On the first day of April 1923 I was placed on the roadside For travellers to see That from this point on, they were about To enter either the North or the South As a simple sign I looked slightly uncool But people soon learned that I was nobody's fool For day or night they could see my high beam Just as they approached the townland of Killeen I assumed that my job was a temporary position But dividing up Ireland was no quick transition Not least due to the ambiguity of the Boundary Commission. In particular were the problems with Article 12 What wording to keep and what to shelve. Northern Unionists were vehemently opposed To changes that Southern Nationalists optimistically proposed The Commission did little to please either side And the fraying of tempers could not be denied The mere words Free State made James Craig frown While De Valera would take no oath to the Crown It was even suggested to differentiate people on how they were taxed But, and perhaps for the better, this was quietly axed! Feetham declared “there will be no plebiscite” The incompetent Mac Neill assumed he was right. So, with little revision of previous decisions Feetham prioritised religious divisions He ignored the will of people, and the importance of trade And, in the final outcome the original cartography stayed. And so my border duty continued with time In the form of a simple red and white sign Portraying just two words Stop and Stad But in either language, those optics looked bad After the partition trauma, it was only to be expected That I was not always going to be respected As customs signs brought a new kind of strife For local communities going about daily life. “Can I buy in the North? “Or sell in the South?” The two words on my sign helped them work it all out And I know for a fact that many a load Decided to take the unapproved road! For seventy years I did my duty And came across a lot of booty But, with the introduction of the European Single Market Cross border goods were no longer a target Then Globalisation all but cancelled restriction And borders were consigned to works of fiction. As people could now travel anywhere to shop Stad and stop signs were facing the chop! To my loyal team mates it came as a shock That into the grinder, I might drop “In an alternative environment, we could still see him” And they lovingly placed me in a museum. So it was not to be a final goodbye As I continued to remain in the public eye And truth be told I thought it ironic That as time passed I became iconic! “Oh look... there’s dear old Stop and Stad” And many a humorous exchange was had Of how a young child’s heart would flutter When told “Quick! sit down in the seatwell But mind the eggs....and the butter!” Then the referendum result of 2016 Brought political turmoil, the likes never seen Because, from the EU the UK would exit Ushering in the birth of Brexit And for me it came as no surprise That the vexed question of Ireland should arise Would the border be soft ? Or would it be hard? For months on end these questions jarred It seem for sure that heads would roll In the skirmishing to resolve Irish border control Might I even be ordered to come out of retirement And go back on the road as an essential requirement? But Modern customs technology left me mesmerised How could I ever adapt to the new computerised! Ultimately, a duplicitous decision, greatly chastised Meant that my fears never materialised. Up in the north, Arelene could not quite garner Much enthusiasm for Michel Barnier And though Boris made her even crosser A more cordial bond she tried to foster “DUP allegiance to Britain continues the same We’ll back Brexit, and in the Union remain” This, sentiment, however, was not a cross party refrain “Our future is in Brussels” countered canny Michelle of Sinn Féin An Taoiseach Leo with her agreed And took to social media with lightning speed “Yeah yeah, we’re proud to be Irish His tweet oozed sincerity and feelin’ Hashtag, ultimately, we’re all European.” Commotions in the Commons was the stuff of cartoon Tory party solutions rivalled Milligan’s Puckoon The details were leaked and before very soon A raucous Labour chorused “It’s the work of a goon!” When bellicose Bercow bellowed “Order Order” A haughty Rees Mogg sniffed “were merely respecting the Irish border” Boris jumped in all bungle and zest “ My Learned opposition, assured you may rest That me and my party are doing our best To get a fair deal For our friends to the west”. But Ireland had the measure of Boris Johnson He cared little for the concessions we lost or won With echoes of Feetham in days now long gone His sole objective was to “get Brexit done” Protocols replaced backstops As the customs row raged And Arelene implored her errant PM to become more engaged But Boris was not a man for perusing in detail the intricacies of Ireland’s cross border retail “Enough is enough” he began to whine “The clock is approaching the given deadline Now, there's nothing left to do but sign” By now Arelene had begun to fret That backing Boris was an unsafe bet And how humiliating it was to have to plea For a little more time so all could agree “Que sera” quipped Boris To a duped DUP And callously concluded “what will be, will be” As the border was placed down the Irish Sea. There's now been a hundred years of resistance Since I first displayed the border’s existence I’ve seen many changes, the good and the bad Through the lens of Stop and Stad But freedom of movement remains somewhat uncharted And efforts to explore this should not be thwarted Dialogue must take precedence over inanimate signs And break down borders in our hearts and our minds.

Mapping Poetry as Commemoration

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