During half-term, I returned to Ireland – not as a tourist, but as a son and grandson, tracing the lives and legacies of those buried in Bray, Greystones, and Deans Grange. These places hold memories not just of people I loved, but of an Ireland that too often gets lost in the headlines.

When people in Britain think of Ireland politically, they tend to reach for clichés—Troubles-era conflict, Brexit border rows, or romantic tales of rural life. But the truth of Ireland is more nuanced, more textured.

My father’s homeland is a place where the sacred and the secular jostle for space. Where churches are emptying, but faith still lingers. Where economic growth sits awkwardly alongside historical wounds. And where, beneath the surface, old tensions remain—sometimes spoken, more often not.

Walking among the headstones, I thought not just of family history but of national memory. The Irish story is a complex one—colonial legacy, emigration, sacrifice, revival. It is, in many ways, the story of how a small nation wrestles with its place in the world while refusing to let go of its soul.

For those of us with Anglo-Irish roots, there is a responsibility—to honour both traditions, to bridge divides, and to hold space for reconciliation, not erasure.

As Britain looks increasingly inward, and Ireland increasingly outward, perhaps we need to find fresh ways of understanding each other again. Not through politics alone—but through remembrance, through story, and through shared humanity.