TUESDAY 5 NOVEMBER

  At 1.35am a cock crowed! - a shrill piercing sound with all its sad Gospel associations. And yes, you have guessed it, at 4.20am the Moslem sang out loudly to call us to prayer. He was two hours later than in Summer - due to the later sunrise, I was told. I was grateful for small mercies. Then, at 5.00am, with great thundering claps, the bells of the Holy Sepulchre rang out. Although this was louder than the chanting of the Koran, it was more acceptable to me, because they were Christian decibels! If the Moslems were going to awaken the Catholics - the Catholics could do the same - with greater vigour and louder noise. Thereafter, on the quarter, those bells, followed by the bells of our Franciscan Church, pealed out. It was time to be on the floor and on my way.

  The sun rose over the Mount of Olives at 6.15am, though I couldn't actually see it until it appeared around the corner of the chapel some time later. My room was on the top floor with wonderful views, taking in the Holy Sepulchre, 400m away, and a number of other churches.

  Before breakfast, by way of an pilgrim appetiser, I made a short excursion to the Jaffa Gate. I ate breakfast at 7.00am in the company of fellow pilgrims who spoke English and created a lovely family atmosphere throughout my stay. My face fell at first when I saw what was on the table - just a continental breakfast - but I brightened considerably when the eggs and cheese appeared. I ate enough to fortify myself for the morning's activities.

  Outdoors again, I headed straight for the Christian area of the Old City. My first visit was to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. As I entered, the mighty bells of the church filled the morning air again with a tremendous resounding peel, riveting everyone's attention. And why not? This is the place where Christ died and rose from the dead and it was right that all should be startled into an awareness of its presence - though possibly, a daily reminder at this volume may be somewhat trying on the locals!

  A local trader remarked that he had learned to live with the noise of the bells, and that his sons could sleep through the sound. As a result of the startling awakening each morning, he opened his shop early.

  I walked through the doors of the church and went straight to the tomb, wondering if the exhilaration of my first pilgrimage would return. As I touched the stone, the awe of that event on Easter Sunday came to me. Two nuns were kneeling at the stone as well - almost like the First Easter, when only a handful gathered at the empty tomb. My next call was Calvary itself, where just four people gathered in the dim light to pray. It is a remarkably solemn dignified place - the place of the suffering and death of Our Lord.

  I particularly noticed, on this occasion, the sanctuary lamps - over seventy in all - hanging from the ceiling. Only two weeks before, I had replaced the hanging lamp at Hill Chapel with a small lamp to the side of the tabernacle. If the guardians of the Holy Places had heard of this, they might have kept a closer watch on me. After my reflections and prayers, my next calling place was to be a total contrast. I weaved my way through the narrow streets, passing a school where I heard the voices of children singing - lessons begin a 7.30am and end at 2.00pm. Soon, I stood at the most important shrine in the world for Jews - the Wailing Wall.

  It is most remarkable that the centre of Jewish worship is not in a vast synagogue in the city but at the ruins of a temple. Security was very high in that whole area and everyone's baggage was searched. Then, I donned one of the little cardboard skull caps, which were given to visitors who didn't have their own, and put my hands solemnly on the wall. Like millions before me, I prayed for peace in that troubled land.

  Shortly afterwards I left the Jewish quarter, and walked a short distance around the South side of the city walls to the Arab quarter, towards the Golden Dome and El Aksa Mosque. The Dome is, without doubt, one of the finest in the world, whether it is brilliantly reflecting the sun's rays during the day, or floodlit at night. It is built on the rock of Moriah, where Abraham and David prayed and, while controlled by Arabs, has a special meaning for Jews and Christians alike.

  Jews are forbidden to go there, not only because of the Arab presence, but because they fear they would profane themselves by walking on the sanctuary of the old temple. Christians do not have that worry and I was delighted that I could admire both shrines from outside, and inside. Inside the dome building is a huge rugged rock - a stark contrast to the walls which are covered with a kaleidoscope of mosaics. Only men are allowed to visit the El Aska Mosque, and they must remove their footwear and leave all their baggage and cameras outside.

  As a 'freelance' pilgrim, I was able to listen in on guided tours, and stroll along from shrine to shrine. I mention 'stroll' deliberately because I had made a resolution that my sightseeing would be done at a casual leisurely pace. How long would I keep that resolution? Not very long, I felt.

  The sun was very hot by now, shining out of a cloudless blue sky. After I had completed my early morning tour, I walked back to the Casa Nova. On the way, I changed dollars into shekels and made further progress in coming to terms with the mathematics of dollars, pounds and shekels. The dollar was almost as acceptable as the shekel.

  I needed a drink by now and used the mini-boiler in my room for the first time - surely one of the great inventions in those days! It was like a little kettle element attached to a flex and plug. But I hadn't remembered everything - I had no spoon. I had ditched a few plastic ones on the plane, but a Yale key did the job and I really enjoyed my coffee and biscuits.

  Fortified, I walked to the Christian information Centre to make arrangements to say Mass. I booked a Wednesday Mass at the Cenacle and went to take a quick look at the church. Afterwards, I walked to the Church of St Peter Gallicantu - the church which commemorates Peter's denial of Our Lord. It also marks the place where Our Lord was imprisoned on Holy Thursday, and where the Apostles were scourged.

  I noticed that the steps, over which Our Lord was jostled after his arrest, were railed off. A guide told me that they could be dangerous, and that pilgrims chipped pieces of stone off as souvenirs. I confessed that I had brought some of them home in 1980. Nevertheless, pilgrims are allowed to walk down the steps and, most eerily, we could hear a cock crowing raucously in the distance! It never fails in its duty in adding to the atmosphere of the place where one of its ancestors crowed after Peter denied Our Lord.

  After a magnificent four course dinner at the Casa Nova, I set off for Bethlehem - the first visit of my 1985 pilgrimage. The taxi rank was opposite the Jaffa Gate and I had only to pay 45p in sharing it with six others. Jerusalem to Bethlehem - a truly remarkable biblical journey for just 45p!

  On our arrival I walked straight to the Basilica of the Nativity and prayed at the star which marks the place where Jesus was born. Shortly afterwards I was very privileged to celebrate a votive Mass of Christmas at the altar of St Joseph in the adjoining cave. A young teenage girl from London joined in, received Holy Communion and then took a photograph.

  The route from the altar to the sacristy is through St Catherine's Church and I paused to gaze around it in awe, recalling the scene at the Christmas Midnight Mass, which is relayed on Television all over the world.

  I was making my way out of the Basilica when a lady, who sits at the door and looks after the interests of the Armenian Church above the Nativity Grotto, smilingly ushered me up the exterior steps of the building and guided me to the top of the Armenian Convent. I could see why she had asked me to go to the roof. It was a wonderful vantage point for appreciating the magnificent panoramic view of Bethlehem and the surrounding countryside.

 I could see Jerusalem five miles away in the distance and thought it would be a good idea to photograph it through the tower of the famous bells. Eventually I took the photograph. Perhaps a more interesting photograph would have been the sight of the slim lady pushing me, Delaney's donkey-style, up the angled steeply sloping wall, to gain the perfect vantage point. She certainly wasn't inhibited.

  I descended with greater ease, said my thanks and farewell and called at the Giacaman shop - the place where I bought the crib figures in 1980, and which are displayed at the high altar at Christmas at Hill Chapel. The Giacamans remembered me. They particularly remembered my brother, Brian who, in 1981 rushed in, bought expensively and decisively, and left on a departing bus in just a few minutes.

  We reminisced for a long time. We still exchange Christmas cards every year. I bought some Christmas cards and a small crib set for Brian to add to his collection of crib figures from all over the world. I was given VIP treatment which included a most welcome cup of tea.

  The sun was setting now and to gain the best view, I went back to the top of the roof, accompanied by the little lady, who, although some five to ten years older ran up those steps. She joined me in a picnic and taught me some Aramaic greetings. I took another photograph, with no wall to climb this time, and after the sun had set at 4.35pm we descended again. The lady showed me the Armenian Church of St James and also the temporary skirts she provides for ladies who may not be suitably dressed on entering the sacred building. I waved goodbye to Sadonila - we were now on first name terms - and caught the Sherut taxi to Jerusalem.

  I was still confused with the currency; they are changing the notes again, as they did on my last visit. I handed the driver far too much, and he very honestly gave me the proper change.

  On my return to Jerusalem, I went to Mass in the 'Ecce Homo' Church - the place where Herod showed the scourged and crowned Christ to the crowd saying, 'Behold the man'. The Canadian priest went on and on in his sermon. As I sat there with the congregation, I tried all the tricks of a seasoned member of a bored congregation. I looked around the walls, I admired the well-preserved historic arch, I even yawned - all without success. Finally help came from an unexpected source. My old friend, the Moslem, started singing the Koran over the PA system which seemed to be just above the sanctuary wall. The priest ended hastily and even the Bidding Prayers were drowned by the guttural tones of the Arab. God works in mysterious ways!

  I went back to the Casa Nova for another magnificent meal. The seating arrangements were such that as soon as diners arrived they were shown to the next space at the long table that ran down the centre of the dinning room. This meant that pilgrims couldn't really pick their company. This resulted in a good shuffle of company throughout everyone's stay and ensured that we met more pilgrims than we could ever have planned. On this occasion, I was sitting beside some Australians who were touring the world, and visiting their relatives in various places. I was delighted to be of some assistance by walking with them to showing them the shortest route to the Holy Sepulchre.

  After that little act of 'going the extra half- mile', I returned to my room where I wrote and wrote and wrote about the day's adventures.