It felt as if we were in a film. Rustling birds announced the approach of dawn in the Eternal City. A tinkle came from the convent in the garden. Gently a couple more bells joined in before an authoritative boom from St Peter’s struck seven o’clock, seven minutes late. A female voice in our residenza sang the first verse of Praise to the Holiest in the Height, reminding us of why we were here.
Our first visit was to the Chiesa Nuova, the 16th-century Oratorian mother church where some English girls were waiting to distribute tickets for pilgrims’ events, while in the queue two scholars reminded us of work being done on the papers of Newman’s rival Cardinal Manning.
