There is an old house in the centre of Sliema on Malta. I have always been curious about it, lying as it does completely neglected in the midst of modern towers and shops. A stone's throw from the beautiful shore it lies locked and over grown. But, as I've walked past on many occasions I've wondered about what lies beyond the locked gate. Today, I explored and got a few photos of the secret garden and house. The google map image shows you the position of the house.
From the main road all you see is a locked gate and fence. Sticking my camera through the bars I get a glimpse of the rubbish that has gathered in the garden.
The fence between the posts has thick chainmail on it, so getting a view of the house itself between overgrown trees and bushes involved me clambering up a small wall and hanging over the top with my arm outstretched and clicking the camera. Unfortunately, I couldn't look through the viewfinder and do this hence the haphazard nature of my camera work.
The house is two storey with gardens on both levels and a bridge over the lower garden to the front door. Not that my camera picked this up. I was just lucky I was seeing bits of the house through the wilderness.
I'd be a hopeless spy. My hanging onto the gates and clicking was made more difficult by a fading battery which kept closing down the camera, just when I got a half decent shot.
From my glimpses through the trees I could make out a lovely house which nature has reclaimed.
At one stage the gardens would have been magnificent, even now they remind one of a secret garden hidden away for years from public eye.
Thought I'd got a good shot here, but just got the tree!
This was better and by hanging on to the top of the fence balanced precariously I got this view. Worryingly, a few tourists were stopping beneath me on the pavement curious about this plump woman hanging over a six foot high fence above them.
I care not what people think! The joy of being mid fifty is that you have left behind the dreadful self consciousness of youth and the self absorption of the forties. But I am tiring of getting only tiny glimpses of the beauty which lies here before me.
Blasted battery failed me again. James Bond never had to deal with such petty things. A man below asks concerned, "Are you stuck up there?"
I answer politely, "No, I am fine!" He is reluctant to move on and by now there are five of them below, a crowd is gathering and that brings others. Several are pointing up at me and others come from across the road to see what is going on.
Bloody busybodies people are so nosey! Mind you speaking of nosy, here am I hanging over someone else's property clicking like mad. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!
I get down and decide to try the back of the premises. I am now sounding like a burglar, I notice. I go through a parking yard, the combination lock was intimidating, but someone had left the gate ajar. So I was able to step over a small wall into the rough back end of the garden.
At one stage this must have been an outdoor bar area but nature has taken over and trees grow behind the counter. It reminds one that without us cities would soon look very different.
At last a view of the house from behind! I feel I have risked life and limb to catch this glimpse.
Perhaps, at one stage the house had a tennis court in its gardens? All is broken and in bad shape. But at least I can see the large windows at the back now.
I am having to clamber over rubble to get a better look.
This outhouse has seen better days.
From behind the huge apartment blocks loom over the lovely house.
The garden at the back is still lovely, despite all these years of being unattended.
That huge window must light up the whole back of the house bringing the garden into the upper floor. And here it lies unseen and forgotten. I am so glad to discover this house and despite not getting all the way in feel a sense of achievement. What a good way to spend a Saturday morning. Also, slightly relieved I didn't break an ankle or fall in between two boulders and have to saw an arm off to free myself. At this age one learns to be grateful for the weirdest things!
Saturday, 31 May 2014
Tuesday, 27 May 2014
“It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.” ― Marcus Aurelius
My aunt and my Mum visited me on Malta again this April and
as usual bowled me over with their laughter and good natures. In their eighties, (or there about) it was
their toughness that struck me this time.
The young tend to think of themselves as indestructible and drive too
often like lunatics. As if death was a
far off fictional destination. The
elderly, who have lived a long full life, have suffered bereavement, ill health
and pain the young cannot imagine. They
look back on decades of experiences, good and bad. Their hindsight encompasses so many highs and lows. The tumultuous adolescent is like a crawling
baby to them and middle-aged angst akin to a long forgotten skin
infection. Death is on their map. My father used to say that the grim reaper
had reached his field. He is no
stranger; they've encountered this foe many times. Their familiarity with what it means, breeds in them not
recklessness but determination. Battled
hardened troops, they buckle on their weapons, check their gear, keep a
watchful eye on their surroundings and for hidden land mines around. They are appalled by the ignorance of the
raw recruits they see on every side.
Who have not experienced the heat of real battle but preen and boast of
future endeavours. These veterans don’t
waste energy boasting. They've seen it
all! Begun to know themselves,
their own bravery or cowardice. The bits
of themselves and those loved ones left on battlefields decades ago. They hug their maimed limbs monitoring for
new sores not old. Watchful but not
defeated.
I decide to take them to my school on Malta. We caught a bus for it is a good
forty-minute walk away and I showed them the three buildings. The high School section of the school
resembles a hobbit village. It is a
former barracks and is in the shape of a hexagon with a deep moat all around.
The buildings are set into the ground, hence the hobbit look, but were designed
not to look cute but to hide the establishment from bombers from above. Circular buildings of old sandstone and
little courtyards with benches under trees abound. Plenty of lovely corners for teenagers to hang out and chat with
their friends. The surrounding moat
gives the High School a secluded secret garden appeal and the only access is
via a single bridge over the moat.
The Middle School is across the road and despite its age has
a dignified grandeur. Beside it sits
the Elementary School, a separate building with colourful play areas. My aunt and mum are pleasantly surprised by
the school, it is not what they expected.
The art exhibition of the school is running and I decide to let them
check out the student’s artwork. In a
large hall, all the students from elementary to high school have decorated the
walls, tables and stands with their creations.
During the week each class takes turns to man the exhibition. They have been carefully drilled to show
guests around. Our guide is around
eight or less and is barely up to our waists.
But eager to engage and be our guide.
He stands straight and shows us his own painting of the sun and
planets. Anxious that we look at his
work and not others he points precisely at his own masterpiece and announces,
“And this is mine! Not the blue one, that one there.”
Andy directs our attention.
My mother a primary and secondary teacher for all of her life switches
instantly into teacher mode after a mere twenty years of retirement.
“Can you name all the planets?” she challenges.
Andy shakes his shoulders and gamely recites eight planets
but Saturn appears three times in his list.
My mother explains to him our family method for remembering the order of
the planets from the sun.
Maurice (mercury) vomits (Venus) every ((earth) morning
(Mars) just (Jupiter) slowly (Saturn) until (Uranus) night (Neptune) prevails
(Pluto).
Sadly, Pluto has been removed from the list of planets since
our rhythm was devised! Maurice my
eldest brother was a sickly child so the rhythm made a lot of sense to us
all. It feels unfair though, now that
he is in his sixties and a professor, for Andy to be reciting his sickly
past. Once he’s got it, Andy drags my
mother to the pottery table. He is
mesmerised by her ability to really listen and yet also to challenge him
too. He shows her his pottery
pig/elephant/dragon (I must confess I was not sure which) and she asks him how
he made it. Putting it in her hands he
explains he used a ‘pinch pot’ technique.
After hearing the method my mother places the pottery piece carefully
back in the middle of a sea of pigs/elephants.
Andy leans over and carefully readjusts his pig turning it a
fraction. Obviously, even placing work
in a display is an artistic business not to be trusted to amateurs! Another small boy wants to show his pig to
my mother but Andy will have none of it.
Grabbing her by the arm he leads her over to a wall of colourful
volcanoes. He wants her to look at only
his, but cannot reach his own work high on the wall above and so spends some
anxious moments checking she is looking at his masterpiece. It has red triangles spouting down its
slopes and Andy told us all he knew about volcanoes. Then once he had run out he checked again, very concerned.
“Which one are you looking at?”
My mother dutifully pointed to the red one and answered,
“It’s that one isn't it?”
Andy wriggled in delight and in the silence of our contemplation
of his work found new inspiration,
“When ~I was painting it I was thinking about…” and here he
imitated the sounds of a volcano erupting.
It went on for a few dramatic minutes, the full soundtrack accompanied
with arms gesturing upwards and then down.
I began to feel our guide to the exhibition was a unique little
character indeed. Perhaps, my only criticism
was his desire to show us only his handiwork.
But then again, which artist, if he is really honest, does not feel the
same in his heart, “All the other artists can go hang!”
All too soon we had to leave and Andy just did not want his
audience to go. Reluctantly, we thanked
our guide, the teachers manning the table and began to leave the hall. Unfortunately, one of my guests (I have
promised to not to say which one) tripped over the edge of the top of the ramp
at the exit and fell flat on her back from a height of three steps. I was horrified! I have a dear elderly friend who manages to break her wrist just
cleaning windows. Running to her side I
told her to lie still and see she how she felt. Her embarrassment overcame any pain and she wanted to get up
immediately and go. Terrified of a
broken leg/hip or ankle, it was a huge fall, I called for a chair and glass of
water. Carefully, we lifted her onto
the chair and she drank a sip of the water.
Despite my urging her to rest, she was determined to stand and walk and
she got to her feet and tested her legs.
She pronounced herself fine and I could see with relief she could stand
and walk. I found myself crying in gratitude
that she was unhurt and hugged her close.
That slow motion turning and twisting gigantic fall and hard smack on
the tiles was burnt on my retina and heart.
Suddenly, from across the room ran Andy who threw his arms around my
relative and pressed his face against her waist. It was so unexpected and so genuine, so filled with love and
concern, we were all stunned, Small
people can blow you away with their capacity to love. Both my aunt and mother insisted on walking the whole way home
and as I paced behind these sisters I felt the privilege of knowing their strength
and resilience. Their capacity to deal
with pain and shrug it off. The next
day when I was teaching Andy’s class computing in elementary his first question
when he came into the class was,
“How is the nice lady?
Is she okay? I was very worried about
her!”
My breath is taken away by his loving concern. The old and the young are a privilege to
have around. Their hearts are both huge
and intense. The former because they
have exercised it so much and the latter because theirs is brand spanking new,
just out of the box.
Saturday, 24 May 2014
The Laws of Change
Newton's first
law of motion "the law of inertia".
There is a
natural tendency of objects/people to keep on doing what they're doing. All
objects/people resist changes to their state
Samuel was usually terrified of the slamming door. It signalled his brother was home and in a
foul temper. There was only twelve
months between the two but Jacob, the older, dominated by his aggressive
nature. When they were small, Samuel
had grown accustomed to the nips and smacks that rained down his from his
sibling. There seemed no reason for the
attacks but they were certainly triggered by his parent’s absence from the
room. Jacob’s courage grew with the years and Samuel felt a line being crossed
when, under the table or behind the sofa, he was attacked even when his parents
were in the room. His howls of anguish
would provoke sighs, as his parents would lift Samuel and sooth his
pinched/smacked skin by rubbing it gently and kissing it better. This did no good, as it was the injustice of
his elder brother’s abuse that scared and upset Samuel. He could cope with the attacks, unprovoked
as they were but it was his parents seeming ability to overlook his brother’s
guilt that rankled. His attempts to
fathom their responses had involved many stages. At first, when they were toddlers his parent’s had mouthed to
each other the same word in response to Jacob’s aggression. At primary school, Samuel had recognised the
word ‘jealous’. Every action of Jacob,
it appeared to him, was permitted because of his brother’s dark jealousy. In Samuel’s mind this word seemed to give
his brother a secret freedom to mistreat him.
Even worse it engendered towards Jacob, from his parents, an attitude of
loving appeasement no matter how dire the consequences for Samuel.
Try as he could Samuel never understood why Jacob was
allowed to hurt him so continually and with little no consequence for his
actions. It was at school he realized
other older children were much nicer than his brother. In the playground they were protective of
the smaller children and Samuel had actually cried when he realised that others
were not like his brother. It was only
then he grasped there was something wrong with Jacob. He hid the knowledge from everyone, even himself. Wanting to deny the inevitable conclusion
that Jacob was just bad. Over the years
Samuel developed coping strategies. He
learned that having other children around to play protected him from his
brother. Not screaming or showing pain
when attacked seemed to reduce Jacob’s satisfaction. Samuel dug deep into his reservoirs of patience and stamina to
cope. He grew astute at reading his
brother’s moods. He never relaxed in
his brother’s presence but he learned to pretend like his parents that Jacob
was normal.
As Samuel’s social skills grew it seemed Jacob
regressed. The older brother sulked,
shouted at his parents and had explosive temper tantrums. His parents had stopped mentioning jealousy
instead they spoke of ‘marriage
problems’ being the explanation. This
frightened Samuel more than his brother’s attacks.
Newton's second law of motion
Heavier objects/problems require more force to move the same distance as lighter objects/problems.
Having learned coping strategies to deal with his brother
it had never occurred to him that his parent’s marriage might be the next
victim of his brother’s actions.
Sensitive to the shifts in mood within the home he saw how his parents
rarely spoke to each other now. They
used to walk hand in hand on long walks but now they seemed to take turns with
the children. Operating as a tag team
to cope with all the difficulties. As
Samuel watched their growing coldness his fear grew.
Much of his childhood had passed with acceptance of his
lot but as things worsened at home Samuel felt something unravel inside
him. He disliked his brother. It seemed to have happened suddenly. He could even remember the moment there was
a sea change. He was walking with
together his father and Jacob along a towpath.
His father was distracted but forced himself to engage with his two
sons. Samuel hated it, sensed his
father ached to be elsewhere. He grew
quiet aware that even this his favourite walk would not heal the atmosphere. Samuel noticed that Jacob was throwing
stones into the canal, huge handfuls of stones raining down on the still
water. His actions were as usual
aggressive and frantic as if he might not be able to create enough
splashes. Samuel slide his hand into
his father’s quietly. His father said
nothing but squeezed his son’s hand in response. It felt good and Samuel remembered a thousand kindnesses from his
dad. All the hugs and bedtime stories,
games and long walks. All the
discussion, questions answered and the endless patience and love. He wanted to find the words to put all these
feelings into one expression but couldn’t.
He also wanted for the first time to tell him of all the bullying. How often Samuel had wept into his pillow at
the hopelessness of his situation. He
wanted to tell him so he could explain why it was so. Samuel needed to understand this one point more than
anything. Jacob was screaming as he
threw stones higher and further. Samuel
decided he had nothing to lose and told his father,
“You
know there is something wrong with Jacob, don’t you?”
His
father, to his horror, began to cry.
Huge fat tears streamed down his face and he had hugged Samuel to his
chest tightly. While in his ear he had
explained to Samuel,
“Your
Mum and I are not getting on. I don’t
want you to blame yourself or your brother about this. We both love you so much and always will!”
Samuel knew then that nothing he said would fix
this. He looked over his father’s
shoulder at Jacob who was now throwing stones at a family of ducks. His parents would never see what he
saw. They couldn’t because parents loved
too much. And in that second almost
before he knew he loved his brother, he stopped loving him. It was as if a shutter had come down in his
heart and it allowed his mind much more clarity. Without emotion he could take real action.
Newton's third law of motion
This means that for every force/effort there is a
reaction/resistance force that is equal in size, but opposite in direction.
The next day while out in the
garden Samuel drew close to Jacob. His
mother was in the kitchen, which looked out over the garden. Samuel got in between Jacob and the window
with his back to the house. Tapping his
brother on the shoulder Samuel waited until Jacob turned and then taking his
own hand smacked himself as hard as he could across the face. The blow was hard and he roared in genuine
pain. Within a second his mother was
cradling him, comforting him. Sam did
not accuse Jacob just hugged his mother sobbing. It helped considerably that Jacob went into a temper tantrum
claiming quite rightly that Samuel had hit himself. He was not believed and yet apart from comforting Samuel his
mother said nothing. It had ever been
so but Samuel felt the difference. He
was running this show and everything had changed. They just didn’t know it.
Later that evening he gave himself a hard pinch on the arm just below
his tee-shirt sleeve. The next day at
school it was vibrant and visible on his arm.
His teacher noticed it at once, as he had hoped, and asked him about
it. He had told her he had fallen. It was so obviously a pinch mark she’d not
believed him. He understood that adults
didn’t hear what you said they liked to work things out themselves. You could not tell it straight they wouldn’t
have believed it. His parent’s
continued as normal to comfort him and not confront Jacob. Samuel hadn’t expected them to behave
differently. His whole life had been
like this and yet it all felt different now.
Perversely, the only one to
notice the change was his brother, Jacob.
So eager was Samuel to trigger another blow from his brother he’d ceased
to be afraid. Jacob found it unnerving
and perversely tried to avoid his younger brother. Samuel had to plan harder.
In the bedroom he’d been beside his brother playing Lego. Talking to his brother and trying to engage
him in conversation. Jacob had been
sullen and withdrawn but Samuel had pretended to swallow a tiny brick and drawn
his brother closer. Reaching up to his
own face Samuel had scratched a long mark on this cheek close to his eye. As tiny bubbles of blood erupted along the
scratch mark, Jacob had gasped and drawn back disbelief apparent on his
normally sullen face. Samuel held his
hand to his face and was silent. Jacob
started to cry and that’s where his father found them. Samuel staunching the wound on his face
while Jacob cried beside him.
It was a defining moment for the family. The teacher had filed a report about the
marks on Samuel’s arm and now this very visible scratch so close to vulnerable
eyes made action imperative.
Counselling was arranged through the school and there, professionals
were quick to realise that although Samuel got on with other children his
brother did not. Very quickly, his
parents were informed that Jacob would be tested by a school psychologist. The first counsellor was useless; a young
woman straight out of training she urged the youngster to talk to her but did
nothing else. Fortunately, a
psychiatrist did a follow up visit with a battery of tests and quickly showed
that Jacob suffered from Klinefelter Syndrome and a lack of basic communication
skills. Once the issue had been
identified everyone seemed to unite to address things. The school rose to the challenge and more
importantly his parents found a new respect and tenderness for each other that
surprised them both. Samuel felt a load
lifted from his shoulders and during long Lego building sessions with his
brother felt differently towards him.
Not love, not yet but an odd growing protective feeling towards Jacob
that surprised and made their future seem much brighter.
Friday, 9 May 2014
head-butting my grandson
Here is Charlie my grandson a few months ago being sung to by his mum. Just love the connection between mum and baby. So sweet to share these moments. Not like my last online Skype call with Charlie. My son was holding his iPad above Charlie and I was talking to my grandson in the UK face to face, when suddenly the iPad fell out of the holder and hit Charlie on the forehead a hard blow. The iPad was ignored on the floor while the baby was comforted and I on Malta was now aware that as far as Charlie was concerned his granny had just head butted him! Felt so awful and guilty despite there being nothing I could have done to prevent it. Such are the dangers of the virtual world. Instead of sweet nothings you inflict damage. Sigh…….
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)