SMAĊTU / ŻMAĊTU Bniedem stramb li jġib ruħu mhux tas-soltu. J.A. jgħid li din tista’ tkun ġejja minn ‘xiżmatiku’.
Kelma oħra simili hi SMAJĊ / ŻMAJĊ / SMAJTX – raġel tal-kampanja. Bniedem li jiġbor iż-żibel.
Kelma li kienet tintuża mill-Militar Ingliż u li kienet tirreferi għal xi ħadd li xogħlu kien li jiġbor iż-żibel fil-kwartieri tas-suldati. Ing. smitch. Din il-kelma hi waħda minn żewġ loan words mill-ilsien Ingliż li jidhru fid-dizzjunarju ta’ G.B.F. (1945).
Ara: IBBLAKKA.
‘Queens College Hospital’ in Nottingham’s east side was a military hospital specializing in the treatment of facial injuries, reconstruction of facial features and plastic surgery. It treated soldiers, sailors and airmen of the British and Allied forces during the last war. It was situated in a secluded part of the town, beyond the park, with security all around to discourage visitors, intruders and curious people. It was rumoured among the town’s people that strange things happened there.
The hospital was actually a large and old stately house converted by the Military authorities for service personnel who needed special facial treatment following head injuries sustained during the war. It was run by Dr Chris Cox and his team of doctors, surgeons, nurses and other medical staff, all of whom were qualified and experienced in this special field. Although most of them were civilians they were under the orders of the military and not the civilian government.
“When are they going to remove the bandages from my face?” asked the patient as he walked in the extensive garden grounds of the hospital. Nurse Smith, who was accompanying him, looked at him tenderly and replied. “Next week. I saw it marked in the surgeon’s schedule. The time has come.”
“I want to see my face. It has been more than a year since I was admitted here”, he remarked expectantly. “You will be as good as new, mark my words, but you will have to adjust to your new face.” replied the nurse. “I will. It was not much of an angel’s face to begin with!” he replied mockingly. He was anxious but he was also afraid. He had not stepped out of the hospital for a whole year. When he entered the hospital he told the doctors that he could not recall his name and regiment, so he was referred to as ‘Lucky Leslie’ because he was considered to have been lucky to survive following his extensive injuries. He did not remember when he was brought in straight by ambulance from Folkstone, probably because he was then unconscious, . But he remembered the bombs, the mines, the deaths, the fear, the ships and the utter confusion on the beaches of Dunkirk. British and Allied troops were stranded on the beaches of this French coast on that fateful day in June of 1940. German planes bombarded them and Panzer tanks surrounded them. The remnants of the Allied army were helpless. The German troops in front of them, the enemy plans above them and the sea behind them.
Besides the Navy, more than 700 little ships, mostly fishing boats and pleasure crafts of all shapes and sizes, were put to sea from the shores of England. Some were men who hadn’t navigated a vessel for years but had volunteered to race across the channel and pick up the stranded soldiers who were under a hammering from the German guns and planes. Under horrific conditions they did their best. Thousands of men, not only British, but also French and Belgian soldiers were plucked from those beaches. Trip after trip was made to bring these men back to England and fight another day. The evacuation of all these men was a miracle in military history: 68,000 soldiers were killed or captured while 330,000 were successfully evacuated back to England, snatched from the jaws of certain death.
But behind them, along the sand dunes of this French seaside town, a mass of bodies covered the beaches and many more floated gently in the sea. It was a defeat but, as Winston Churchill said later, also a victory at the same time. He remembered lying half unconscious on the beach, his face covered in blood, unable to move and waiting for help. He recalls how two men bandaged his head, put him on a stretcher and raced with him to board a small boat already full up with other wounded men.
Then he lost total consciousness as the skipper arrived in Folkstone and all the men were disembarked. He was taken to a make-shift hospital set up purposely to see immediately to the needs of the wounded. On seeing the smashed face, he was transferred to ‘Queens College Hospital’ without delay where, diagnosed as in urgent need of major treatment, he was immediately operated upon. Dr Cox informed the staff that the patient would have to stay in the hospital for a long time, during which he would do his best to reconstruct his face.
For a whole year Dr Cox and his team worked on him with utmost care. The day had now arrived when they would see the result of their labours. What would be his reaction when the bandages were removed? Would he like his new face? Would he accept his new identity?
On the day when his bandages were to be removed, Nurse Smith sat beside him for a long time giving him encouragement and boosting his spirit. When, finally, Dr Cox removed the bandages, Lucky Leslie did not want to open his eyes. When he finally did, he asked the nurse for a mirror, looked at his face and cried. He was satisfied with his new face, but he did not recognize himself! He was a new man.
He was congratulated by Dr Cox, Nurse Smith and the staff, however he replied that it is they who deserved the congratulations for the miracle that they had performed. He would forever be indebted to them for giving him a new life.
On a fine day in September of 1941, Lucky Leslie walked out of ‘Queens College Hospital’ and stepped out into the outside world. Fifteen months closed in a hospital made him wary of the future. He took a train to Coventry where he intended to settle down as it was the place he was brought up in, which he knew well, where people he knew lived and worked. His parents, unfortunately, had both died tragically during one of the air raids on the city.
Coventry had changed. The city had suffered terribly from bombing during the early stages of the war. He settled in a lodging house and then strolled along the streets of the old town. Familiar landmarks, familiar faces. He saw Peter, his life-long friend, said “Good day” to him, he replied “The same to you mate” and went his way. He did not recognize him! He was a stranger in his own town and among his own people.
He took up light work at a department store because his leg prevented him from doing any strenuous work. He was hard working and diligent and an organizer. In a short time he gained the confidence of the directors and was promoted to manager of the store, with responsibility for purchase and display.
One day he sat down on a bench in the park reading the newspaper. When, looking sideways, he was surprised to see his former girlfriend at the nearby bench. She was the same as he had remembered her – good-looking, vibrant and talkative. They got talking about this, that and the other.
“Are you from Coventry?” she asked. “No, I came down from Newcastle some months ago, I now work at Curry’s” he replied. She told him, about herself, her work as a cashier, her parents. They got on well together and promised to meet again.
When they met again, Gill Askew showed him a photo of her former boyfriend Clarence Woods whom, she said, she had loved dearly and was devastated when he was reported ‘missing presumed dead’ in Dunkirk a year and a half ago. Lucky Leslie, as he was now known by everybody, admired her loyalty to him when he was still known as Clarence Woods. She still loved him! Well, she still loved his previous face!
Their courtship continued while Coventry was under a bomb siege from German aircraft, when the town suffered heavily and many people died. They were married in March of 1942. He told her that he did not have any objection to the picture of Clarence being hung in the house. He also insisted on accompanying her occasionally to St. Thomas Cemetery where a plaque in memory of her former boyfriend was erected by his parents. He said that he felt him to be like his unfortunate brother. So Gill hung his picture along with their wedding photo. Lucky Leslie and Gill Askew lived a happy life together filled with love for each other and were blessed with two children, a boy and a girl.
On 14 December 1980, Lucky Leslie died in his sleep at 60 years of age. He was buried in the town’s St. Thomas Cemetery. His plaque reads – “LUCKY LESLIE, AGED 60 YEARS, DIED ON 14. 12. 1980. A LOVING AND DEDICATED HUSBAND AND FATHER. R. I. P.” Right next to him stood the memorial plaque of Clarence Woods with the following inscription – CLARENCE WOODS, AGED 20 YEARS, DIED IN JUNE 1940 AT DUNKIRK FIGHTING GALLANTLY FOR KING AND COUNTRY. R. I. P.”
And so Lucky Leslie or Clarence Woods took his secret with him to the grave. Two memorials, two graves, but one man. When Gill visits the cemetery and prays for both the men she loved in her lifetime, little does she know that they were one and the same person.
STOLA U SALIB Espressjoni li tfisser li bniedem li wieħed ikun qiegħed jirreferi għalih hu bla sold fil-but. Ara Joseph Aquilina.
Ħajr lil Dun Ġwann Galea.
Charles B. Spiteri
Miet il-Messikan li darba kien imniżżel bħala l-itqal bniedem tad-dinja. Kellu 48 sena.
Manuel Uribe, li fl-2006 kien ċertifikat mill-Guinness World Records bħala li jiżen 1,230 libbra kien naqas għal 867 libbra.
Il-mewt ta’ Uribe kienet konfermata minn uffiċjal fid-dipartiment tas-saħħa tal-istat ta’ Nuevo Leon, fejn tinsab il-belt ta’ Monterrey. Hu kien iddaħħal hemm snin qabel, peress li ma setax jimxi waħdu. Barra minn hekk kellu problemi bil-qalb. Biex twassal l-isptar kellu jintuża krejn mill-ħaddiema tal-emerġenza u tal-protezzjoni ċivili.
Fl-2008, Uribe żżewweġ lil Claudia u din l-okkażjoni kienet waħda mill-ftit li ġegħlitu joħroġ mid-dar fl-aħħar snin. Sa ma ġie biex jiżżewweġ u wara snin ta’ dieta, eżerċizzju u kura medika, Uribe tilef aktar minn 550 libbra. Kellu f’moħħu li fil-knisja jimxi sal-artal, iżda ma rnexxilux. Skont l-Associated Press, kellu jikri trakk biex jimtedd fuq sodda li nħadmet apposta, u meta wasal ħdejn l-għarusa tiegħu li dak iż-żmien kellha 38 sena, nfexx jibki, u lanqas daq il-kejk tat-tieġ tiegħu stess.
Aktar qabel, meta kien jiżen 280 libbra, Uribe kien miżżewweġ lil Solis, iżda meta beda jeħxien b’mod drammatiku, ir-relazzjoni tagħhom saret diffiċli, u talbet għad-divorzju.
Il-ħxuna enormi tiegħu bdiet tidher sew fl-1992. Imbagħad, fl-2007 stqarr mal-ABC News li għamel kull dieta li wieħed jista’ jimmaġina, iżda ma kiseb ebda riżultat.
Sa mis-sajf tal-2002 Uribe spiċċa fis-sodda, jiddependi minn ommu u l-ħbieb biex jitimgħuh u jnaddfuh.
Charles B. Spiteri
Raġel separat, dan l-aħħar ittella’ l-Qorti akkużat li seraq lil ‘Marmalade’, il-qattus adorabbli tal-eks mara tiegħu. Dan għamlu ġimgħat wara s-separazzjoni tagħhom.
Jonathan Brewster ta’ 45 sena telaq minn daru f’Maidstone Kent u spiċċa akkużat li seraq il-pet ta’ 13-il sena. Martu Tracy, ta’ 52 sena iddedikat dawn ix-xhur tfittex lill-qattus u sa spiċċat tilfet ix-xogħol li kellha, biex tagħmel hekk ma’ bosta ħbieb tagħha.
Issa, Jonathan, li hu inġinier mekkaniku qed jallega li kellu bosta theddid għal ħajtu fuq l-akkuża li seraq il-qattus u rmieh. Wara li deher bħala akkużat fil-Qorti tal-Maġistrati f’Maidstone, ingħata l-ħelsien fuq pleġġ sa ma jibda jinstema’ l-ġuri f’Jannar li ġej.
Intqal li hekk kif ‘Marmalade’ ma rritornax id-dar, Tracy u l-ħbieb tagħha ġabru s-somma ta’ £1,300 għal min isibu u waqqfu bosta gruppi ta’ voluntiera, li qagħdu jfittxuh fit-toroq. Iżda t-tiftix ma ta l-ebda riżultat.
Terry qed tallega li l-qattus hu meqjus bħala binha u qed tgħix ħajja ddisprata mingħajru.
TALJA Sat-Tieni Gwerra Dinjija t-talja kienet, tista’ tgħid, il-ktieb tal-kontijiet li l-bdiewa kienu jżommu biex jitħallsu mill-pitkal li jkun biegħ il-biegħa tiegħu. Fi żmien meta l-bdiewa ma kinux jafu A minn B u wisq inqas jiktbu, it-talja kienet isservi ta’ reġistru. It-talja kienet tkun magħmula minn virga tas-siġar tal-qastan, bħal dawk li jintużaw ukoll biex isiru l-qfief l-antiki. Minnhom l-iskrivani tal-pitkalija kienu jfasslu injama twila daqs 40 ċentimetru u wiesgħa daqs 2.5 ċm. Fit-tarf kien ikun hemm ma’ fejn tintrabat, biex din tinġarr taħt il-karettun mill-bidwi.
Fuqha l-iskrivani kienu jniżżlu sinjali qishom ittri, bħalma kien isir fil-Mesopotamja, biex b’hekk ifakkru lill-bidwi xi ħlas kellu jieħu. Dan għaliex il-bidwi ma kienx jitħallas dak il-ħin li jġib il-prodotti tiegħu fil-pitkalija. Fl-istess ħin l-iskrivan kien iniżżel kollox fuq ir-reġistru tiegħu. Fuq it-talja kienu jitnaqqxu diversi sinjali skont kemm kien jiswa’ x-xiri li jkun irċieva mingħand il-bidwi. Pereżempju meta titnaqqax l-ittra X din kienet tfisser in-numru għaxra, bħal fin-numri Rumani, u kienet tirreferi għal għaxar skudi. Dan minkejja li l-flus dak iż-żmien kienu flus Ingliżi, u għaldaqstant il-ħlas ta’ għaxar skudi kien jitħallas b’xelin u tmien soldi għal kull skud. Rig imxaqleb kien ifisser ħames skudi, rig dritt kien ifisser skud u nofs u rig dritt mhux imħaffer bosta kien ifisser karlin. It-tnaqqix ta’ flus kbar kien isir fuq il-faċċata tat-talja. Il-prezzijiet iż-żgħar kienu jitnaqqxu fil-ġnub tat-talja. Meta fl-aħħar, wara bosta xhur, il-ħlas tal-flus isir, l-iskrivan jieħu t-talja mingħand il-bidwi u jaħraqha, biex ma terġax tintuża. Informazzjoni misjuba fil-ktieb Tifkiriet tal-Imgħoddi ta’ Charles B. Spiteri u addattata.
It is the evening of the twenty-eighth of August. As usual, it is a very hot evening. I bring down the calendar from the kitchen wall, mark the day off and replace it on the hook. Through the window I can see the pigeons homing in to the window sill of the vacant building opposite our house and the birds seeking their resting place among the branches of the tree below.
The radio is playing some old time favourites and Perry Como’s song ‘Magic Moments’ was filling the room with music and nostalgia.
“Magic moments …..
When two hearts start caring.
Magic moments …..
Memories we’ve been sharing.
Time cannot erase
These magic moments
Filled with love.”
Today’s date takes me back all those years ago when my life changed direction and brought me here to where I am sitting today …………………
………………… I was standing there on the altar steps, my brother by my side. The old white-bearded priest was arranging the ceremonials on the high altar. I had just entered the small charming church and walked on the plush red carpet which was laid down for the occasion.
The chandeliers were all lit up despite the bright morning sunlight coming in from the wide open front door. The pews, on both sides, were full of people dressed for this special day, relatives and friends of both of us. Various other people came out of curiosity. I was anxious, looked at my watch, heard the car arrive, people were coming in.
When she appeared at the front door of this small lovely church on the arm of her father, all eyes turned towards her. She looked stunning, slim and elegant, with a beautiful white train following her, a tiara on her head and a delicate veil covering her face – a typical princess, I thought.
The organ started playing bridal music. Loud, stirring chords filled the church. She was walking slowly on the red carpet, coming towards me to the altar. All eyes from the pews were moving with her every step. It was her day. She was the star today.
I looked at her. She was lovely with a radiant face and a happy look. She had just turned 19 only four days ago. I was 24. I took her hand to help her to the altar. Both of us knelt down on the kneelers, in front of the altar. We went through the mass – the choir, the sermon, the Holy Communion, the blessings of the rings. Then, arm in arm, we left the church together while the click click sound of the photographer’s camera never ceased.
We left the church together. A shining black Mercedes was waiting for us to take us to our reception at the Band Club. We made a short detour to allow the congregation to transfer itself from the church to the Band Club.
Relatives and friends were waiting for us. As we entered the hall, the band started playing ‘Here comes the Bride’. There were so many congratulations, hugs, shaking of hands, kisses, laughter. And so much noise! It was deafening.
There were drinks, food, cakes and ice-cream for everybody. Everyone was dancing to the music. At the end of all this merriment, we were lifted up on the shoulders of our friends, brought closer together and kissed in mid air. And the band played on.
We cut the three-tiered wedding cake while everyone had champagne glasses ready for the wedding toast. We then left the hall in late afternoon. The sun was still blazing down mercilessly. Tired and anxious, we finally got away to be with each other…………………………..
That was more than fifty years ago or half a century. A very long time ago. But how time flies! Our son is married and our grandson is following his own career. It seems only yesterday that I stood anxiously on that church altar waiting for my girl to arrive.
The radio was now playing Ray Charles’s popular old song ‘I Can’t Stop Loving you’. It was one of my favourites of the fifties. I knew the words by heart.
“I can’t stop loving you,
I’ve made up my mind
To live in memory
Of the lonesome time.
I can’t stop loving you,
It’s useless to say.
So I’ll just live my life
In dreams of yesteryear.
Those happy hours
That we once knew
Though long ago
Still make me blue.”
“A penny for your thoughts.” My wife’s voice cut across my thoughts. “Oh, I’m sorry”, I apologized. “I was just thinking” I replied. “You were miles away” she said. I slid my arm around her shoulders and drew her close to me. “You were thinking of the past again, I can always tell.” she continued. It was so very true. It was not the miles, it was the years. Fifty years ago. That was something indeed. Every day, on each anniversary, I am always thankful for the way my life changed all those years ago on the twenty-eighth of August.
Charles B. Spiteri
Min jaqta’ s-siġar u min jitlobna nibżgħu għalihom. Kull tant tiġi bejn ħaltejn lil min minnhom tagħti kas. Iżda l-ħidma li saret fuq dan iz-zokk enormi ta’ siġra, jista’ jitqies bħala arti tal-għaġeb u għalhekk, l-issagrifikar taz-zokk, serva għal xi ħaġa.
Naqqqax tal-injam Ċiniż, magħruf mad-dinja kollha – Zheng Chunhui — qata’ z-zokk u qatta’ erba’ snin kontinwi ta’ xogħol biex fuqu wettaq talent li lanqas jista’ jiġi deskritt. Tant li l-arti li għamel qed titqies bħala kapulavur. It-tinqix li għamel hu bbażat fuq il-pittura famuża Ċiniża Along the river During the Qingming Festival, li l-ħsieb għaliha jmur lura aktar minn 1,000 sena. Din l-iskultura fiz-zokk tas-siġra rebħet ir-Rekord Dinji tal-Guinness għall-itwal skultura li qatt saret fl-injam.
Hi twila 12.286 metru; l-ogħla parti tagħha fiha 3.075 metri u fiha wisa’ ta’ 2.401 metri. L-iskultura fina li fiha u li turi kif kienet il-ħajja fiċ-Ċina tal-qedem, hi tant dettaljata u perfetta, li bla ma trid, iġġiegħlek tiskanta. U l-aktar, meta wieħed iqis, li biex tlesta dan ix-xogħol, ħa 8,760 siegħa.
Joseph H. Abela, Qassis
Il-KELMA issa fiha ġmiel kbir. Bniedem jaqdi, jisimgħek, jilmħek, iħares lejk, isellimlek u jitlaq u tħossok li qiegħed f’qalbu jew qalbha. Illum mhux hekk!
Bis-saħħa jew bis-saħta taċ-ċellulari jintbagħtulek risposti. Imħabbat wisq biex inkellmek jew int bla siwi għalija. Din l-impressjoni li tieħu, iżda aktarx tkun minnha.
L-għodda tal-ftehim saret ix-xkiel lill-bniedem, u ssieħeb lil ħadd, żommu ’l bogħod. Taparsi jagħti kas iżda fil-fatt int żejjed.
Dan ifisser li tħossok waħdek jew mingħalik jiftakru fik.
Imberkin il-każini, imberkin l-imkejjen tal-isport.
