Does comic old pals’ act really mask a tragedy?

As First Minister Paisley would not dream of saying: Alex Salmond, eat my kilt. But nor, on current form, would the soon-to-retire Reverend and his Sinn Fein deputy linger over recent history, or their own roles in that history. The tenth anniversary of the Good Friday Agreement, which fell on Thursday, was a cause for celebration. The sight of two erstwhile enemies working in reasonable harmony is, meanwhile, an inspiration to other communities given to regarding reconciliation as an impossibility.

Nevertheless, as time passes, as the absence of warfare is taken for granted, as Stormont continues to function as a decent enough administration (with enviable per capita public spending), history becomes pertinent. Mr McGuinness and the Reverend accept plaudits for bringing Northern Ireland to a better (a far better) place. But 10 years after Good Friday, it might be time to ask about the parts played by the two, and their respective movements, in the miserable journey. Start with a mundane fact. Today the pair could almost persuade the trusting that they like one another. It is probably an act. But even if the goodwill is just for show, couldn't they have simulated some of that amity during the nine years, of the past 10, when they could not even agree on how to turn Stormont into a functioning institution? Neither Unionism nor Republicanism are short on patience, but those surely count as wasted years.

There were precedents, obviously. If Paisley can these days joke with the once-hated McGuinness, why did it take his Democratic Unionist Party decades to accept that Roman Catholics and/or Nationalists have a right to be represented in government? Not "sitting down" with "Sinn Fein-IRA" and their co-religionists was the single basis, whatever anyone cares to claim, of DUP policy, the entire justification for Never and No, and to hell with democratic process.

Equally, you can wonder why it took Republicans, armed or otherwise, so long to recognise simple facts. True enough, as wiser Whitehall heads accepted almost from the start, the British Army could never "beat" the IRA. But the Provies could not, as so often promised, drive out the Brits.

It's called stalemate. It was pointless, murderous and exhausting. Thousands died, generations of young Nationalists wasted their lives, and in two communities the habits of hatred became ingrained. The decades preceding the 1994 IRA ceasefire were textbook examples of the futility of war. And to hell - again, no minor point - with the democratic process.

Paisley and McGuinness would probably respond with much the same answer: look where we are today. It is a fair point, to a point. From a Nationalist perspective, the old gerrymandered Unionist state has gone, never to return. Like it or not, it is impossible to claim the IRA's war had nothing to do with that. In a recent memoir, Jonathan Powell, formerly an adviser to Tony Blair, admitted that guns got Republicanism to the negotiating table. Democrats would disapprove. But Mr McGuinness would probably ask, in return, how far the old, non-violent civil rights movement would have got. There is no easy answer.

Paisleyites would, meanwhile, say that intransigence never did the Rev any harm. He held his ground, year after year, refusing to concede or trust, his creed-specific Lord at his side. The DUP's reward is to stand as senior partner in government, with the survival of Unionism guaranteed and the reunification of Ireland returned to the realm of dreams. As a bonus, the Ulster Unionist Party has been marginalised, just as Sinn Fein's ascendancy has pushed the SDLP to the fringes of Nationalism.

Are these justifications? Do they stand as arguments capable of proving there was no other way? Crudely put, the thesis is that the north of Ireland could never experience peace unless and until two implacable forces could be yoked together. It may not be pleasant to contemplate, but it is the reality. The Chuckle Brothers may be an obnoxious fiction, but some fictions have a habit of becoming truth.

Years back, plodding around David Trimble's constituency during the referendum campaign, I would not have bet much money on the Paisley-McGuinness fantasy. You could tell how the wind was blowing for Sinn Fein and the DUP, but an imperfect storm still seemed deeply unlikely. Make that "impossible".

The No campaigners stationed at school gates (not in the least intimidating; perish the thought) knew they were beaten, but ordinary non-aligned folk had none of the "optimism" hindsight would grant. "Why not? We've tried every other bloody thing," was one summation. People wanted the Troubles ended, one way or another. But there was no great confidence that peace and harmony could occupy the same space. Northern Ireland might hope for the former. The latter would have to wait.

Hence the double-act today at the summit of power. Back then there was the usual cynicism towards politicians who land on their feet. If the bombings, the shootings and the "punishments" ceased, however, if gangsterism masquerading as patriotism subsided, people would settle for that. Who wouldn't?

The result, still pertaining, is the notion of the Rev and the Republican as nature's peace-makers. The tale - always a favourite in New York - has it that Bill Clinton and Tony Blair (John Major is always overlooked) made the north "normal". Yet most of it always was. Poor gutted Omagh was one of the least sectarian communities anywhere. But for peace to hold, for devolution to begin to work, a lot of pretending had to be done, and noses had to be held.

The hope a decade after Good Friday is that the ethos of political civility will alter attitudes. True? Belfast is a good-looking town, these days. Money has been spent. But much has also been spent in the north on the building, rebuilding and extending of giant walls to keep communities apart. How do you define a ghetto or a pale? When does a medieval answer to hatred cease to seem ridiculous?

Northern Ireland isn't there yet. Crime is down, say the police, but some crimes do not get reported, and paramilitaries do not, even with the help of a £26m Northern Bank heist, retire quietly. Policing itself is still an issue. Prods and Papes still contend. The Omagh atrocity is back in the courts. And the enormous walls - who needs symbolism? - survive. Meanwhile, the DUP and Sinn Fein play out their comedy of compromise. They are the only game in town, after all. But history, in Ireland, never quite relents. It has questions still for the odd couple.