In July 1974 I kissed a girl for the first time. She was called Martine and she lived next door to my French exchange partner, Pascal, in the half-timbered town of Chalon-sur-Saône in southern Burgundy.

I was as in love as a teenager can be, albeit less (I later realised) with Martine than with being 14, English, and in France for the first time, doing things I’d never done before: staying up past 9pm; smoking Gitanes sans filtre; listening to Françoise Hardy.

And it pretty much determined the course of my life. I shot to top of the class in French and studied languages at university. I flirted with a few other European countries first, but eventually – inevitably – came home to France.

At the Vaudeville brasserie in Paris, now closer to 40 than 14, I met a funny, fearless and (fair’s fair) frequently infuriating French woman and fell in love, this time properly. We’ve been together for 22 years, in Paris, London and now Paris again, and have produced two fine (and also quite funny) children.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Janice Hood and Dario. Photograph: Provided by Janice Hood

Moving for love can take different forms. Sometimes it’s to get it together. Sometimes, as with us, it’s to stay together. But whatever the reason, it happens a lot: for this week of coverage underlining the Guardian’s commitment to Europe, we asked you for stories of pan-European passion and got more than 300 replies.

Love, famously, knows no boundaries. But we Brits, and our European partners, should admit it: we’ve been lucky. For nearly 50 years we have been able freely to work, live and love across a continent. For those coming after, things may not be so smooth. Love will find a way, of course; it always has. But the path is already starting to become overgrown.

Even for those of us already settled, residence permits must now be applied for and second passports acquired. Some people’s jobs are threatened. And if nobody yet knows what rules will apply to those moving for love after this year, the end of free movement means it’s most unlikely to be any easier.

Some, thankfully, got it all over with a long time ago. Janice Hood, 65, a Scottish-born teacher and translator, moved to Bari in southern Italy in 1976 after meeting – and, a few months later, marrying – Dario in London, where he was studying English and working for the summer. Both were 21.

“For five years, we lived with his parents,” she says. “I worked for his uncle’s shipping agency. When our daughter was two we bought our own place, and 24 years ago we moved to Rome. I’ve now happily spent two-thirds of my life in Italy. Dario and I are still together, still in love. In April we celebrate our 44th wedding anniversary.”

There will be no more moving for Janice. “I could never go back to the UK,” she says. “I can barely recognise the country I left more than 40 years ago. I’ll always be Scottish, but now I’m Italian and European too.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Emmy Chater and her husband Les. Photograph: Provided by Emmy Chater

Others fell for a country before they fell in love with a person. Thomas Lacroix, 46, hiked round Scotland for a year after finishing university in France, “captivated by the beauty of the landscape, the mentality of the people, the openness of their hearts … Then I met my true love, in a youth hostel in the Western Isles.”

The couple have been married for over 20 years, and have two children. Thomas says his personality “suits British culture”, but fears that as Brexit advances, the UK will “wake up slowly to the reality of what’s happened”. And he’s fairly sure there might be difficulties travelling and visiting relatives.

Some, sadly, are now coping without the love they moved for. Emmy Chater, 62, left the Netherlands for Wales in 1999, after meeting her husband Les, more than 30 years her senior, on holiday in France. She was, she says, somewhat “surprised by the social, cultural, governmental and economic differences – not to mention the Welsh valleys dialect, and the food … But I felt invincible and optimistic because I was in love.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Rosie Andersen and her husband Jeppe. Photograph: Provided by Rosie McDonald

It was not all plain sailing – Emmy’s Dutch qualifications were not recognised, and she had to retrain – but she says she feels “very fortunate to have been able to spend 17 wonderful years with my soulmate, lover and best friend. Sadly, he died in 2016 after a short illness, and I have gradually learned to live without him.”

Now, Emmy feels as much Welsh as Dutch. “But I feel very ambivalent about Britain. I am saddened and concerned by the divisions, the racist and hateful language and actions … It makes me feel uncomfortable and unwelcome. I sometimes wish I could move to a country that respects and welcomes migrants and treats all people with equality and respect.”

Others moved very recently. After living for seven years in the UK with her Danish husband, Jeppe, Rosie Andersen, 32, currently on maternity leave with her eight-month-old son, left for Denmark at the end of January. She says she is already “feeling the pressure to apply for residency before the transition period ends”. The couple met while travelling in New Zealand, and eventually Jeppe moved to the UK, applying for – and getting – British citizenship after the Brexit vote.

In Denmark, people “work to live, and it’s never a competition to show off what you have”, Rosie says. “It will be a great place to bring up our son.” But she was slightly shocked to be told, on her first encounter with a local government office: “‘Brexit day tomorrow; better hurry up and apply to stay’”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Katrice Horsley and Anders Holmgren. Photograph: Provided by Katrice Horsley

Katrice Horsley, 55, met her Swedish husband, Anders Holmgren, in a check-in queue at Heathrow airport. She has struggled a bit with “the reserved nature” of the Swedes, but adores “the nature, the outdoors, the celebrations to mark the changing seasons”. And she and Anders are still “very much in love”.

But Brexit means she now has to apply for a residence permit, and get “a special stamp to show I was living here beforehand”. As a freelance performer and consultant working across Europe, she knows, too, that she will need to apply for an Irish or Swedish passport to continue providing cross-border services.

Some have moved more than once. Patrick Dubeau Brown, 29, is training to be an English teacher in Nantes, France. As a teenager he spent five years in France with his parents, before financial setbacks forced them back to the UK. Patrick stayed to finish his exams, then followed them across the Channel.

“I was in a new relationship at the time and I managed to stay with them for about six months, but the long-distance thing was getting complicated,” he says. “My parents really wanted me to stay, but I booked a plane to be with my girlfriend in Nantes … I love it. We’re now married, and looking to start a family.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Patrick Brown on his wedding day. Photograph: Provided by Patrick Brown

Patrick, who has acquired French citizenship, says it feels “strange for me to go back to England and see the family. The UK is a foreign country for me now. Getting married was also the opportunity to really put down roots, and adopt a double barrelled name with my wife.”

Some had to move – and events have since conspired, tragically, against them. Katharina Schramm, 44, a German gynaecologist, moved not particularly willingly to London 16 years ago with her Indian husband, so he could complete his studies at the LSE and London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine on an EU spouse visa.

He has now been diagnosed with leukaemia. “I’m stuck in the UK with three children, in the aftermath of Brexit and the same German passport we needed in 2004 – except England has now voted for me to leave,” she says. “People don’t want to hear I had to move here. If it wasn’t for the leukaemia, I would be back in Germany.”

And some moved and have no worries about it at all. Jeff Davy, 46, has taught English in Warsaw since he abandoned a civil service job in Kilkenny to join his girlfriend, Ania, whom he met on a plane while going to a stag do in Poland in May 2007.

“I had an aisle seat,” he recalls. “One of my friends was a row behind me on the other side of the aisle. We’re drinking, chatting and having the craic. My friend starts talking to the passenger sitting directly behind me. A Polish girl. I loved her accent from the off. I turned around and was immediately taken.”

The couple exchanged numbers at the airport, and met again when Ania returned to Dublin for work a month later. Jeff moved to Warsaw the following year. “It might resemble a Hollywood film or what have you, but we’ll have been married 11 years this May,” he says. “Two beautiful children. We’re all well and very, very happy together.”

Life, Jeff says, “is just great”. He is grateful, though, for his Irish passport. “Brexit hasn’t affected me. But a few of my friends here are British … It’s not the same for them.”