WEDNESDAY 6 NOVEMBER 1985

  The call to prayer at 4.20am! 'Thank you Mr Moslem.' I must admit that the Casa Novians were on the move earlier - probably a plane to catch. I walked to the Holy Sepulchre where a German priest was saying 6.30am Mass 6.30am. Then a sung Latin Mass began. The singing was led by a Franciscan with a magnificent tenor voice; the choir was composed of Franciscans and thirteen orphan boys in uniform; three more served Mass. At all these Masses, I enjoyed being a member of the congregation, without the duties of a celebrating priest.

  After Mass I looked in at the Syrian celebration at the altar behind the tomb. They were chanting with great gusto, competing with the Catholic organist who was reaching his finale with a fine crescendo. After breakfast I booked an outing at the Christchurch centre to the Dead Sea and Masada, for Saturday, and then went to the Church of the Cenacle to celebrate the Mass of Holy Thursday. It is very special place to offer Mass and say the words of the Lord himself so close to the Room of the Last Supper where Our Lord said, 'This is my Body. This is my Blood; do this in memory of me'. The Franciscan monk photographed me as I stood at the altar after that moving experience.

  Then, I retraced the steps of Our Lord after the Last Supper by going to Gethsemane. Beside the Gethsemane garden, some men were shaking olives off a tree while the woman gathered. I asked them if I could take a photograph, but was answered with a firm, 'No'. However, I moved a few yards up the hill, took a photograph and enjoyed a scene which had been enacted down through thousands of years.

  It was 10.15am by now and very warm. After writing my diary to this length, I felt that I deserved a coffee and biscuit. Sitting there on the slopes, away from everyone, looking across the Kedron Valley, reading the relevant Biblical texts from Hubert Richards' excellent guide book 'Pilgrim to the Holy Land', I recalled the Agony of Our Lord, his betrayal and arrest, and desertion by his closest friends.

  Having come so far, I decided to walk to the top of the Mount of Olives by a steep road. I went slightly astray - not unusual on my exploratory excursions - and went 'over the top' of the Mount of Olives. I had to retrace my steps and finally found the Dome of the Ascension. A camel and rider came along and obliged by looking my way for a photograph.

  On the steep descent, I met a young mother with her small children, and two other children belonging to her neighbours. Some of them were crying because they were afraid of sliding down the steep track. I took a photograph of the group. Perhaps the boy Jesus looked like one of them.

   As I entered the gate of the grounds of the Dominus Flevit Church, a gentle old man offered me a drink of water. In spite of all its Biblical associations, I thanked him but told him I wasn't thirsty. Perhaps it was the wrong thing to do but, remembering warnings about tummy bugs and an experience of 1980, I wasn't taking any chances.

  The Dominus Flevit Church is a special place with an air of tranquillity, heightened by the thought that it recalls, 'Dominus flevit', 'The Lord wept'. In memory of that moving event, the dome is shaped like a tear. From its grounds, visitors enjoy one of the most beautiful views of the Old City.

  I continued downhill to the Kedron valley and went across a rough dusty path, to cut out two sides of a triangle. I scrambled up a scree of dust and stones and took great care to line up a camera shot of the valley which had been crossed by Our Lord and his captors.

  I arrived at the Casa Nova just in time for dinner - another excellent meal - even though one person suggested that the beef could have been camel! There was a discussion on the less frequent practice of Confession but I wasn't too keen on a too lengthy theological exposition. After all, I was on holiday as well as a pilgrimage!

  My first call of the afternoon was at St Peter Gallicantu Church to arrange the next day's Mass. For a while I looked down on 'Hell' - the Gehenna Valley, which Our Lord referred to as the refuse tip, 'whose fire never goes out'.

  Then, something different from the streets and the dusty paths. I decided to walk the walls which surround two thirds of the Old City. Any hopes of a casual flat stroll were quickly dispelled; there were steps up, steps down, turrets, viewpoints, and the seven gates. However, the afternoon 'climb' gave me views of backyards, roof tops, schools, rubbish tips, and numerous tanks for collecting rain water. This afternoon exercise became quite a marathon but I cheered up when I rounded the corner and saw from this new angle the slopes of the Mount of Olives and its beautiful churches, enhanced by the late afternoon sun. I enjoyed that view to the Mount of Olives and felt at peace when I looked in that direction.

  After my exertions on the ramparts, I enjoyed my snack before setting off up the Via Dolorosa. I recalled my first visit five years before when the streets were being dug up and it had been difficult for pilgrims to find the proper route. Now, the 'Via' where Our Lord walked, is beautifully paved - though the traders are more numerous than ever.

  I was delighted to find the shop that made the cream stole with the green Jerusalem crosses, I had bought on my previous visit and I arranged to return with it to order a similar design in cream with purple crosses.

  A Japanese man pointed out the elusive ninth station and also a short-cut through a Syrian Coptic Church to the Holy Sepulchre. The worshippers there seemed to be resigned to intrusions and waved me through.

  My next stop was at Calvary. The lamps and candles glowing in the darkness gave the sacred place a reverential air. A man, who said he looked after the Church, insisted on pointing out the significance of the stone on the ground protruding upwards to the first floor of Calvary. He disturbed the peaceful scene; I felt somewhat embarrassed as I would have preferred to have spent my visit in silence. After five minutes, he suggested I should pay him. I gave him a shocked look and nothing more!

  As I neared the Casa Nova, yet another young boy, aged about ten, persisted in trying to sell me postcards. By then, I had discovered a deterrent strategy - 'Did you learn a lot at school today?' I asked. 'Were you a good boy?' He stopped, gave me a long look, said, 'Have a good day' and went off in search of other pilgrims.

  I had time to relax for a while before dinner. During the meal I startled a lady when I talked about officiating at a wedding. I had presumed her husband had told her that I was a priest. She laughed; she was about to ask me if I were married and had a family!