattered filings together. The agreement was to undergo many vicissitudes in the new millennium. For much of its first decade it was suspended due to disagreements over policing and decommissioning. There were inevitable casualties. David Trimble, the hard-bitten leader of the Ulster Unionist party, had committed his followers to the agreement on the understanding that the IRA would surrender its weapons, and, when it did not, he and others like him were obliged to cede place and power to more radical elements. In England, the news was received with a blend of hope and weariness – most had grown wary of the ‘new beginnings’ promised in breathless headlines. For those who cared, Northern Ireland had been retained for the Union, but on entirely new grounds. The future of the Province now rested with the people of Northern Ireland rather than with the parliament of the United Kingdom. In constitutional terms nothing of substance had changed, except for the underlying principle.

The land of prophecies and dreams was silent as the new millennium approached. The only prophecy to exercise public concern was dismally prosaic; it was rumoured that a ‘millennium bug’ would cause computer software to collapse unless it could be aligned with the coming date, but the problem was largely resolved in advance. And so England awaited the new age much as it always had. It may be that the quiet revolution of Blairism had assuaged what longing there had been for change. Despite its roaring for flesh, the English lion is often content with a simple bone.

Still, the millennium had to be marked somehow, and its central image was to be the Millennium Dome. Intended to recall a vast and imposing spaceship, it seemed to many a giant, bloated beetle. It had, in fact, been the brainchild of the previous government: Michael Heseltine had seen an opportunity to reclaim toxic land in Greenwich.

British politics seemed to have come to an end. Postwar dogma had been replaced by Thatcherite dogma. This new orthodoxy was massaged under Blair, but any changes were cosmetic. The once mighty Liberal vote had retreated, and the party itself renamed as the Liberal Democrats, though each of its new leaders assured the nation that they were still a force to be reckoned with. By early 2000, polls revealed that Blair’s reputation for trustworthiness stood at 46 per cent, no small achievement for an incumbent prime minister. It might have been higher had his promises not proved difficult to fulfil.

After years of Thatcherism, a more ‘progressive’ mood could be detected. In 1997, the British Social Attitudes study recorded that 75 per cent of the people said they favoured tax rises for public service improvements. Polls revealed a populace far less exercised than it is now by questions of ethnicity. Concern about immigration lay at 3 per cent in 1997, while interest in foreign affairs stood at 2 per cent. Asylum seekers and economic migrants were no longer a bugbear. The wealth divide grew, although all incomes rose. A benignly self-centred nation emerged.