When I was studying at university in the North of England, there was a healthy, growing, intellectually engaged group of traditionalist Catholics – converts, reverts and homeschooled cradles – who met frequently for a devotional rendezvous.
After praying the rosary together in front of bewildered or curious Anglicans by the shrines of Saints Bede and Cuthbert in the dark Romanesque chambers of Durham Cathedral, this motley crew of male and female dissidents, like good Christians, would head through the cobbled medieval streets of Durham under the lunchtime sun to the pub. Once there, the conversations tackled hard ecclesiological and theological questions.
