Diary – 13 August 2004

The Pope is going to Lourdes at the weekend. But he has made it clear in advance that he is not going for a cure, even though he has Parkinson’s disease and for several years now has looked as if he might die at any moment. Rather, he is going to the world’s most famous Marian shrine ‘to praise God for his gifts’ (God’s, that is, not his own). So that’s that. It must be said that Lourdes is one of the very few places on earth where the Pope is likely to blend in. I’ve been only once, a couple of years ago, and I’ve never been anywhere that more closely resembled Hogsmeade. You know, that village in Harry Potter where every troll, witch, warlock and giant could mingle at will? I’m not being rude. What I mean is that you get more oddities here than in most other places I can think of — archbishops in full dress (and they can be splendid when they try), Italian Scouts in wonderful kit, monks in habits, Scottish youth in kilts — in fact, people from all over the place in national dress. And then there are the invalids, the people on stretchers and in wheelchairs who here, if nowhere else, are centre stage rather than at the margins. Going there, I entirely sympathised with Ruth Harris, the Jewish historian, who has written the best modern book on Lourdes. ‘Mostly, Lourdes impressed and moved me,’ she wrote. ‘Less frequently, some of the people there shocked and horrified me.’ Actually, it’s one of the most democratic places I’ve been to, precisely because it’s a shrine. There are not that many other places where rich and poor share the same space in the same way, apart from at the races. It’s like Blackpool, with a snobbish and redemptive element.