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I was on flight KM 103 from London on its way to Malta. It was a comfortable three hour flight. White cotton-like clouds floated beneath us. The pilot had already announced that we were descending to our destination where the weather was sunny. I looked from the small window and saw the Maltese landscape coming nearer and nearer.

Then I opened my handbag and took out the black and white photograph, now yellow and wrinkled with the passing of the years, and held it tight in my hands. The photo showed a young man with a small girl perched on his shoulders. His full black hair was smoothed down and glossy with ‘Brylcream’. A wide grin was on his face. I remember very well when that photo was taken. It was on my eighth birthday at Golden Bay where the family used to go sunning and swimming in the hot summer months. How we laughed and enjoyed ourselves on that golden beach. 

I turned the photo over. The words ‘Champion of Golden Bay’ were written in black ink. They were Mum’s words. She liked to put captions on the back of family photos.  I smiled as I remembered how proud my father was of this photo and of Mum’s caption on its back. I loved this photo too and made it a point to take it with me when I left home. I remember that Mum had shouted to Dad to put me down but he laughed and held me even higher.  That must have been sixteen years ago now. How time flies!

Mum had phoned me yesterday from home, informing me that Dad has had a relapse and was taken to hospital where he was diagnosed to be in a serious condition. He was losing his battle with big C. She had urged me to come back home without delay. I took the first flight home. He had been ill for some months now, but I never thought that it was that serious. However Dad was a fighter; he would not give up easily. “Please God let him live!” I murmured as I looked at our old, fading photo once again. 

I was eager to be at the hospital and see Dad. I remembered how he always encouraged me to improve my position in life; he gave me confidence to overcome everyday problems; his words of wisdom still rang loudly in my ears – “Don’t judge a book by its cover”; “You cannot stop the future and you cannot rewind the past”; “the Lord works in mysterious ways”; “A stitch in time saves nine”; “take care of your pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves”; and so many others, all with a meaning and a lesson.

The plane had now landed in Malta. The sun, as predicted by the pilot on flight, was blazing. I alighted from the plane, passed through customs, found myself at the ‘Arrivals’ lounge, dragged my small luggage outside the terminal and hailed a taxi. 

“Mater Dei hospital”, I directed the driver. He looked at me a second time. It’s not often that a flight passenger takes a taxi direct to the hospital. “I hope everything’s all right Miss” he said in an attempt to console me. “Yes, yes “, I replied looking blankly away from  him. I was dropped at the entrance, hurried inside and asked for directions at the reception. “Follow the ‘Blue’ line, second floor.” They told me. I followed, as instructed, took the lift and again asked for the ward. “Second room on your right,” they told me. My feet felt as heavy as lead but I hurried on. 

I saw him as I entered the ward. How frail he has become, I thought. Mum was by his side, holding his hands. I tiptoed in quietly. “Hi Dad, Hi Mum” I asked and went straight to embrace them both. I opened both my arms and held them close to me. 

“Oh Jennifer, Jennifer!” exclaimed my Mum. “I was telling Dad that you were on your way”. She looked relieved to see me. I kissed Dad on both cheeks, held on to his hands and asked “How are you Dad?”

“I’m fine Princess”, he said. “They are fussing too much over me really, I’ll be out of this hospital in no time, you mark my words”. But he did not look fine to me. Propped up in his hospital bed, he looked a shadow of his former self. His pyjamas looked two sizes too big for him. 

We sat there, the three of us, occasionally interrupted by the nurse who came in to give him an injection, adjust his bed equipment and to mark his note board, which hung by his bed. “It’s so nice to see you Princess”, he said to me as he looked at me with his loving eyes. “Listen Dad” I replied. “I came across an old holiday photo a few days ago. The one taken at Golden Bay where you’re balancing me on your shoulders, remember?”  “Of course I remember” he said. “You were only eight years old and as light as a feather”.  

“Dad, you’ll win this battle, I know. You and Mum and I will walk out of this hospital together arm in arm like we used to do years ago”, I said, convinced that he’d win and pull through in the end. His fingers tighten around mine. He smiles at me the way he always smiled at me and, suddenly, I have to struggle to keep back the tears. “I’m going to beat this thing, you know”, Dad whispers as I bend over to kiss his cheek. I doubted whether he really meant it or whether he wanted us to believe that there was some hope after all.

He looked so tired, so worn-out and so in pain, that I felt so sorry for him. I wanted, at that moment, to encourage him as he used to encourage me so often when I was younger. “I know you will”, I say with a certainty I felt in my heart.  “Remember Dad, you are the Champion of Golden Bay. You will always fight like a champion!!”

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.

LABRÈ   Skont l-għajdut tal-folklor Malti, San Benedittu Ġużeppi Labrè kien żar Malta u Għawdex. Skont it-tradizzjoni, matul din il-miġja l-qaddis kien żar is-Santwarju tal-Kunċizzjoni ta’ Bormla u dak tal-Mellieħa, u kien jitlob fuq it-taraġ ta’ San Ġakbu, fi Triq il-Merkanti. F’Għawdex żar il-Kunċizzjoni tal-Qala, il-Matriċi ta’ Santa Marija (illum il-Katidral), is-Santwarju tal-Grazzja u l-Kapuċċini, u kien ukoll jitlob fuq iz-zuntier ta’ San Ġorġ, ir-Rabat. Fl-istess belt hemm kappella fi Triq Fortunato Mizzi, qrib fejn kien hemm il-Kamra tal-Lampa, li jgħidu li kien jorqod fiha. Hawn illum hemm statwa ta’ dan il-qaddis. Sors: Anton F. Attard. Ara aktar fil-ktieb Bejn Kliem u Storja.

PENTIMENT   Il-figura fantażma li tidher f’ċerti pitturi. Fil-pittura ta’ Santa Katerina, li hemm esebita fil-Mużew tal-Arti, il-Belt, il-pentiment li jidher hu marbut ma’ suġġett ta’ tema totalment differenti, li tittratta x’aktarx il-martirju ta’ San Pawl. Jidher għalhekk li l-istess tila li ntużat biex ikun impinġi dan il-qaddis reġgħet intużat biex issir ix-xena tal-martirju ta’ Santa Katerina ta’ Lixandra. Għaldaqstant dan mhux pentiment, għaliex biex ikun pentiment dan irid ikun ċaqliq tad-disinn tas-suġġett impinġi, hekk kif l-artist iħoss li għandu jbiddel il-pożizzjoni tal-figuri jew parti minnhom fuq it-tila. Eżempju ta’ pentiment fil-veru sens tal-kelma jidher fix-xogħol ta’ Guido Reni li hemm fl-istess mużew. Hawn jidher ċar li l-pittur ċaqlaq id-driegħ u l-minkeb ta’ Kristu. Mit-Taljan pentimento – bil-Malti dispjaċir (u għaldaqstant korrezzjoni).

LUĊERTU/LAĊERTU   Muskolu li jinżel mal-koxxa ta’ wara tal-barri jew baqra meta dan jinqatel u jitqatta’ għall-ikel. Biċċa laħam li tinqata’ għat-tisjir min-naħa tal-wirk (il-ġenb warrani) tal-istess annimal. Bħala laħam din mhix l-ifjen parti biex tittiekel, anzi hi kkunsidrata bħala ta’ kwalità inferjuri, għax meta tissajjar din tibqa’ pjuttost xierfa biex tikolha. Minkejja dan, bosta jordnawha bil-ħsieb li jitfgħuha fil-borma ħalli tagħti togħma ’l-brodu, u hekk, xħin iddub bit-togħlija, tittiekel f’biċċiet żgħar. Il-luċertu jista’ jissajjar ukoll f’dixx fil-forn b’ħafna meraq. Mit-Taljan lacerto. Bl-Ingliż salmon cut of silverside jew rump roast.

Li timxi fuq bankina u tara l-indafa u li t-toroq ikunu xummiema tifraħ u togħxa u tedha li jirbaħ il-qies. Hekk għandu jkun.

Imma tiltaqa’ ma’ persuni li huma mġienen fuq l-indafa u l-indafa tiġi qabel in-nies. Waqt l-ikel iqumu qabel u jibdew inaddfu u jagħtuk l-impressjoni li iżjed ma tħaffef biex titlaq ikun aħjar.

Ma jkunux nies li tista’ tidħol fil-fond tal-ħbiberija u tħoss li jibqgħu dejjem fil-qoxra tal-ħajja. Iebsa li jkollok persuna li tkun hekk għax tbati u s-suġġett ikun bla ħniena: ħasil, toroq, ħwejjeġ, kċina. Dawn għandhom ikunu, imma mhux il-ħin kollu, għax il-bniedem jibda jħossu waħdu u jibda jaqta’ u jfittex band’oħra. Dan jgħodd kemm għan-nisa kif ukoll għall-irġiel.

Jekk tista’ u tintebaħ li int ixxaqleb lejn indafa żejda, ħu ħsieb u rranġa, għax ma tkunx qed tagħmel il-ġid, la lilek u l-anqas l-oħrajn. 

Omm li ma tatx wisq kas ta’ girfa ta’ qattus, spiċċat tissielet għal ħajjitha minħabba infezzjoni f’demmha.

Lesley Pleasant ta’ 57 sena kellha tqatta’ ġimgħa l-isptar b’IV drip u kważi kważi kienet se tonqos milli tattendi għat-tieġ ta’ bintha.

L-inċident ġara ftit ilu meta l-għalliema tat-taħriġ fiżiku qatgħetha li tnaddaf lil Oscar, il-qattus ta’ bintha, billi ddaħħlu bil-banju u taħslu biex teqridlu xi briegħed.

Imbeżża’, il-qattus deffes duffrejh fin-naħa ta’ ġewwa tal-minkeb ta’ Lesley u qatgħalha arterja. Bintha Alisha, ħadet 30 sekonda biex ħarġet id-dwiefer ta’ Oscar minn ma’ id ommha. Hi qalet li ħasset l-uġigħ, iżda kompliet bil-faċendi tagħha u ma baqgħetx taħseb aktar fl-inċident.

Fis-2.00 a.m. qamet bid-deni u idha bdiet tħossha tħabbat. Kellha uġigħ qawwi fiha u ntefħitilha daqs bużżieqa. Il-biża’ tagħha żdied, għax qajla setgħet tiċċaqlaq u ħadet il-pilloli kontra l-uġigħ.

L-għada filgħodu, ħabib tal-familja ħadha fl-isptar tal-lokal, f’Shepton Mallot, fejn intqalilha li kellha bżonn tmur fl-isptar akbar ta’ Bath.

It-Tabib Suranjith Seneviratne, immunolgu fir-Royal Free Hospital ta’ Londra qal li kull girfa, żgħira kemm tkun żgħira, trid tingħata l-attenzjoni mistħoqqa. Girfa infettata, ġeneralment tibda bi ħmura. Imbagħad tinfetta ruħha u wara għaxart ijiem tintefaħ. Hawn il-persuna jitlgħalha d-deni, tibda tgħejja, jaqbduha l-uġigħat tar-ras u f’xi każi jonqsilha l-aptit.

It-Tabib Seneviratne żied li girfa tista’ tidher bħala li qed tfiq, iżda l-batterja taf tkun ivvjaġġat għal xi parti oħra tal-ġisem, fejn timmultiplika u tinqasam.

Kif iddaħħlet l-isptar, Lesley tqiegħdet fuq id-drip u t-tobba bdewlha wkoll il-morfina għall-uġigħ li bdiet tħoss. Wara sitt ijiem fl-isptar, Lesley stqarret li għamlet biċċa xogħol għaqlija li marret malajr l-isptar, għalkemm ma tafx għaliex Oscar beża’ daqshekk mill-banju, għax din ma kinitx l-ewwel darba għalih.

PURFUMATUR/PROFUMATUR   Dak il-bniedem li jiddiżinfetta l-oġġetti jew lin-nies kontra l-mard li jittieħed. Agius de Soldanis jgħid li l-pesta tal-1675-76 kienet eliminata għalkollox meta kienu ġew numru ta’ profumaturi minn Marsilja u ddiżinfettaw id-djar, il-ħwejjeġ u n-nies. Sors: Gozo – Ancient and Modern Religious and Profane, p. 148.