Pitjantjatjara woman Eileen Moseley can still remember the first time she saw the chapel, and realised life as she knew it had changed forever.
WARNING: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised that this article may contain images of people who have died.
She was just six years old, visiting Alice Springs with her family from their remote community near the South Australian border.
She and her siblings were walking through the town's centre when they were suddenly approached by welfare officers, and forced into the back of a white ute.
"My mother had to sign our lives away. She couldn't even read or write,” Eileen said.
“I cried and cried and cried.
"Even today, I think how our poor mothers felt, having us crying. And telling us to stop crying and then walking away, crying within themselves."
They were taken straight to the chapel, and a new life as members of the Stolen Generations.
But while it would initially be a place of childhood trauma, that chapel eventually came to mean more to Eileen than she could ever have imagined.
A place of heartache but, eventually, of healing.
And the only childhood home she ever knew.
A sacred site for a Stolen Generation
A bright orange block building on the outskirts of Alice Springs, the chapel is part of the former St Mary's Church of England Hostel.
From 1946 to 1972, it was home to hundreds of Aboriginal children attending school in Alice Springs, many forcibly removed from their families by the government's welfare branch.
The Anglican Church has since apologised for its compliance in government policies which led to the Stolen Generations.
Today, the property is leased to Community Housing Central Australia, and provides affordable homes.
But past residents have still been able to visit the chapel whenever they wished, gathering for barbecues, or to mourn to the loss of loved ones.
And gradually, it has become an important site of remembrance and truth-telling.
"You kind of take it for granted. It's always going to be there and it's always going to be our home," former resident Ronda Ross said.
But in October, the Anglican Diocese of the Northern Territory announced it would have to sell the property, as the church grappled with financial pressures.
"I felt like the carpet had been swept out from under me," Daniel Forrester, a past resident, said.
A group of former residents, known as the St Mary's Stolen Generation Group, claim they haven't been properly consulted about the sale.
After being stolen from her family by the government, Eileen said this felt like another loss.
"They're stealing the place away from us," she said.
'I kept it bottled up'
Daniel can still remember when he was taken from his family in 1953, forced into the back of a ute, "like a dog".
The Luritja, Pitjantjatjara and Arrernte man's memories of the hostel are bittersweet, and he still struggles to open up about all he experienced.
"My children didn't even know I was in this place," he said.
"I kept it bottled up for 50 years."
But not all children were taken by force — some families paid for their children to stay there.
Ronda was one of them.
The Arrernte woman was six years old when she and her two siblings were dropped at the hostel by their father, a white pastoralist, after he divorced their Aboriginal mum.
"Of course he got custody back then. But he couldn't look after us, so he promptly placed us in care," she said.
Suddenly thrust into a new, bewildering world, the children clung to each other.
"I just don't know how we survived," Eileen said.
"We didn't understand English. We'd never slept in beds or used knives and forks. There was no need for those things out in the bush."
Decision to sell made 'with difficulty'
Diocese leaders said they had reached the decision to sell the property "with difficulty".
"The costs of maintaining the site, even though it's being leased out ... they were just beyond us," Bishop Greg Anderson said.
Dr Anderson said he had been talking with former residents since 2016, warning them that the church's financial situation was "getting difficult".
"I think it was a big shock for them when they heard the news. And I'm sorry for the grief that they feel about it," he said.
Hopes new buyer will honour site
The diocese said it hoped to find a buyer who would honour the legacy of the site, and continue to provide access to the chapel.
But the group has since written to the bishop, asking that a section of the property, including the chapel, be gifted to former residents and their families.
They've also asked that a memorial monument be built in front of the chapel, and for 10 per cent of the sale to be invested into programs to connect past residents' families to the site.
While the chapel building itself is not heritage listed, a mural painted by Hungarian artist Robert Czako in 1958 on an internal wall was listed on the Northern Territory Heritage Register in 2014.
Eileen remembers watching Czako as he created the stunning mural.
Dr Anderson said the diocese was "open to continued discussions" with residents about these requests.
In the meantime, past residents say they'll keep soaking up every moment in this sacred space.
"This is our place," Daniel said.
"All through here, I feel their spirits are still with us.
"And when I’m dead and gone, I hope somebody carries me through here."
