In a country of 3.5 million people these are big figures.In the village where I’ve spent every summer of my life, there is a mood of deep depression. The fisheries on the local river have been closed down, so the anglers from Britain and Europe will be staying away. A friend of mine whose work takes him on to farmland has seen thousands of pounds worth of business disappear overnight. All over Ireland small businesses dependent on agriculture and tourism are threatened with bankruptcy. These are often situated in the most beautiful but most impoverished parts of the country, where the roar of the Celtic Tiger has hardly been heard.As my friend put it: “The way the British government have been dealing with it is crazy Either it is a major crisis or it’s not And you hear them saying it’s under control… in the name of God what planet are they living on?”The “extreme” reaction in Ireland has been welcomed by the whole population. There is a degree of political unity that contrasts favourably with the bickering mess in Britain.

Why is there a national consensus on foot-and-mouth in Ireland? It has a lot to do with a recognition of the economic importance of agriculture in Ireland, but fundamentally it is about how the urban and rural populations of the island view each other.In Ireland there is still a profound attachment to the notion of land as a symbol of something more than wealth. Despite years of urbanisation the land still occupies a central place in the Irish identity. Most of us have relatives who are involved in agriculture or will have memories of visiting the farms of uncles or grandfathers. Now any discussion of Irish identity can unfortunately be filled with sentimental potholes, but with farming we know there is a living connection between our family heritage and the agricultural economy, between quasi-mystical notions of who we are and the realities of 21st-century economics.It is what I’d call a typically Irish connection between pragmatism and emotion. We are connected because the powerful hold of land and what it meant for our forefathers is deeply ingrained in the national psyche. Ireland never had an industrial revolution and thus the decanting of rural populations to the towns happened at a much slower pace.This may change with the relentless progress towards a technified and urbanised society, but for the moment we are able to talk about a national consensus on foot-and-mouth because our farmers are not a marginalised group The debate is not poisoned by mistrust and bitterness.

Though I wouldn’t suggest for a moment that there is no urban/rural divide in Ireland, it has simply never taken on either the dimensions or acrimony so frequently exposed in Britain.And so when Bertie Ahern talks of the whole country “pulling together” there is no collective sneer from the urban élite, or disbelieving sigh from the farming community. If Ireland can keep foot-and-mouth disease confined within the boundaries of the Cooley peninsula, then the country will be entitled to feel both relieved and proud. If it fails, the economic and social consequences will be catastrophic, and the current anger at the British government will have been a mere puff of wind before a force 10 storm.The writer is a BBC special correspondent. In one of his less witty moments (we all have them) Oscar Wilde opined that grass was hard and lumpy and damp and full of dreadful black insects When, or why, he reasoned thus I cannot say.

He lived in Tite Street just off the embankment in Chelsea and may well have been searching for somewhere to picnic in the grounds of the Royal Hospital close by. I only know he said it because it appears on a caption in the Museum of Garden Design next to Lambeth Palace, which I happened to be visiting last week in search of a lawn. In one of his less witty moments (we all have them) Oscar Wilde opined that grass was hard and lumpy and damp and full of dreadful black insects When, or why, he reasoned thus I cannot say. He lived in Tite Street just off the embankment in Chelsea and may well have been searching for somewhere to picnic in the grounds of the Royal Hospital close by. I only know he said it because it appears on a caption in the Museum of Garden Design next to Lambeth Palace, which I happened to be visiting last week in search of a lawn.
An instant lawn, I should add, because in three months time I am planning to hold a fête-champêtre in the gardens of our cottage and right now it looks more like the aftermath of the Battle of the Somme.