WHOEVER it was that counselled against working with children and animals - and who must not in any case be confused with WC Fields, who claimed that he loved children but couldn't eat a whole one - should have seen the Roman Catholic Bishop of Hexham and Newcastle shortly before 4pm last Sunday.

The Rt Rev Ambrose Griffiths will be 74 on Wednesday. He is (as the column has several times observed) a pastor as devout as he is dedicated, and yet on this occasion he looked slightly uncomfortable, oddly alone.

"I am doing as I am told," he said, as bishops tend to do at such times of trial.

It was the Diocesan Youth Sunday celebration at St Teresa's in Darlington, a church dedicated to a saint who herself set an example of early learning by playing at hermitages with her younger brother - "precocious piety," says the Oxford Dictionary of Saints - then running away from home with him in the hope of being martyred in Morocco.

Pews and altar had been moved away from the main body of the church to accommodate young people (as more correctly they should be known) bussed in from all over the region.

They put Bishop Ambrose at the front, next to the drums. We once knew a concert secretary who went deaf through spending too many nights next to the drums. "We've warned him," said Fr Dermot Donnelly, director of the diocesan Youth Mission Team, based in Blyth.

Fr Dermot wore jeans, or something bible black and similar, the Bishop was in full episcopal fig - number two uniform, at any rate, if not quite ceremonial number ones. He'd resisted the temptation to wear Levi's, then? "Oh," said the Bishop," absolutely."

The Youth Mission Team is up to all sorts of innovative things, has a newsletter called the msg - a variation on biblical text, perhaps - and a monthly gathering in Newcastle called the Destiny Club.

On Sunday, the young people - aged 13-plus - sat cross-legged on the floor. "The seats at the back are for people who are older than younger people," said Fr Dermot and, realising that a little clarification might be required, amended it to over 35s.

The column stood at the back, next to a black clad priest from Tyneside with earphones and a video camera who stood on his camera case. The service began a little late, folk still enthusiastically arriving. "There will be loud music, smoke machines and sound effects - don't let it frighten you, it's under control," announced Fr Dermot, rather in the manner that television presenters used to warn those of a nervous disposition.

Perhaps he'd been advised to do so by the Ecclesiastical Insurance Office (or some such) for fear of an infarction. Bishop Ambrose remained outwardly impassive; the priest on the camera case fiddled with his lenses.

The theme, all music and multi-media, was The Covenant. From somewhere came the voice of God, amplified with a slight Tyneside accent. (In Jarrow and neighbouring places, "covenant" is pronounced as in Coventry. Elsewhere it's as in comfortable. Those wishing to hear an undistilled, non-U Jarrow accent should listen to the Vicar of Ferryhill.)

"All you have to do is be live and loud, this is a celebration," added Fr Dermot.

If the theme was The Covenant, the recurring music was a contagiously catching number called Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord, which sounded like it might once have been sung by Sir Cliff Richard.

The youngsters were dancing, the place literally jumping. Arms waved ecstatically, happy and clappy though not necessarily happy-clappy. If it were hip-hop, Bishop Ambrose was neither hipping nor hopping, though clearly beginning to enjoy himself.

The priest with the video was jigging about so much - Keep your feet still Geordie, hinny - we feared he might fall of the camera case in his excitement.

The church remained in virtual darkness, perhaps in virtual reality, too. Were St Teresa's ever to cease being a church, the fearful thought occurred, it would probably make a terrific nightclub.

Bishop Ambrose spoke briefly about God calling people from our comfort zones - "to stand up for what is true and good" - and youngsters nowadays must indeed need a fair bit of bottle (not as in alcopops) in order to be counted.

The beat and the worship band went on, interspersed with dance, mime and a short testimony from 16-year-old Chris McHugh, a bit of a local hero around Blaydon. "I didn't really want to go to church at first, but my dad told me to," he admitted.

At the end they cheered the dancers, cheered the band, but most loudly cheered their elderly diocesan Bishop. It had been a great joy, said Bishop Ambrose and manifestly - for all of us - so it had. It was the day that youth had its fling.