Frank McNally's recent Diary on the shiring of Ireland set me thinking about the potential for conflict which lies latent in our county system. For the Elizabethan county carve-up of Ireland resembles Stalin's fiendishly cunning drawing of the interlocking boundaries of Uzbekistan, Tadjikstan and Kyrgyzstan, where a finger of the territory of each country projects into what seems to be the "natural" territory of the others.
Just as the dictator ensured that territorial animosities between the three states would always take precedence over any attempts to break away from the Soviet empire, Elizabeth's bureaucrats were doubtless thinking of the future when they drew the borders of Ireland's counties. In fact, they left large parts of the island a tinder-box waiting to be ignited by a single spark.
Such a spark might have been the recent attempt by Waterford to expand across the Suir and take the Mooncoin area from Kilkenny. Thankfully, this scheme was aborted by the firm Kilkenny response. Would that all entities under similar threat had learned the lessons of history as well. If the Chamberlainite path of appeasement had been followed, the consequences would have made the break-up of Yugoslavia look like the Kilternan Church of Ireland Home Bakery Fair.
If the Waterford move to augment its hurling resources had succeeded, a compensatory response on the part of Tipperary, and aimed at Offaly, would have been inevitable. Moving out from Roscrea and Borrisokane, a Tipperary pincer movement would have taken the Birr salient, with its strategic asset of Mount St Joseph's, in a day, putting an end forever to Offaly as a hurling county. The rest of Ireland would have woken up to a fait accompli.
Perhaps only a mutual defence pact between Offaly and Laois could avert such a development, but how likely is that, considering the two counties' own ancient hurling rivalries? But GAA resources are not the only raw material for conflict. Throughout history, access to the sea has been a motive for landlocked countries to expand their territories. Consider Leitrim. With a population expanding for the first time since the Famine, how much longer will it content itself with its pathetic Atlantic corridor at Tullaghan? The first move would be annexation of the panhandle of Cavan, something it would probably get away with - who is going to die for Swanlinbar? It might even be tempted to seize the protruding piece of Roscommon north of Boyle. With Ireland looking the other way, it would not be long before an emboldened and resurgent Leitrim took Bundoran. Donegal would, no doubt, appeal to the rest of Ireland for help. But given its history of isolation, not to say isolationism, what is the likelihood of a sympathetic response? As with Offaly, no decisive action to reverse the takeover would be on the cards; instead, we would face a local war of attrition lasting many years.
Another potential trouble spot lies on the Carlow-Wicklow frontier. Although the area is quiet at present, it needs no stretch of the imagination to see population pressures impelling Carlow to make a land-grab for the exposed Shillelagh protuberance. With Wicklow paralysed by traditional east-west factionism - think of football matches between Rathnew and Baltinglass - Carlow might just pull this off. The outcome would give the little county what it has always lacked: altitude. With shrinking possibilities for ribbon development, it could then accommodate its new arrivals by building upwards on the conquered territory's many hills.
On the other hand, an alert and forewarned Wicklow might pre-empt the entire move by itself marching in to seize the Hacketstown-Rathvilly outcrop from Carlow.
One does not want to overstate these dangers. Many parts of the island are likely to remain stable, and there is no correlation between a county's size and its potential for aggression. The biggest of all, Cork, seems at ease with itself inside its long boundaries and, as far as is known, harbours no territorial designs on its neighbours. This probably owes much to the long-standing success of its alternative strategy of infiltration, which has enabled it to rule the other counties by sending out its sons and daughters to take large sections of the island's permanent government into their hands.
One more time-bomb - possibly the most lethal of all - must, however, be mentioned. It is well known that certain elements in Meath have never reconciled themselves to the hiving off of Westmeath from ancient Gaelic Royal Meath. If instability reigned in other areas, it is likely that Meathian irredentist forces would see an opportunity to realise their dream of a Greater Meath.
Many in the present Westmeath, tempted by the prospect of a simultaneous break-out from landlocked status and second-class footballing rank, and attracted by the glamour of superior power, would be eager for an anschluss. The ethnic Dubliner population in Mullingar, large as it is, would not be able to resist. And does anyone seriously think that the Greater Meath thus created would be satisfied with a couple of beaches at Bettystown and Laytown? No, the next demand would be for the deep-sea port of Drogheda. In fact, why stop there? With Dundalk an obvious target, little Lebanese Louth would not stand a chance.
Frank McNally's article did good work in drawing attention to what could lie ahead if we are not vigilant. It is no exaggeration to say that one small incident, badly handled, could be the first domino to trigger a snowball effect and spark a conflagration that could drown the whole island in a new Dark Age.