By Robert Duncan

Some readers may know that I am an Anglican convert – having found the Roman Catholic Church via a sidetrip, conveniently enough allowing me to call myself Catholic without taking the final plunge.

To this day my Anglican memories are sprinkled with images from Madrid’s St George’s Church, where I enjoyed the company of expats in the garden under a sprawling fig tree that shielded us from the scorching Spanish summer heat. Particularly included in those memories are the Fourth of July BBQ’s we Americans held, but to show we were an international crowd served with pints of Guinness.

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