Ministry in Australia

and quarters for the priests, a school and a library. It was a modern design and most impressive. They also showed us an old castle, and on the way to the lake Gorka, we passed the old property of Count Raczinski at Rogalin. The beautifully kept park had two onethousand year-old oaks which we had to admire. Lake Gorka was the place where we had been many times as children to celebrate my Opa's birthdays. In the soft evening light it looked like in the old days. A cuckoo was calling and water birds were squabbling over some food. It was all so beautiful and peaceful.

On the following day we went to Strykowo, first to Maria and then over to Sapowice. Andre took us by car. Maria was so pleased to see us. She would have recognised me, as I looked like Vater, she said. Then the most emotional part of our journey started. We began at Strykowo station, which had not changed at all. In my mind we had just arrived from school and were racing our cousins to the street corner in our carriages. Then we turned into the road towards Sapowice. The lake on our left, we arrived at our border, then at the forest which my Opa had planted at the end of the last century, and which had been enlarged by Vater. This had been the destination of many Sunday afternoon walks with the family. Mighty trees greeted us, as we drove into the forest to look for the vault and private burial ground of our family, where my Opa was buried. It was heavily overgrown and we nearly walked past without seeing it. The fence was missing and I couldn't see any head stones. We had heard that our people had buried Opa's and his son Walter's coffin in the ground, to prevent them from being desecrated. The heavy granite stone with a cross had fallen and lay hidden by brambles.

After leaving the forest, we stopped the car at Swițety Jan, a chestnut grove in the fork of the road, where the statue of St. John still watched over Sapowice. We walked into the park through the side gate towards the vegetable garden, but what disappointment, it wasn't there any more. Just fields, no fence, no hedge, just a heap of rubble where the glass houses had stood. Then we searched in vain for our boat house. There was nothing, not even the jetty. The lawn towards the manor house had all but disappeared, grown over by trees from both sides. We had such a lovely view of the lake from the house, was there no one interested in keeping it that way? Also the path to our bathing shed was grown over, leaving only a narrow track. Opa had always seen to it that the walk ways were maintained in immaculate order. But the lake was beautiful as before, tranquil and framed with trees on either side. I was tempted to go for a swim, but Margie didn't want to, so we left it, walking instead across what used to be lawn, now a sports ground. Nothing left of the tennis court, but the three linden trees which had formed a shelter for Oma's favourite sitting spot, were still there.

Around the manor house was a builder's fence. The outside walls had been newly rendered and new windows put in. The back terrace still looked a mess. I looked for another of those tiles George had brought back

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