THURSDAY 7 NOVEMBER 1985.

  My best sleep - the Moslem cantor seemed far away - but I was up at 5.00am and took my place with the congregation at the Holy Sepulchre for Mass celebrated in Italian, with the Latin Missa de Angelis. Again it was a most moving experience; all could receive Holy Communion by Intinction - dipping the host into the chalice. Some of us remarked that it would be difficult to begin a day without a visit there.

  I gathered my packed lunch and walked a mile to St Peter Gallicantu. It was Thursday morning and I celebrated Mass in the cell where Our Lord spent the Thursday night before his crucifixion. In his prison, I prayed that we would never feel imprisoned by weaknesses, suffering or situations.

  At 8.50am I caught an Arab bus to set out on an adventure - with mixed feelings. During the 1980 pilgrimage, we had to cancel our visit to Hebron due to the risks at a volatile time. Now, I was ready to make up for that. I paid 70p for the 23 mile journey and walked down the coach aware of the eyes of many brown-faced Arabs gazing at me.

  After lengthy consultation with passengers, I got off the bus two miles North of Hebron intending to visit Mamre, or Ramat El Khalil. I set off in a Westerly direction for Beit Khahil, not Ramat El Khalil. This is where a self-guided tour can go very wrong and had I not stopped 43 minutes, to study the guidebook, I might still be wandering in the desert!

  I retraced my steps along that quite road and, with tremendous goodwill from the local Arabs, I found Mamre - it was very close to the bus stop! Mamre is now an excavated site with an oak tree. It is the sacred place where Abraham was told by God that Sarah would have a child, where God promised he would be the Father of a great nation and where David was anointed King.

  Hoping to cadge a lift from a group of pilgrims, I asked if they were they going to Hebron, but they had already been there. But now, suddenly, everything happened for the better. An Arab student insisted on paying my fare on a Sherut taxi to Hebron. His friend guided me through the streets of Hebron, through its renowned narrow, crowded market to the Mosque which holds the Tombs of Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rebecca, Jacob and Leah.

  It was a fairly quick visit because I was aware of an uneasy atmosphere. When I took a photograph of the market an Arab trader shouted at me. On the way back to the bus, Jacob, the student, told me of the fierce undercurrent of tensions between the Arabs, who had always regarded Hebron as their own city, and the Jewish Army, which now occupied it. The army had greatly humiliated an Arab in a public place a few days before our visit; This act had considerably raised the temperature of antagonism between the different nationalities.

  Jacob told me of the kind-hearted nature of the Arab people, who would help every person in need. Jacob had certainly been a wonderful guide and had put himself out for hours to ensure that I would see the shrines - in safety. He had been an excellent guide and 'minder' - though slightly built. As I waved goodbye, I knew, from my personal experiences that morning, what he meant by the kind nature of Arabs.

  The bus by-passes Bethlehem, but I got off the bus in the company of a young Arab student who guided me through the Bethlehem University area, towards Manger Square. Not since the first Christmas, has a traveller been so glad to see that sacred place! It was with a great sense of relief that I sat on top of the roof of the basilica to eat my packed lunch.

  By now, I had changed the pace of the day. I sat looking at the distant hills, the scene below, as more pilgrims arrived, and children making their way home from school. I idled an hour away, before paying my second visit to the Grotto of the Nativity. I bought some candles which I intended to light at Christmas, and looked briefly into the Church of St Catherine. In the cloister, there is a vivid statue of St George spearing the dragon.

  In perfect sunny weather conditions I strolled down the Milk Grotto Road to see George Giacaman who had made the crib figures I had bought in 1980. He hadn't resumed work yet and was still recovering after a short illness. Other men were busy working in the factory and I met his nephew Abraham who was following in the tradition of the family, and had just completed a two year artists' course in Florence. Add Bethlehem, Giacaman skill, and Italian training together, and it was no wonder, that having looked at thousands of olive wood figures in many shops, I considered the Giacamans' to be the best.

  Abraham had been a young boy when I called before, but he remembered me climbing onto the roof, perilously using a bin as a stepping stone. I could go up again, he said, but being five years older, I politely refused. He allowed me to enter their property at the side to gather a few stones for Brian; they were to be placed beside his crib figures.

  It was certainly the day of the Arab because, when I was gazing out to the Shepherds' fields, I met two more Arab Muslim youths who chatted to me about Mohammed, Jesus, religion, the troubled times. They believed Jesus was a prophet who was a good man. At Christmas they held a party. I bought some souvenirs at Abraham's and then called at Joseph's shop, where I was honoured to meet his father, Abraham. He allowed me upstairs to see the staff at working on the Mother of Pearl artefacts. Over a cup of tea, with mint, Joseph told me of the exploitation of pilgrims.

  He said that the pilgrims arrive by coach, are shown around by a courier and then hustled to special shops, away from the square, to stores where the prices are inflated to enable the owner to pay 35% to the courier. Not only are these prices very high but the workmanship is inferior. In their excitement, few pilgrims are aware of what is happening, though a few, like myself - as readers of my first diary know - can beat the system. It is one of the sad facts of the pilgrimage scene.

  I enjoyed another snack near the entrance to the Basilica and journeyed back to Jerusalem in the company of David, a young man from London, who was travelling the world, and was going to Africa to do some work for Live Aid. He confessed that he had been overspending but that his father was a good mediator with his bank!

  I arrived at the Casa Nova at 5.15pm, with little energy but many memories. After the evening meal, Fr Brendan Magee, a priest from Belfast, and I, went to the Wailing Wall for a short walk. Brendan was able to talk from personal experiences of the difficulties of travelling to the Holy Land when the land was almost totally an Arab state.  

  Many Jews were praying at the Wall and one young Jew who had come from Canada to live in Jerusalem, told us about the currency problems, inflation, the immigration of Jews from all lands, the importance of the Wailing Wall, their attitude to Christians in the Holy Places, and praying the psalms. Our 'short' outing lasted from 8.15 to 10.15pm.