FRIDAY 8 NOVEMBER 1985.

  I awoke at 4.19 a.m. - beat the Moslem chanter to it! I could give him a call if he slept in! On this morning, the singing came from many Mosques - it was the Moslem Sabbath and they were completing their chanting when I persuaded my weary feet to stand on the floor at 4.40am.

  Through the dimly-lit streets, with a hint of dawn above, I walked to the Holy Sepulchre Church, to the Calvary site, to say Mass at the altar which commemorates the nailing of Our Lord to the cross. I started Mass at 5.30am. The news of my early Mass raised a few eyebrows in the hotel but one had to book an early time in those very sacred and special places. I celebrated alone, quietly. On this Friday morning, I reflected on the sufferings and death of Jesus on Good Friday in the place where I stood.

  After Mass, and while waiting for the 6.30am Mass, I chatted to the Master of Ceremonies of the Church. He had been there 37 years, rising each morning at 4.30am. The organist had been there 65 years and was 85 years old. There were 90 boys in the orphanage; 13 came in a weekly rota to sing at daily Mass.

  Because it was Friday, the sung Mass was celebrated at Calvary and not at the tomb. After Mass, outside the Basilica, I met a young man from Clones, Jimmy McGovern, whom I hadn't seen for years. We had travelled 2000 miles! He promised to pass a message to my mother and family - that I was in great form and having the time of my life. He kept his promise and my greetings travelled to my home town before my postcards arrived.

  After breakfast, I took the dusty path into the Kedron valley, and then up through an Arab area (thus saving a much longer journey), and walked along the Jericho road to Bethany. St John says 'Bethany is only two miles from Jerusalem and many friends of Martha and Mary had come to sympathise with them over the death of their brother'.

  I was confident that I was on the right road, but even so, I was glad to see 'Bethany Council' written above a hall. I visited the Bethany Church, admiring the mosaics depicting the raising of Lazarus. The local guardian showed me the excavations of an olive press and wine press, which existed when Our Lord visited his friends there. A notice says 'Today, as in the past, the love of Jesus seeks a refuge, where he is lovingly respected and where he can rest. He finds our hearts filled with distractions - people, work, our own interests. He longs for us to open our hearts and lovingly receive him.'

  The tomb of Lazarus is just up the slope. Pilgrims can go right into its very depths - the cellars are on different levels. Once again, I was moved by the experience of going down to the lowest depths, and, as I came out of the tomb, I prayed that the Lord would, one day, call me forth!

  I wanted to retrace the steps of the Palm Sunday walk and was directed across an olive tree orchard by one of many friendly Arabs. For the first time, I donned my shorts - watched only by a lizard. As I climbed further up the steep slope, I met the perfect sight for a photograph - two tourists on a donkey - memories of Palm Sunday.

  My walk took me through the village of Bethphage, from where Our Lord began the Palm Sunday procession. The church is tucked in behind some walls and I had to ring a bell on a gate to gain entry.

  The Pater Noster Church was closed - until 30 November. Men were at work and I wondered if they were adding the Lord's Prayer in more languages to the existing eighteen. As readers of my previous diary know, I did go inside the church in 1980 and saw that visitors had added the Pater Noster in other languages in 'prayer graffiti' style.

  It was 11.00am now and what better place to enjoy my elevenses than in the grounds of the Dominus Flevit. The man at the gate, pointed to me and kindly said 'shirt' - I had forgotten about taking it off and as he gently directed me to a secluded corner to change; then he said 'No shorts.' I had expected this and, much to his surprise, I put my trousers over my shorts.

  He was very courteous and I accepted his glass of water, and then sat on the wall to drink my tea, eat my biscuits and savour the view. The gates had been locked at 11.45am and my friend at the door wanted a tip to let me out; then he watched me as I changed to my shorts again and continued on my way.

  Outside Gethsemane, I asked a woman to take a photograph of me with a camel alongside. The photograph is quite a sight captures the atmosphere. I returned the compliment with her camera - but the telephoto was on and I only got their two heads - her's and the camel. It should give her a laugh!

  I returned to the Casa Nova for lunch via the short-cut through the Kedron Valley but was on the move soon afterwards to change sterling into shekels. The moneychanger around the corner was always in a bad mood. He had many expensive goods in the shop but tourists came in and just quizzed him about the rate of exchange. He also refused to change travellers' cheques for a young tourist because the signatures were not similar. The young man said that he had changed his signature but the moneychanger would have none of it. I incurred his disdain for asking him to change old shekel notes into new notes. An old 1000 shekel note was worth one new shekel and a mixture of old notes gave one a false sense of being extremely rich! The last such major currency review was in 1980 during my previous visit. Why can't the Government introduce currency changes at times when I'm not there?

  I wanted to take part in the public Stations of the Cross and entered the area by a different route. I confess I took a few wrong turns - one priest said he had been to the Via Dolorosa countless times and got lost every time!

  I was in place by 3.00pm and joined in the Stations, led by the Franciscans in Spanish, English and Latin, proclaimed over a portable P A system. The traders were quite respectful, though we met a man driving a car against the flow of humanity. The M C gave him a good ticking off. Distractions entered my mind. I wasn't always thinking of what was being said, but the basic thought was there - that this was the painful road taken by Our Lord as he carried his cross through the crowds. Hundreds were taking part in the Stations and we were bunched together as we went up the steps of Calvary for four stations and down again to the tomb for the fourteenth. A fifteenth station commemorating the Resurrection was also added.

  By now, I was ready for a tea-break, which I enjoyed sitting on the steps beside the busy area of the Damascus Gate to the North of the Old City, watching the comings and goings of tourists and traders.

  Conversation as usual at dinner was a joyous exchange of the day's activities. Mrs Jane Speackley kept coming back to the subject of my 1980 diary. Her persistence paid off, because I gave her one of the three copies I had brought with me.

  After the meal Fr Brendan Magee and I walked for a while to part of the New City; but I was keen on an early night and was in bed before 10.00pm.