25/05/2026
Says it all👇
We spotted this comment on a post on another page (Scientists for EU) and thought it was so moving that we asked the author's permission to share it here. Paul (aka Monte) graciously gave us his blessing, so here it is:
THE DAY WE JOINED EUROPE
I still remember the day Britain joined the Common Market 1973, and the feeling it gave me. For once, it felt as though we were stepping out of the fog and into the sunlight. After years of decline, strikes, and shortages, there was a sense that we were finally moving forward, opening the windows and letting the world back in.
I was elated. Truly. I believed it was a chance for ordinary people working men and women like me to share in something bigger than ourselves. Not empire, not old pride, but cooperation, opportunity, fairness. I thought: this is the future. Europe wasn’t taking anything from us; it was giving us the chance to stand tall again, not as conquerors, but as partners.
And I was determined to make something of it. To travel, to learn, to work hard and build a better life while being part of that great European family. I never imagined that, fifty years later, I’d be sitting in France thankful to have made my life here watching Britain tear itself away from everything we’d once hoped for.
I remember the morning after the Brexit vote as if it were yesterday. The air felt heavy, strange as though something precious had been broken overnight. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. We’d actually done it.
Later that day, I walked past the corner of Smeaton Road, where Mick had his second-hand furniture shop. Mick, God rest him, was out there on the pavement, dancing and laughing, shouting, “We’ve done it! Send them back!” He was over the moon. I just stood there, staring. I couldn’t believe it.
This was a man I’d known for years honest, hardworking, never a bad word between us. And yet, there he was, celebrating something he didn’t understand. He thought he’d struck a blow for freedom. I saw only foolishness, the kind that comes from being told lies for too long. He voted for the rich and thought he’d beaten the system.
That moment summed it up for me. The country I’d loved had turned in on itself. People were cheering for something they’d soon regret and now, every time I go back, I can see it in their faces. Confusion. Despair. A sort of dull disbelief at what they’ve lost. The buses still run, the shops still open, but the spark that quiet pride in being British has gone out.
Meanwhile here in France, life carries on. The hospitals work, the schools care, the system for all its paperwork and peculiarities still believes in fairness. And I realise now, this is where I was always meant to end up: in a country that values what Britain forgot decency, solidarity, and the simple idea that everyone deserves to be looked after.
I know some will criticise what I’ve said, and that’s fine. I’m not writing this to argue, just to tell the truth as I’ve lived it. I voted for the poor, but the poor voted for the rich. And ever since that day, I’ve watched the United Kingdom unravel, not through invasion or war, but through ignorance and the loss of something far more valuable than sovereignty: its soul.
Monte.
