Armchair Fatima: An Illustrated Tour of the Marian Shrine and Nearby Sites

You stand around the Arrivals gate at Lisbon airport holding up a notice on which you have scribbled Fatima Pilgrimage. Smart women with blue and gold eyelids wave placards printed for Sunshine Golf Extravaganza or Casino Cruises... a uniformed chauffer awaits Herr Gruber. The efficient blonde in the tracksuit doesn't need a placard. She'll recognise her film crew by their cameras and equipment.

Passengers emerge, now singly or in pairs. They are off a dozen different flights, some from airports you have never even heard of. You wonder how you are going to recognise your pilgrims from the Dublin flight 525 which arrived half an hour ago. They should be coming through by now...

Here they come. These gentle ladies; these smiling men. It always happens like this. You fret and fret and then when they appear there is no room for doubt. They have an aura. It is not holiday glee; not the breeziness of golfers, the quaint xenophobia of film folk, the vacuous hedonism of sun worshippers. These pilgrims are folk who have foregone pleasure for joy; for them a holiday is an opportunity to pay homage to the Mother of God. They are not aware of this aura, but the angels are and the angels spread it about.