as a small girl, my dad, Semen Telewny,journalist, was head of our community- hospitality is a bi-word of our peoples, so the Priests would travel when we they could for services, and stay at our home, a terrace house. Size of home is meaningless in refugee communities, what you were at home was what counted, dad was a Kulak and educated. They had massive beards, my overriding memory is of being hugged into the beards and the bread at Easter for communion, which my mum baked, as in my English Church they used wafers..