On the bus into town and a pair of fully uniformed Mormons board at Cardonald—white shirts, black ties, name badges—the works. A ned up the back shouts down with a curious drawl: “Haw, are you’s in the Sally Army?” The handsome, tanned, all-American group leader turns round and, proudly beaming his perfect pearly white teeth, declares: “No, Sir. We’re in Jesus’ Army”.
