An exploration of the back streets of Poznań reveals countless corners hitherto left untouched by the guidebooks, and this is never more evident than standing at the foot of Góra Przemysła (C-1/2). While at first glance the hillock looming in front of you appears to be little more than a steep path and a scattering of ruins it is of course much more than that.

This was formerly the site of a royal castle, with original construction dated to approximately 1274. It was built on the whim of Przemysł II and served as a royal residence for the next couple of centuries. By the time Kazimierz Wielki had finished expanding it the castle stood out as the biggest non-ecclesiastical building in Poland, though its fortunes took a dramatic turn for the worse when marauding Russians destroyed much of it in 1704. From there on it ceased to operate as a royal residence, used instead to house an archive and a court. A special chamber was kept aside to display the rotting corpses of executed villains, and one courtier, Józef Rufus Wybicki, would go on to achieve fame by penning the Polish national anthem in 1791. The 18th century marked a patchy time for the castle; it enjoyed spurts of restoration and renovation, interspersed with neglect, eventually falling into complete disrepair until 1783 when Kazimierz Raczyński opted to construct a classicist building on the site to function as his HQ. Alas, just ten years later the Prussians had other designs, and flattened Raczyński’s palace to make way for a rather boring one storey building.

The area was smashed to pieces during the Soviet siege of 1945 and in 1959 the decision was taken to rebuild Raczyński’s contribution to the hill, which today houses the Applied Arts Museum (currently closed for renovation). Today the only original elements to survive are the ancient cellars, though plans are now afoot to rebuild the castle using a blend of Gothic, renaissance and contemporary styles.

And what of the hill itself? Apparently that’s the work of the devils. According to local legend a group of demons were irritated by the number of churches springing up in the Poznań region and so hatched a plot to flood the area by dumping the Nia hill – found in the neighbouring forests – into the river Warta. The nasty buggers stood in a circle and used their collective energies to lift it, before flying off in the direction of the river. Fortunately the shriek of a rooster startled them mid-flight, and they dropped the hill onto what is now Poznań, hence scuppering their dastardly plan.