What if it was the English, not the Scots, who called time on the UK?

There is a lot of talk these days about England’s democratic deficit. From Berwick to Penzance and from Shrewsbury to Great Yarmouth, the English, we are told, are crying out for some sort of assembly of their own within which they can ignore the bleatings and insults of the Scots, Welsh and – God help us! – the Northern Irish. 

I can sympathise. The English make up 85 per cent of the population of the United Kingdom but struggle to make themselves heard above the expressions of injured pride emanating from the Celtic fringe – and I don’t just mean when Ian Blackford of the SNP is speaking.  

The Scots have their own parliament at Holyrood, otherwise unknown as the Pàrlamaid na h-Alba, in effect an extension of Bute House. The Welsh have the Senedd Cymru in Cardiff, presided over (I would like to think) by the Archdruid. At Stormont, the Northern Ireland Assembly, Thionól Thuaisceart Éireann or Norlin Airlan Assemblie, perfectly embodies the dysfunctionality that is its birthright 100 years on from Partition. 

But from England, weighed down with the dreary business of being Britain Central, there is only the sound of low grumbling, like a squadron of Lancaster bombers crossing the Channel some miles off on their way to the Ruhr. 

The problem is easy to define but complicated to remedy. The UK is seriously out of kilter. Though made up of four nominally equal parts, it is overwhelmingly English – and there is nothing to be done about that. 

An English assembly, with powers equivalent to those of its Celtic siblings, would, over time, diverge from them to such an extent that the bond between them would snap. The only way to prevent this would be to install an over-arching UK parliament that operated within the restraints of a constitutional strait-jacket. But in that case, why bother? 

Alternatively, a British – or UK – Parliament could be established with responsibility for foreign policy, national security, defence, trade, climate change and all relevant taxation, leaving everything else to the “nations”. But again, what would be the point? Who would gain? And, along the way, what would happen to the annual subventions from the Treasury in London to the exchequers in Edinburgh, Cardiff and Belfast? It’s not as if the Celtic supplicants don’t consider the Barnett formula that props up their economies to be part of the natural order of things. So would there have to be a federal support ministry as well – and what would an English Parliament have to say about that? 

Another solution might be to keep the House of Commons much as it is while extending devolution to England via regional assemblies. The model here might be the London Assembly, with its directly-elected leader, or mayor. But England is mostly the wrong shape for regional government and its local loyalties do not easily conform to geopolitical abstractions. 

I could imagine a Council of the North, with its capital in York. But where would its boundaries be drawn? At what point does the North bleed into the Midlands, and what, in any case, do sheep farmers in Cumbria and Northumberland have in common with carworkers in Liverpool or bankers in Leeds? 

East Anglia looks viable on paper, but what about Lincolnshire? Where would that go? And what about the million or so commuters from Essex who look to London, not Norwich, as their natural focus? Does the West Country include Dorset and Wiltshire, or are they part of the South Country? Is Shropshire a Midlands county or is part of the Heart of England? Should Oxfordshire be joined with Gloucestershire or would it be better placed alongside Berkshire in the South East? And then, of course, there’s Yorkshire, the Big Lebowski of English counties. If the Tykes didn’t get their own self-contained region, they might just opt for secession. There is no end to the problems that could arise. 

Just as important, what authority would the regions have? It stretches logic to accord them the same powers as the Celtic assemblies, which represent clearly-demarcated nations. If England is a nation, like Scotland, Wales and – God help us – Northern Ireland, it would need institutions that reflected a shared identity. Coordination between the regions would be essential if for no other reason than to ensure that roads in Derbyshire met up with roads in Nottinghamshire and that trains didn’t hit the buffers at county lines. But who would sit in the English Parliament? Would there be part-time MEPs, like bigged-up parish councillors, or would the regions send their own delegations to meet twice a month in the chamber of the House of Lords? Who would wield executive authority? 

Tony Blair has a lot to answer for. The trouble is, once Pandora’s Box was opened, it couldn’t be shut again. Devolution is here to stay. The West Lothian Question has become the West Sussex Question. Boris Johnson says he wants to end the convention, introduced as recently as 2015, under which laws that apply exclusively to England are voted on only by MPs for English constituencies. In that event, England could end up as Ian Blackford’s bitch, which is surely not what the Prime Minister intends. What he does intend has yet to be revealed. Does he honestly believe that the Conservative Party will govern England in perpetuity, with him as PM? Possibly. No doubt he has two essays on the subject prepared and ready to go.

I should acknowledge here that there is, in fact, one perfect and obvious solution to the English Question: English independence. If the United Kingdom is on borrowed time, then England needs to get its act together, and soon. Better-together only works if everybody is on the same side. Brexit might have to be followed by Engxit. It would be entertaining, and instructive, if England decided to cut up rough and head out on its own, dumping the Barnet formula in the nearest bin. Ian Blackford might even be lost for words.