I cannot recall if I visited Alu again that year. Since then I have kept diaries, albeit perfunctorily, of my daily life, but 1983 was the last year in which I was still careless about memories. I know that in August I went to England for nearly two months, and soon after I came back home my uncle Lakshman died, so we had to spend some time at Kurunagala sorting out his belongings in the Bishop’s House he had lived in for twenty years. We stayed at the Old Place, a shell now in comparison with its former grandeur, even unto the sixties when my grandmother’s brother Leo had been a leading citizen of the town. His daughter Lakshmi was to stagger on alone there from 1971, and for another four years after her cousin Lakshman died, with myself being her main if not her only visitor for brief periods in those last few years. Lakshman’s death was the last occasion on which the family, including my grandmother who had been born there in 1900, visited the place together.