Close friends, and those who had bought a copy of the book he and his wife, Gerda, had published for the Cook bicentenary in 1970, knew there was more to the post-war German migrant than his public service job.

Erwin, who had grown up in Germany during the war, had the heart and soul of an explorer. He also chose to do something about it, setting off with his young family to fill in the gaps and join the dots that some of his 19th century predecessors had missed long before the big lap became a fashionable bucket-list item.

"Soon after the war ended, when I was 15, I wanted to leave Germany," he said. "Any country would do. I applied for assisted passage to various countries while obtaining my qualifications as a survey technician."

He met Gerda, who was also seeking a new start in 1953, and the couple married three months before their departure for Australia in early 1954.

"In April 1955 we moved to Hobart; my wife was six months pregnant and I began my Australian career in cartography."

The couple made headlines in 1956 when they cycled from Hobart to Launceston and then from Melbourne to Sydney with their 14-month-old baby.

"Three months later we flew to Darwin where I began my career with the Bureau of Mineral Resources (now Geoscience Australia)."

After three years in Darwin they set out from the top end to drive to Canberra, their new home, in an ancient car. While the vehicle didn't last the distance the family, which had now grown to include a second daughter, did.

It was while working at the Australian National University that Erwin came across the original printed journals of some of Australia's early explorers and a magnificent obsession to retrace their footsteps was born.

The couple's efforts culminated in Discovery and Exploration Of Australia, the book they published in 1970.

Their travels continued, often in older two-wheel drive vehicles, until quite recent times.

Although Gerda died in 2005 Erwin continued to travel with his granddaughter, Kia, culminating in a 29,000km, six-month long, around Australia trip in 2007.

Long since grounded by osteoporosis, he has now finished his latest book, My Adopted Country, which has been published through Xlibris.

How do I love The Rothschild Prayer Book? Let me count the ways.

The first is that something as fragile, as beautiful and so obviously precious as this can get to be so old without losing any of its allure or charm. If the experts are right this intricate work of art is just over 500 years old. It was conceived and crafted while Columbus and his successors were still filling in the blanks on their maps of the new world, Australia remained a terra incognita to the south and the Reformation had not yet shaken the religious and cultural supremacy of the Catholic church in Europe.

The second is that we can identify with the people shown in its pages. The images, mostly of holy men but also of ordinary people going about their daily lives, still touch us directly and testify to the universal nature of the human condition. Having grown up on a farm I was intrigued by an image from the winter months in the calendar showing workers slaughtering a cow in a snow-filled yard. While one stoops to cut the animal's throat another kneels with a saucepan to catch the blood. Nothing was to be wasted. We used to kill pigs this way when I was a boy.

The third is the simplicity and elegance of the pictures themselves. I love the fact the artists have chosen to acknowledge Jesus' Middle Eastern origins by painting him as a dark-haired, olive-skinned "hipsterish" everyman who would not look out of place standing behind a bank counter, driving a cab or sitting next to you at the office. While we know many artists collaborated in the creation of the book it does look as if all the pictures of Christ may have come from the one hand.

The fourth is the detail in the landscapes that serve as backdrops for many of the saints. Often idealised with green and verdant hills, rolling streams and castles and abbeys that may have only existed in dreams, each seems to be a window onto paradise.

The fifth thing I love about this book is that until August I can go to the National Gallery and, at no charge, be in the presence of a work of art Kerry Stokes paid $15.5 million to call his own. That's got to be the deal of the century.