"National" Pilgrimage to York

Oh, how exciting! Benedict Ambrose and I are going on the "National" Pilgrimage to York in honour of St. Margaret Clitherow, who was an English Catholic martyr, apparently pressed to death. I should not like to be pressed to death; the headsman's axe for me.

We found out about it from the American Father Z, as one does find out these things. The one thing that confuses me is what "National" means. Does it mean British or English? I bet it means English. When I went to the Evangelium conference the Cross of St. George was everywhere, and everyone kept mentioning that England was Mary's Dowery, and the only annoying Scotsperson asking why no-one ever mentioned Scotland was me.

Anyway, that's okay. It's nice to know that the English are still proud to be English. Maybe there will always be an England after all. And if not, I hope it is still there on March 26, because how very boring if our train shot over the border into nothingness.

At first I thought that this was an ordinary Catholic pilgrimage, but it turns out that it is a TRID Catholic pilgrimage. There will be a Missa Cantata, the first Missa Cantata in York Minster since Queen Mary I died. There has a been at least one Catholic Mass since then, for I am pretty sure there was a Mass there in honour of Blessed Mary Ward, but dancing girls featured.

Suddenly I am reminded of the sweet little Loretto nun who randomly asked me, rather in the manner of a beautiful but crippled frog making a dutiful attempt to catch a nearby fly, if I thought I might have a vocation to be a Loretto nun. Being as fond of very old nuns as I am of very young nuns, I did not tell her that any vocation to the IBVM I might have had was pressed to death by assurances that Bl. Mary Ward was a fantastic proto-feminist who stood up to the pope.

Anyway, to York we shall go, and since there will be a tremendous convergence of Trads, we might find some of the angry ones I always hear about. I will listen for grumbles and shrieks of rancour. Perhaps B.A. and I will bring gin-and-tonics in thermoses, and preach to the cranky a better way of light-heartenedness and Gordon's.

Needless to say, I shall not wear one of my flighty little hats but a proper black mantilla shot with gold thread. Pop up and say "hello" if you see me.

I am short and a bit fat, apparently. I had my appointment with an NHS practise, and the nurse fetched a special chart to explain to me where I fell on the Body-Mass-Index scale. So now I am off crisps, chips, pies and all other staple Scottish foodstuffs, how sad. Maybe I will be thinner on March 26, so look for the short woman with masses of gingery hair and a thermos.