Yesterday son M. discovered a diary that I wrote in 1968. It seems a wonder that it survived the turmoil of history. It begins under coconut palms in the Pacific, and ends with an equator crossing in the Atlantic. On this page (on the right), it records the day that I first saw the Church at which my father was to minister for twenty-five years, and at which I myself was to minister for more than twenty years -- first as assistant minister, then as minister. I was to be confirmed in this Church, too, and married in this Church. It was the 10th of August 1968, just over forty-eight years ago. OBSERVATION: As it happened, our ship needed repairs in Cape Town harbour, and so a relationship was forged with the Church, whose minister had just died. You may click on the image to enlarge.