“Will someone steal my coat?” “No, you’re on a holy pilgrimage,” my son’s Irish carer-companion Rosemarie reassured him. We were going to Lourdes, where in 1858 a poor peasant girl, Bernadette Soubirous, had eighteen visions of the Virgin Mary. At London Stansted Airport I’d lost a tooth. I had a bad knee and an ancient foot injury.
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