Relations with media: Paddy Agnew in Rome recalls his, and his wife's, meetings with Pope John Paul
For a man who spent much of his life in the public eye, Pope John Paul II had a comfortable relationship with reporters. If the microphones had been open on him at any inopportune public moment, he was never likely to have done a Prince Charles and referred to the Vatican press corps as those "dreadful people".
On the contrary, one of the most vivid memories many Rome-based reporters have of the late Pope go back to the summer of 1987 when he invited us out to his summer residence at Castelgandolfo, south of Rome. Out there, in the relaxed surrounds of the handsome gardens, he personally opened bottles of spumante and poured out glasses after he had done the rounds of the assembled reporters and families.
On being formally introduced to your correspondent, he immediately switched to English, saying: "Ah Ireland, God bless Ireland."
At the time, my wife Dympna was five months pregnant with our daughter Róisín. Noticing her "interesting state", he smiled quietly and said: "God bless the family."
That visit to Castelgandolfo, too, had come by way of a return invitation since months earlier he had come to the Foreign Press Bureau in Rome. We had expected him to say a few words, maybe a prayer and then bid us good evening.
To the amazement of some, however, after making a funny address in which he apologised to the Vatican press corps for all the travelling and running around the globe he had forced on then, he then sat down and said he would be willing to take questions. It was during that chat, too, that he admitted without reservation and perhaps for the first time publicly, just how much he wanted to visit Moscow - one of his few major unrealised ambitions.
For those who regularly travelled with the Pope, his ease and willingness to deal with questions came as less of a surprise since a feature of travel with him (until illness intervened) had been the impromptu press conference at the back of his plane.
In the days when John Paul II was a fit and active man, too, it was often illuminating to watch him being "watched" by the faithful. I well recall one Good Friday in the late 1980s when he had dropped down to the Basilica of St Peter's to hear confessions (a rite observed every Good Friday).
As part of the press corps that day, I followed behind him at a respectful distance as he made his way down the Basilica. Viewing the pilgrims and faithful from behind the Pope as he made his way down the aisle was like watching a bright light illuminating the faces it came across. This was an experience shared and commented upon by many reporters over the years.
A recurrent feature of the Vatican watch with John Paul II were the occasions when, before or after a Vatican audience with a world leader, he would stop to say "good morning" to the waiting press corps. Even at the end of a Vatican audience in March of last year, when he had been presented with the "Charlemagne Prize", he surprised those German reporters not familiar with him by stopping to nod and wave a schoolmaster-style finger of warning at us from his wheelchair at the end of the audience.
Whilst there were, and doubtless still are, many in the Vatican Curia who regard the media with a wary, untrusting eye, John Paul II, ironically, was not one of them. He had such total conviction about his message that he saw the media as an ally in spreading the good news.
It is in that light perhaps that we should interpret his message last month from his sickbed in Rome's Gemelli hospital, thanking the media for its coverage of his illness. It might have looked like a piece of inspired but cynical Vatican PR. Yet, it was in fact a fair reflection of a rare mindset - namely that of a world leader unafraid of the media.