FRIDAY 15 NOVEMBER 1985.

  My last day in Galilee! I celebrated Mass at 7.00am in the Basilica of the Annunciation. I had heard only the day before that there was a large church on the first floor of the basilica. I was astonished that on the two previous days, I hadn't seen this upper church, which is on a level above the lower church. The reason is that when visitors look upwards from the ground floor, they look up through a huge gap in the floor of the upper church. Full of curiosity, I went up the stairs to have a look. It is truly a magnificent sight. From the upper church, it is possible to look up through the dome to the heavens, and down, through the huge circular hole in the floor, to the ground floor and the grotto. Pilgrims can see clearly how the Italian architect attempts to link heaven and earth and capture the wonderful moment when God the Son came from heaven to earth - 'For us men and for our salvation, he came down from heaven; by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary and was made man.'

  I had heard that the group of Italian pilgrims (you hadn't forgotten them, had you? - I certainly hadn't!) was leaving for the Casa Nova, Jerusalem at 8.00am. I was invited along - I must have mentioned casually that I need a lift back to Jerusalem! Apart from the interesting company with free transport and free lengthy Italian language lessons, I was delighted to see that the group was passing through a part of the Holy Land I hadn't seen before - Samaria. Due to hostilities between Jews and Arabs, tourists had been warned off until recently.

  We drove into the town of Shechem (renamed Nablus by the Arabs) and stopped at Jacob's Well. The well has great historical meaning from the Old Testament, and is the place where Our Lord, tired and thirsty, had the long conversation with the Samaritan woman who had had five husbands. We read the Gospel in the garden, recalling how Our Lord had asked this unlikely woman for a drink of water. We moved into the church, where we saw the well itself. One of the group drew some water, which we tasted in a very meaningful celebratory drink. Though photographs were forbidden, I did manage one close-up shot!

  Our long journey continued through Samaria, uphill, and around many hairpin bends. In Our Lord's day, the Jews were afraid to pass through Samaria. A long detour caused much delay and fatigue.

  We passed Shilce, the birthplace of Samuel, and many other places mentioned in the Bible - too numerous to mention. When Jerusalem came into view, we turned West along the dusty, rocky roads to Emmaus. The statues, paintings and stained-glass windows of the Emmaus Church depict the historic meeting on Easter Sunday between Our Lord and the disciples, who recognised him in the 'breaking of bread. The Italian chaplain gave a most moving talk to the pilgrims about that Easter Sunday meal. Although I could only understand a few words, I picked up his fervour from his eyes, expressions and gestures.

  Soon, we were on the move again and. at last, we were on the outskirts of Jerusalem - the cue for much singing about the Holy City. We arrived at the Casa Nova for lunch at 12.30pm. We seemed to have packed a full day's sightseeing in one morning.

  By now, I needed a while on my own, and so I made my way down to the Kedron valley to 'my own quiet little place' near Gethsemane. Then, a man who said he was the owner of the field, came along. He told me of the different processes and uses of the olives. This was followed by a discussion on politics. He asked me all sorts of personal questions - 'What is your name?' 'Where do you stay?' 'What is your telephone number in England?' The alarm bells were ringing loudly and persistently. I told him that I was with the group down by the church and that they were waiting for me; I had to go immediately! I did give him a telephone number, which I made up, and then had to remember it as he asked me to repeat it! I knew that if, and when, he telephoned that Manchester number, whoever answered, it wouldn't be Patrick MeMahon! Some months later, I was still wondering about the number and rang the number. The response? To my relief, there was no such number didn't exist.

  You will hardly be surprised to hear that I began to reconsider what I was saying earlier about the friendly Arabs. 'Caution' is the advice about them, and any strangers.

  I walked back to the Old City and went to Mass in the Ecce Homo Church. The priest began his sermon by apologising for its being a badly ill-prepared one. He needn't have bothered - the Moslem cantor boomed out - enough to wreck even the best of sermons. Perhaps the message for that Church was - 'No sermons, please'.

  The Casa Nova was full - another group of Italians had come in and 'Buona Sera' was the key phrase in greeting them.