As we filed out of our temporary chapel into the bright sunlight, we shook hands with each other. I looked at my companions with a new awareness.
The priest was Chinese. He had been assisted by a Malayan curate. Also present was an elderly couple of Indian descent. There was another Malay, and a house party comprising five Dutch people and two Americans. And then, of course, there was Mick from Eire, and myself, an Englishman.
That short and simple service had been attended by 14 of us, bound together by a common faith. Our roots lay in seven countries distributed over three continents.
