Vanished Kingdoms

by Norman Davies

  III

  That the United Kingdom will collapse is a foregone conclusion. Sooner or later, all states do collapse, and ramshackle, asymmetric dynastic amalgamations are more vulnerable than cohesive nation-states. Only the ‘how’ and the ‘when’ are mysteries of the future.

  An exhaustive study of the many pillars on which British power and prestige were built – ranging from the monarchy, the Royal Navy and the Empire to the Protestant Ascendancy, the Industrial Revolution, Parliament and Sterling – indicated that all without exception were in decline; some were already defunct, others seriously diminished or debilitated; it suggests that the last act may come sooner rather than later.110 Nothing implies that the end will necessarily be violent; some political organisms dissolve quietly. All it means is that present structures will one day disappear, and be replaced by something else.

  The contending forces of centralization and decentralization have ebbed and flowed in modern British history like the tides of the sea. The Home Rule Bill for Ireland (1912) was matched by a Scottish Home Rule Bill (1914); both suffered the same fate, because the Great War demanded the tightening of ties to the imperial government in London. Lloyd George, one of Britain’s wartime prime ministers, had started his career calling for Welsh Home Rule and working for an organization, Cymru Fydd or ‘Young Wales’, that also faded. But the Armistice was followed in the inter-war period by the opposite tendency. Ireland’s secession from the United Kingdom was accompanied by the founding in 1920 of the Scottish National League, the forerunner of the Scottish National Party (SNP), and in 1925 of Plaid Cymru in Wales; as we have seen, Home Rule for Northern Ireland began to operate in 1921.

  The Second World War reinvigorated the centre, only to be followed once again by a centrifugal surge. Ireland’s exit from the Commonwealth in 1949 formed part of the general retreat from Empire; the outbreak of the Troubles in Northern Ireland in 1969 coincided with a phase when the SNP and Plaid Cymru had been winning their first seats in Westminster, where they joined the Ulster Unionists in a spectrum of regional parties. As half a century earlier, when Constance Markiewicz had been elected the first British woman MP, Sinn Féin refused to take the oath to the Crown or to occupy the seats it had won. Yet the tide was already on the turn when the British government ceded referendums on devolution in Scotland and Wales in 1979, and defeat of the devolutionists preceded twenty years of respite.111

  The demands from the ‘UK’s regions’ inexorably built up again in the 1990s, and immediately after their general election victory in 1997 the ‘Scotto-Brits’ of New Labour introduced a devolved parliament and government in Edinburgh for Scotland, a devolved Assembly and Executive in Cardiff for Wales, and proposals for similar devolved arrangements in Northern Ireland.112 They had come together under the late John Smith, MP for North Lanarkshire and leader of the Labour Party 1992–4, in circumstances making them acutely conscious of the electoral threat to the Scottish Labour Party from the SNP; they understood far better that any English politicians that the interplay of Westminster politics with that of the new ‘regional centres’ was becoming a key feature of the overall system. Under Tony Blair in 1997–2007 and Gordon Brown in 2007–10, they stayed loyal to their devolutionary principles, but took no steps either to apply them to the regions within England or to create a devolved English legislature. Their hesitations have left the political architecture of the United Kingdom in the early twenty-first century inherently unbalanced. Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland cannot develop any sense of equality with their over-mighty English partner; and the English have little incentive to address the inbuilt instability. The kingdom is not well prepared for the next turn of the tide; resentments grow, and solidarity is sapped.

  The introduction of self-government undoubtedly deflates centrifugal pressures, and wins time for re-consolidation. But the history of other empires that decided to decentralize – like Austria-Hungary after 1867 – proves equally that life in autonomous provinces provides a school for separatists, who see their autonomy as a step towards national independence. (Before 1916, as we saw, Arthur Griffith had been pressing for an Austro-Hungarian solution in Ireland.) The British case is interesting because the united state has always contained within itself three consciously non-English nations, whose tectonic plates have long been drifting away from London’s central control. There may be a devolutionary lull, but it will not last for ever. The events of 1998 are still too close to see if devolution – which has a secondary meaning of ‘degeneration’113 – is going to hold up for another generation or not. Time is always the hardest dimension to judge.

  Ireland played the key role in the first stage of the United Kingdom’s disintegration in 1919–22, and it will no doubt play its part in the stages still to come. It split off in less than ideal circumstances when British imperial confidence was still strong; it took dominion status within the Commonwealth as a stepping stone towards the final shore; and it weathered many adverse forecasts. Yet it held its own, and in due course reached its intended destination. The little boy from the Little Lodge lived to see it pass most of the stops on the way: from Republic to Free State, from Free State back to Republic, and from Commonwealth member to aspirant candidate of the European Economic Community. ‘We have always found the Irish a bit odd,’ Churchill once remarked, no doubt with a grin. ‘They refuse to be English.’ Ireland’s present financial plight is bad – worse, it is said, than the United Kingdom’s – but is unlikely to be terminal given the prop supplied by the Eurozone. Assuming that it recovers, the Republic will again be minded to assist any who contemplate following its lead. For the time being, a significant new factor lies in the rise of the Nationalists in the North and their growing impact on the Republic. In the British general election of 2010, the combined vote of the Unionist parties (DUP plus UUP) fell below that of the combined anti-Unionists (Sinn Féin plus SDLP). Gerry Adams was preparing to present himself not only as the democratic majority leader in the North but also as the only true champion of republicanism in the island as a whole.

  However, just as the construction of the British state and nation took place by stages over many years, its deconstruction can only be expected to proceed in like manner – in an extended process involving successive lurches, lulls and landslips. It will also depend on the continued health and strength of the European Union. Would-be separatists in Britain are encouraged by the existence of a European home, where they can take refuge. Yet in the wake of the Lisbon Treaty, the Community is less open to newcomers than previously, and it is far from certain that the EU can continue to drift in its present unwieldy and ineffectual form.114 The immediate future may be determined by a race between the United Kingdom and the EU over which beats the other to a major crisis.

  The fate of the monarchy will inevitably form another element in the drama. The United Kingdom has been a monarchical state from the start, and the weakening or termination of the monarchy must necessarily have far-reaching consequences. Most analysts, however, do not look beyond the hoary arguments between constitutional monarchy and republicanism. More recently, the monarchists appeared to have the upper hand, maintaining that the modern monarchy, far from being democracy’s enemy, adds stability and legitimacy to the democratic institutions, with which it co-operates.115 One prominent pundit wrote a book On Royalty only to find that he was losing faith in his initial republican sympathies.116 Criticism is widespread about individual royals, as it is about primogeniture and the exclusion of Catholics, but not about the basic issue of the monarchy’s existence. British republicanism remains weak. A campaign group called ‘Republic’ was founded in 1983, and is frequently asked politely for comments.117 Its activities have been facilitated by a ruling of the law lords which determined in 2003 that the moribund Treason (Felony) Act could not be invoked against peaceful advocacy of a republic. The realms of possibility do not exclude the chance that the heirs and successors of Elizabeth II might just fall by the wayside without warning; no one who remem
bers the abdication crisis of 1936 would bet on the monarchy failing to serve up a surprise. But the joyous wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton in April 2011 seemed to be pointing in the opposite direction, as were the opinion polls.118 All indications suggested that nothing radical would happen during Elizabeth II’s lifetime, and her longevity looked assured.

  Yet polls are poor long-term predictors, and in any case the future of the monarchy and the potential break-up of the British state are two very different things. If by some stroke of fortune, the republicans were to prevail, they would rebuild the machinery of government and change the sates’s name, perhaps to the ‘United British Republic’; but the elementary facts of the state’s territory, population and make-up would remain intact. Not so if the United Kingdom were to disintegrate, and spawn a series of new sovereign entities from its constituent parts. In the latter case, the monarch of the day would pushed into a choice between retiring gracefully or soldiering on in reduced circumstances. It is perfectly possible to imagine a small group of stoical, diehard royals clinging to the throne, stiffening their upper lips, and watching with noble resignation as their kingdom crumbled around them. That the captain goes down with his ship is an honourable British tradition.

  Nonetheless, the monarchy’s fate is of secondary significance, if not largely irrelevant to the more profound issue of the state’s survival; the United Kingdom will still be facing dissolution whether a king or queen continues to reign or not. Permutations in the most likely sequence of future political landslips are numerous, offering a variety of alternative scenarios. Scotland, almost certainly, will make the first move, although it is not yet ready to do so. The SNP has held the reins of government in Edinburgh from 2009 and openly favours separation; its electoral triumph in May 2011 increased its standing but its further success is dependent on numerous unknowns.119 Even if it manages to organize a referendum on Scottish independence, it is very unlikely to succeed at the first attempt. It was given a huge boost by the hostile stance of Mrs Thatcher’s right-wing regime in the 1980s, and a similar effect could be forecast if Westminster were to revert to a Thatcherite position. As matters stand, they were complicated in 2010 by the formation of a British coalition government of Conservatives and Liberal Democrats, who were less abrasive than a straight Tory administration might have been. The Liberal Democrats, in particular, had still to prove whether they could salvage a support-base in Scotland.120 If they fail, the British government will be dependent for the first time ever on almost exclusively English representation.

  Even so, the long-term trends are clear enough. English resentment against the ‘peripheries’ is sure to balloon in times of austerity, boosting support for specifically English-orientated organizations like the Campaign for an English Parliament121 or, on the right-wing fringe, the English Defence League;122 this resentment as much as Scottish nationalism will be decisive in driving the Scots from the Union. What exactly will trigger the breach can only be imagined, but the ongoing problems of the euro conjure up some menacing perspectives. If the bail-out of Ireland in 2010, which cost 85 billion euros, were to be followed by a more costly emergency in a much larger country like Spain or Italy, one can well postulate that the British government would refuse to contribute; and in the ensuing fracas, it would reasonable to expect that a body of English Eurosceptics would seize the opportunity to demand Britain’s withdrawal from the EU. Such a demand could be the match that fires the keg. The Europhile Scots, the Europhile Welsh and the Europhile Irish would be enraged. If the SNP were to stage its referendum at a juncture when voting for Scottish independence was posed in terms of leaving the United Kingdom but staying in the EU, the SNP’s chances of winning would be greatly enhanced. If they won, the Act of Union would be revoked; Scotland would take its place alongside Ireland as a sovereign member of the EU, and the United Kingdom as we know it would disappear. Other Scottish escape routes can be plotted.

  When Scotland departs, a crestfallen England – frustrated, diminished and shorn of its great-power pretensions – will be left in the company of two far smaller dependencies. Resultant discomforts will grow sharply. Autonomous Wales will compete with autonomous Northern Ireland to make the next move. Timescales are hard to estimate, but in ten or twenty years’ time, political evolution may have progressed further in Ulster than is Wales. Throughout the twentieth century Ulster Unionists could afford to be intransigent, because they possessed a local, democratic majority; in the twenty-first century they will be squeezed by the growing demographic advantage of the Catholic and nationalist community. How will they react? The Protestant heirs of Edward Carson and Ian Paisley are never going to be dragged willingly into the bosom of the Irish Republic, but they will have to compromise; and since they have long viewed Scotland as their ancestral home, they may well seek a rescue through some form of partnership ‘across the water’, jumping before they are pushed. Difficult adjustments would be necessary on all sides; the Irish counties may have to be repartitioned, and sectarian sensitivities calmed. European mediators may play a part. But a generation that has grown up in peace will strain every sinew to avoid a return to the Troubles. And once the Anglo-Scottish union has been broken, the environment for Belfast, Dublin and Edinburgh to seek a common destiny will be much improved.

  That would leave Wales standing alone with England. Nothing could be more conducive to a sharpening of Welsh political instincts, to demands in Cardiff for further devolution and to a comprehensive rapprochement between ‘Welsh Wales’ and South Wales. The English would be losing heart; the Red Dragon’s departure would only be a matter of time. The Welsh, who once were the original Britons, would end up being the last of the Britons.

  If by any chance the monarchy were to keep functioning, it would be obliged to readapt its titles to each successive shift. When Scotland leaves the United Kingdom, ‘Great Britain’ will be dropped from the royal title, which will change perhaps to the neologism of ‘kings (or queens) of England, Wales and Northern Ireland’. When Northern Ireland leaves, the title could revert to that of ‘kings (or queens) of England and Wales’, as under Henry VIII in 1536. If a monarch were still in post when Wales leaves, he or she will be back to being ‘king (or queen) of England’. This is a title which many misguided English subjects believe to have been current all along. It would not apply, of course, if an English Republic had been declared in the meantime, or if at some point the House of Windsor had morphed into the House of Balmoral and had mounted the Scottish throne.

  As ever, when a political community dissolves, the residue will include a collection of songs, and of emotions which the songs embody. The key emotion will be nostalgia, that is, a wistful sentiment inspired by loss, the pain of being separated from one’s home. Nothing is more powerfully nostalgic than the words and haunting melody of Ireland’s most deservedly famous song:

  Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

  From glen to glen, and down the mountain side.

  The summer’s gone, and all the roses falling.

  ‘Tis you, ‘tis you must go, and I must bide.

  But come ye back, when summer’s in the meadow,

  Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow.

  ‘Tis I’ll be there, in sunshine or in shadow.

  Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so!123

  Saturated with ‘Celtic melancholy’, these words were written, surprisingly and appropriately, by an Englishman.124 The melody, the incomparable ‘Londonderry Air’, is classed as Irish Traditional.

  15

  CCCP

  The Ultimate Vanishing Act

  (1924–1991)

  I

  Estonia reaches the world headlines only sporadically. It did so in 1994, when a sea-going ferry sank in the night in the Gulf of Finland with the loss of nearly a thousand lives, and it did so again in April 2007. On the latter occasion, the Estonian government had ordered the removal of a war memorial from the centre of the capital to a suburba
n cemetery. The result was violent rioting, followed by a strange episode that some commentators called ‘the world’s third cyber war’, organized, or so it appeared, by or from the country’s largest neighbour.* A very tiny flea had somehow enraged a very big bear.

  Estonia joined the European Union in 2004. One of ten new member states, it was one of three entrants which, until recently, had formed part of the Soviet Union. Its accession substantially extended the EU’s frontier with Russia that had first come into being to the north of St Petersburg, Russia’s second city, as a result of Finland’s accession in 1995.

  Estonia, 17,370 square miles in area, is twentieth in size of the EU’s present member states, larger than Denmark but smaller than Slovakia. In terms of population, with 1.3 million inhabitants, it ranks twenty-fourth, between Cyprus and Slovenia.1 Its culture and history are nearest to those of its northern neighbour, Finland, from which it is separated by an arm of the Baltic Sea. Its name for itself, as seen on its postage stamps, is Eesti, which derives from a Scandinavian label given to the peoples of the eastern Baltic, and which even appears in Tacitus.

  The Estonian language belongs to the Finno-Ugrian group; apart from Finnish, it has no close linguistic relatives in Europe (its other geographical neighbours – Swedish, Latvian and Russian – are Indo-European). It owes its origin to a prehistoric migration from western Siberia, where other Ugric peoples still survive. Its sound system is characterized by an unusual triple gradation of phoneme length – short, long and overlong. Its morphology, like that of Turkish or Hungarian, is ‘agglutinative’, meaning that simple verbal units are often ‘glued together’ to form lengthy compounds; its orthography has been adapted since the seventeenth century to the Latin alphabet. It has three main dialects – one connected with Tallinn; another with Tartu; and a third called Kirderraniku based on the north-east coastland. The final amalgam is almost totally incomprehensible to the outside world. The opening sentence of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in Estonian reads ‘Kõik inimesed sünnivad vabadena ja võrdsetena oma väärikuselt ja õigustelt’ (‘All people are born free and equal in their dignity and rights’).2