Standing in the square and closing my eyes tight shut, I could just about imagine what it must have been like in days gone by: the place thronging with people, the faithful chanting, churchgoers flooding in and out of the great cathedrals that stood proud and tall close by.
What a difference a few years can make. Here, at the heart of Aleppo’s ancient Old City, the ravages of war have left their cruel mark almost everywhere you look.
As we stood there on a cold winter’s morning, our guide, Aleppo’s Melkite Greek Catholic Archbishop Jean-Clément Jeanbart, drew our attention to the blackened façade of a Church-run orphanage that occupied one side of the square. “Many people died there,” he said sadly, adding that the brother of a priest had died in the block of flats next door when a bomb set the whole place alight.
