The Reverend Bhatty

Monday morning and a taxi-ride into Ambala, with the address of the oman Catholic church in my pocket.
The taxi driver didn't speak any English, so the hotel porter kindly explained where I wanted to go.
On the journey in I never had the same sorts of feelings as the day previous, maybe because I had by then realised that this place was just the same as all the other ones under the surface - a dirty, poor Indian town. After asking for directions from four different people, my driver finally pulled into the church driveway. The church itself was derelict - I found out later it had been bombed during a war in 1965 and the military had impounded the area! The 'new' church was the old rectory. When I got out a lady greeted me and after finding out why I was there she beckoned me into the sitting room and advised that Father Bhatty was at market and would be back shortly.
When he came back about 15 minutes later I explained about my cousins visit and how he had promised to investigate further. He looked totally bemused by all of this until I told him Flip's name - ' Ah, Fillipa-John' (her proper name is Phillipa), and reached behind a room divide and produced a photo of her (she must have made quite an impression - though not quite enough for him to follow anything up). Anyway, he asked me how long I was staying and said he could try to have something by the morning, I think he expected me to say I was off somewhere else, but I decided to stay another night and return the following day.