IT IS the day before St Valentine's Day and I am in Berwick-upon-Tweed to learn whether it's true that the town has fallen out of love with England and is considering getting into bed with its next door neighbour Scotland; the gossip is that divorce is on the cards.
The ITV current affairs programme Tonight has conducted a referendum asking residents whether the border should be shifted south so Berwick becomes Scottish. The programme, broadcast on Tuesday, will reveal that more than 60% voted for the chang
e.
Meanwhile, Nationalist MSP Christine Grahame has lodged a motion at Holyrood calling for her party leadership to negotiate with Westminster for Berwick's "restoration" to Scotland. First the Lewis chessmen, now an entire town. At this rate, Alex Salmond will be laying claim to the Bahamas on account of Sean Connery's historic links to the area.
Actually, Scotland could do worse than make an honest town of Berwick and reward its flirtation with a proposal. It is beautiful, with three dramatic bridges spanning the Tweed, and enclosed by ramparts built in the 16th century to keep out marauding Scots. This has long been a disputed territory. Originally a Scottish port, the town was captured by Edward I in 1296, and passed back and forth between English and Scots control 14 times until England finally took over in 1482.
Berwick, then, is English. But that is not how it feels. Shops on the High Street include the Edinburgh Woollen Mill. One cafe is called Thistle Do Nicely, another sells tea towels printed with jokes against the English, and a sweetie shop offers 'Iron-Bru' rock complete with a claymore-wielding warrior on the label. A chippie sells delicacies both traditionally English (spam fritter) and Scottish (smoked sausage). On Church Street, the Sporran gift shop, with a Union Jack outside, stocks souvenirs including English football merchandise and See-You-Jimmy bunnets. According to Stephen Hope, a young Scot serving behind the till, "the Scotland flags sell better than the England ones. It's because tourists visiting from down south will take Scottish stuff home, but the Scots coming here won't touch the English stuff at all".
The most vocal pro-Scotland campaigner in town is Michael Ross, a 57-year-old former police officer and professional photographer. He is English, a Berwick native, but supports Scottish rugby, is no stranger to the kilt and remembers Big Country with great fondness. We drive to a car park overlooking the town; a dirk of mist slices the Cheviot hills in two.
Ross is in favour of Berwick becoming part of an independent Scotland, and believes this will make it more attractive to tourists. "This diamond of a town could be the gateway to Scotland," he says. "This could be the welcome point, as opposed to the current border, a lay-by up the road."
He also believes, and almost everyone I speak to in Berwick backs this point, that the town has been ill-served by its current council and completely forgotten by Westminster, hundreds of miles to the south. "But we'd be like a new baby to Scotland," says Ross. "An addition to the family which would be cuddled and looked after."
Locals envy the benefits they see Scots enjoying, such as free personal care for the elderly and the abolition of tuition fees for students. It's classic Three Billy Goats Gruff stuff, with Gordon Brown cast as the Unionist troll, unwilling to let the Berwickers taste the green grass of devolved Scotland.
Michael Ross's mobile rings. He chats briefly to his eldest son then hangs up with a laugh. "Apparently there's a new Facebook page opened today – Keep Berwick English. They've only got one member."
Ross drops me in town and I walk to the home of Barbara Herdman, a retired teacher who has been leading the pro-England campaign. She lives in a house overlooking the Tweed. If, as some people argue, the river should become the border, Herdman would find herself an Englishwoman living in Scotland and gazing mournfully towards the land of her birth.
She argues that Berwick should remain in England because it has been part of that country for so long and because it would be far too complicated to change. As for the social benefits Scots enjoy, Herdman would like to see increased spending by the UK Government so that England and Scotland are the same.
But putting economics aside, to which country do the locals feel they belong? "A lot of people think of themselves as Berwickers," says Herdman. "They don't consider themselves English or Scottish. I've only lived here 33 years so I'm an interloper. It's got to be three generations before you're a true Berwicker."
It's true that Berwick is an interzone, isolated geographically and out on the edge of things. It is a town of strange conflations and contrasts. Famously, the football and rugby teams play in Scottish leagues, but these are not the only quirks. The local St Andrew Society is chaired by a man from Bolton. There is even a Church of Scotland in town, with a large congregation, but the minister has had to learn, reluctantly, to marry couples according to English law.
One question that hasn't been asked during the recent stooshie is: if Berwick became part of Scotland, what would happen to the villages of Tweedmouth, Ord and Spittal on the south bank of the river? At the moment they are very much connected to the larger town, but if they found themselves in an entirely different country, would the communities shrivel?
I cross the Old Bridge and ask Alison Aislie, manager of the Riverside Cafe, whether she is worried. No, she says. Berwick can do what it wants for all she cares, as long as she remains in England. It's weird, she seems much less passionate than anyone else I've met today.
Then, just as I'm leaving, she calls after me: "King George in my heart till I die!"
The full article contains 1012 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
