And suddenly with one bound they were free. The guns have fallen silent as I speak. Ceasefire. Not peace exactly, but close. Of course, some other group of zealots may have uncorked some fresh outrage between the time I write and the time you read. Already one man has been gunned down. But let’s be hopeful. Let’s be hopeful.

The people of Northern Ireland have had a generation of war. They have a right to a generation of peace. What they will do with it is another matter.

It is instructive to watch the responses to the IRA’s declaration of a ceasefire. Inevitably, but sadly, there is a lot of nitpicking over the word complete. It is not without humour, of course, as John Hume introduced a dictionary with the words “far be it from me to lecture English Conservatives on the meaning of complete” . . .

But the unwillingness to acknowledge the big fact of the guns being packed away seems petty and begrudging.

This is not for one second to imply any admiration for the gunmen. As Martyn Turner’s cartoon in the Irish Times put it, About Bloody Time, 3,200 lives later.

That gory history explains the very downbeat response that many encountered on the streets of Northern Ireland last week (and, surprisingly, even more so in the Republic). Folks are just too plain weary, they’ve seen too much destruction. For now all they can do is hope.

They aren’t alone in that.

But there are others who are even more upset. The loyalist population believe that they have been sold out, that a secret deal has been done behind their backs. And among them are many who will soon start to feel rather lost. It’s an existential conundrum for them: their identity is exclusively a matter of opposition to Republicanism. Take that away and, in a sense, they no longer exist.

More specifically, the hard men of the UFF and the UVF will lose something of their raison d’être without the IRA’s campaign of violence. They need the Republican gunmen and bombers to justify their sectarian campaign. If the IRA aren’t shooting, the loyalist terrorists will have to stoop even lower to find justification for their appalling deeds.

And Ian Paisley will not stop ranting either . . .

Ian Paisley is an interesting man, but history will, I believe, judge him harshly. I am told (and would believe) that the private man is charming and genial, and devout. But the public Paisley was instrumental in jemmying Northern Ireland from the passive (if turbulent) protest of the civil rights era to the all-out war of the ’70s and ’80s. He saw conspiracies everywhere.

His leadership of the assault on the Civil Rights marchers at Burntollet was the first engagement of this last long ugly phase. Oh, and there was the UVF attack on the Silent Valley reservoir, the Malvern Street murders, and the assault on Catholic areas in 1969 by mobs of loyalist thugs which brought the British army into this last and bloodiest phase of a 150 year old “Troubles” . . .

It is hard to disagree with the statement that Northern Ireland is a failed political entity. But agreement on why it is so is harder to come by.

Loyalists will say that Catholics never gave their allegiance to the State, were in effect an enemy within. But the other view is that they were never given anything to commit themselves to. The international consensus is that the Unionist state deserved everything it got. Given enough rope by the Government of Ireland Act, they (and specifically the upper class twits of the old Unionist Party) hanged themselves.

Whatever, nothing can ever be the same again, for better or for worse.

But it will take a long time for the new shapes to emerge, a long time during which trust is re-established, during which the two bloodied sides accept that there is to be no winner, but equally, and most emphatically, there is to be no loser. And, if the Unionist majority want to maintain the Union, then they have to canvass its acceptance among the nationalist minority. And vice versa. Because that’s what democracy is all about, persuasion and partnership, and accepting the outcome with good grace.

I suspect that that is going to be the hardest thing, because both ethnic groups in Northern Ireland have a very binary, numerical view of democracy. Each sees it as a matter of a majority in a particular geographic area. And both want to place the goal posts in such a way that their victory is ensured.

The nature of the State has meant that one side always won and the other side always lost. That’s not healthy. You could also say that it’s not democracy.

In the Republic, by contrast, the politicians have to go through the hoops every five years, insecure in the knowledge that, not only might they lose their seat, but their party might not be in government. And they and their supporters live with that, it’s part of the process. Their counterparts in Northern Ireland are going to have to learn to live with it too.

What this means is this: the population of the Republic do not, for the most part, like Sinn Fein. The party gets votes, but not many. But in time they may get more.

They might have someone elected to the Dail. In an all-Ireland context, they might be quite a significant force. And the population and parties of the Republic will accept that too, because that’s democracy, and they’re used to the living breathing form, not the dry, dead atrophied version that unflourished in Northern Ireland for so long.

But democracy also means respecting and accepting your fellow citizens. It means consensus. It means that you don’t always get what you want, but at least you get enough to get by.

It also means that you accept change, indeed that you embrace it. Northern Ireland may remain part of the UK forever, or for another generation then joining the Republic in some kind of confederation. Or it may not.

It might become an autonomous region of the European Union. Who knows. This is a voyage into the unknown. Nobody knows the script, and even if they did, the actors would probably tear it up and throw it away.

But two things struck me as ironic. The first is the insistence by Republicans that the British have no say in Ireland, yet they involve the Americans. Is there such a difference?

The second, and more serious, is this. Returning from a recent visit to Belfast, I passed a spot on the road where the UK Customs post used to stand. And I remembered a young fellow I met once or twice, a rather highly strung, introverted and idealistic man from the Newry area.

He and a companion were blown to pieces, along with the then customs post, when the bomb they were planting exploded prematurely. He was buried wrapped up in a flag. Another martyr for old Ireland.

And I passed the spot two weeks ago, and of course, as was predicted when we joined the EC, the border has faded away. I had three cases of wine in the boot, and I could have had more. There is no Customs post on the Northern Ireland side, and on the Republic side the post is derelict, its windows broken, its paint peeling.

And I felt a deep sadness at the futility of it all. What a waste! After Maastricht, borders are increasingly losing meaning. If he’d just left it as it was, history would have got rid of the fucking Customs post anyway, and he’d be still alive, to watch the sun rise, to listen to the music of which he was so fond, to have a few beers with his friends, just to live life as it should be lived.

He’s not alone. There’s over 3,200 dead, most of them much more innocent than this bloke was . . .

Those dead shoudn’t be forgotten. But equally, it is time to set forth into the unknown future. History is all very well, but we also have to live. So let’s live.

It may seem crazy but the simplest advice to the people of Northern Ireland right now may be the best. And it’s this: relax. Enjoy the thought of no bombs. Have a few quiet drinks. Let it all sink in. There is a future after all. It’s in your own hands.

Good luck.