A bomb, road blocks, forensic teams … in the village of Newtownbutler, people fear an escalation of violence as a no-deal Brexit looms

This article is more than 1 year old

This article is more than 1 year old

This article is more than 1 year old

Boris Johnson vowed to preserve peace in Northern Ireland during diplomatic forays to Germany and France last week, saying “under no circumstances” would the UK put checks and controls on the border.

The prime minister’s reassurance did not reach the narrow lanes and hedgerows of County Fermanagh. Here it felt like the bad old days had already returned.

A helicopter and surveillance aircraft criss-crossed grey skies over the village of Newtownbutler, while in the fields below police and soldiers fanned out in the grim, familiar choreography of securing a bomb scene.

A telephone warning to a newspaper about a bomb had brought them to this corner of Fermanagh, which borders the Republic of Ireland. The device turned out to be a hoax. But hidden nearby was a second device, a real bomb that exploded without warning on Monday.

It caused no casualties. But for security forces the shockwave was a stark reminder that they are engaged in a game of homicidal cat-and-mouse with an unseen foe – a game supposedly consigned to history.

“This was a deliberate attempt by the Continuity IRA to murder police officers and army personnel,” said detective superintendent Sean Wright, head of the Police Service of Northern Ireland’s (PSNI) terrorism investigation unit.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest An Irish flag and sign promoting Irish unity at the entrance to Newtownbutler, Co Fermanagh. Photograph: Rory Carroll/The Observer

Officers sealing off the area, forensic teams combing for evidence, media clustering at the end of a road – it had the air of deja vu, a tableau from the Troubles. The only thing missing was blood. The next attack – few doubt there will be another, and another – may deliver that.

Dissident republicans are escalating their campaign. The bomb was the fifth attack on security forces this year.

Simon Byrne, the chief constable of the PSNI, expressed concern at the “tempo and pace” of attacks and warned that a hard border imposed by a no-deal Brexit could “trigger” other people to join dissident ranks. “If we get this wrong we could drift back to almost a paramilitary style of policing,” he said.

The gloomy assessment contrasted with the prime minister’s upbeat tone in Berlin and Paris, where he assured his hosts the UK would not impose border checks in the event of a no-deal Brexit on 31 October. There were options, solutions, technologies, he said. Johnson appeared jaunty while resting his foot on a table in the Élysée Palace.

Sceptics called it a glossy sham intended to deflect blame if the UK leaves the European Union without a deal, inexorably leading to checks and controls on Northern Ireland’s 300-mile border with the Republic of Ireland.

That prospect inspires dread, anger and confusion in Newtownbutler. At the entrance to the village there is an Irish tricolour and a sign showing a map of Ireland with barbed wire separating north and south. “Hard border? Soft border? No border! Irish unity now.”

The partition of Ireland in 1921 left many in the predominantly nationalist village feeling trapped in an alien state. That sentiment ebbed thanks to the 1998 Good Friday agreement and the European single market. Irish identity was recognised and the border blurred.

But the Good Friday agreement is hollowing. Power sharing at Stormont between Sinn Féin and the Democratic Unionist party (DUP) collapsed in 2017. Northern Ireland has been adrift with no government for almost 1,000 days.

Instead of reconciliation, there is rancour and polarisation: mobs clash with police over parades and bonfires, while politicians wrangle over paramilitary displays and Troubles-era killings.

Now Brexit – which most Northern Ireland voters rejected in the 2016 referendum – risks reviving the border.

“The first customs man who puts his head up, he’s gone. Won’t last the night,” predicted one elderly republican in Newtownbutler, who withheld his name. He had crossed the invisible frontier from his home in County Monaghan, a few miles down the road, for a haircut.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Army disposal experts scour the area around the scene of the bomb. Photograph: Alan Lewis/Photopress Belfast

Terry Greene, 66, warming a bar stool in Mulligan’s, was emphatic about the impact of a hard border. “I know for a fact the violence will come back,” he said. The prospect so riled him he endorsed the bomb. “It was a great job. But I’m glad nobody was killed.” Other residents condemned the attack. “A bomb like that, you could be taking someone’s life, which is wrong,” said Martin Taggart, 65. “They’ll face their maker in heaven if He’s up there.”

Emma Gillan, 62, shook her head. A return to violence and a physical, manifest border made no sense, she said. “I’m scared. It’s scary.”

Dissident republicans who reject the peace process mounted attacks before Brexit and Stormont’s collapse, killing several members of the security forces. A backstop and restored devolution will not satisfy them. But they see Brexit as a historic opportunity to gain traction.

After previous attacks, Sinn Féin and the DUP set aside their differences to show solidarity – to show that politics can bridge differences.

Not this time.

DUP leader Arlene Foster and Sinn Féin MP Michelle Gildernew, who both represent Fermanagh and South Tyrone, appeared in a joint BBC interview near the bomb scene. The broadcast unravelled when they started arguing over the Troubles-era border. Foster rolled her eyes. Gildernew fumed.

“If senior politicians from the two parties can’t get along together for a few minutes during a live broadcast in the wake of an attack which could have claimed lives, how on earth are they going to govern Northern Ireland?” asked the Belfast Telegraph.