Villa Frere Gardens in Malta, as they were in 1930s

John Hookham Frere (1769–1846) was an English diplomat, writer, scholar, and translator. He served as Britain's envoy to Spain and Portugal in the early 1800’s and became well known for his work in both diplomacy and literature. 

John Frere

He studied English, Greek and Latin literature at Eton and Cambridge and was also fluent in Italian, French and Spanish. As Britain's ambassador to Spain during the Napoleonic Wars he became well known for his work in both diplomacy and literature. On 12 September 1816, John Hookham Frere married Elizabeth Jemima Blake aged 46, the former Dowager Countess of Erroll. For a time they lived in Frere’s home, Roylands in England but her tuberculous necessitated a warmer climate so Frere moved with his wife to Malta in 1821. 

Elizabeth Jemima Blake had married George Hay, in 1790 aged 20, 16th Earl of Erroll becoming Countess of Erroll but by the age of 28 she was widowed with no children. However, in Malta, John and Elizabeth adopted a four-year-old girl called Statyra, a Greek child orphaned during the Greek War of Independence (1821–1829), and raised her as their daughter at Villa Frère.

Statyra

Typical of Frere’s linguistic ability during his stay in Malta he would go on to learn Maltese and Hebrew! He created Villa Frere in Pietà and designed extensive gardens in the English landscape style but adapted to Malta's climate and terrain. Elizabeth died in Malta on 17 January 1831 after ten years of happy life on the island. One reason Villa Frère is such a poignant place is, following her death, Frere ensured the garden became a memorial landscape dedicated to his beloved wife. Indeed, he deliberately carefully planned clear views from the garden towards the spot where Elizabeth was buried in Msida Bastion Cemetery. In the following fifteen years of his life, he never remarried and instead worked on improving the garden in an act of devotion to his wife. 

They became one of the most celebrated gardens on the island appearing in the Magazine Country life in 5th July 1930. The following photos are AI colour generated from the original black and white photos in that issue) and give a glimpse of the beauty of the garden.

The villa attracted many distinguished visitors, including the novelist Benjamin Disraeli. Frere also had strong links with leading literary figures such as Lord Byron and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 

Mikiel Anton Vassalli (often called The Father of Maltese language) was one of the most significant friendships in John Hookham Frere's Maltese life. Frere actively helped Vassalli secure a position at the University of Malta as the first Professor of Maltese and Vassali would go on to publish important works on Maltese grammar, proverbs and language studies.

While creating the upper gardens in 1839, workers employed by John Hookham Frere uncovered a natural sinkhole hidden beneath the rocky ground. It was about 19 metres (70 feet) deep, reaching almost to sea level. 

It had become filled with clay and debris over many centuries but Frere had it excavated and cleared. Instead of simply leaving the sinkhole exposed, Frere did something extraordinary: he cut through the rock, which allowed visitors to walk into and view the sinkhole from inside. The tunnel had cleverly turned the geological feature into a romantic garden attraction. 

There were also several Queens who were known to have visited the Villa Frere gardens in Malta. It is possible that Queen Adelaide (1838–1839) visited in Frere’s time at the villa. Queen Mary (1912) and Queen Marie of Romania (1924) were later visitors. 

Queen Marie would, after her visit, design her own gardens around Balchik Palace in Bulgaria obviously inspired by what she saw in these gardens.  

The gardens are maze like with corners with benches and chairs to sit in the shade and wonderful vistas everywhere.

Part of the beauty of the garden is its many levels that have been cut into the slope and the myriad of paths that allow you wander into each corner.

The charming spontaneity of the place constantly surprises and the range of plants, trees and flowers constantly stimulates.

The many stone staircases beckon you forward to another level to explore.

During World War II the estate suffered minor bomb damage, and later much of the garden was lost due to the expansion of St Luke's Hospital, helicopter landing site and nearby school buildings. As a result, the gardens are one third of the size they used to be and Frere Villa itself in a state of decay. Fortunately, thoughtful restoration work is now being carried out by Heritage Malta and the Friends of Villa Frère and its beauty is even now quite stunning. The photos below are from an outing today Sun 14th June 2026 and indicate what still remains of this garden.

The little summer house has already been repaired and has an audio visual presentation on the history of the Villa Frere and its gardens.

This video shows the summer house and the courtyard. 

The gardens are open one day a month usually the first Sunday of each month and the guides are abundant, polite and friendly.  It costs 5 Euros to enter they provide lovely live harp music as you wander around. I highly recommend it. Please don't expect the Country Life version as you will be disappointed. But if you come to explore and enjoy thoughtful restoration by a great team you will gain insights on a place and person that should be celebrated.

PS Frere seems to have fallen out with very few people and, by all accounts, was remarkably good-natured towards almost everyone he encountered, regardless of their religion, nationality, or social background. Such a quality is rare in any age. Yet I did discover one individual with whom he most certainly did not get along. The rarity of such a conflict in Frere's life made me look more closely at the man in question.

While serving as British envoy in Madrid from 1802 to 1804, Frere clashed with Manuel Godoy, the powerful favourite of King Charles IV of Spain. The disagreement became so severe that Frere was recalled to Britain and lost his diplomatic post. Yet history was not kind to Godoy. By March 1808, he had become perhaps the most hated man in Spain. An enraged mob attacked his residence, forcing him to hide in an attic for two days before he was captured and eventually driven into permanent exile.

Frere, meanwhile, was honoured by Spain with the Grand Cross of the Royal and Distinguished Order of Charles III, one of the highest civil distinctions the Spanish Crown can bestow. 

Perhaps the true measure of a person lies not in the applause or condemnation of the moment, but in what remains after they are gone. At Villa Frère, the Malta Horticultural Society was founded, and Frere gave support to the great Maltese scholar Mikiel Anton Vassalli in his efforts to secure recognition for the Maltese language. Although the magnificent views towards Valletta have long since been obscured by the construction of a school and a hospital on parts of the former gardens, Frere himself might well have approved. He was a man of learning, public service, and practical benevolence, and would perhaps have been pleased that these buildings contributed to the education, health, and well-being of future generations.

Malta - reconstruction, recollections and reflections

 

St Julian’s in Malta is a picturesque spot.  Walking to the love statue along the coast from Sliema is a therapy for mind and body.  The scene of the colourful boats lying at anchor add to the colour and drama of the occasion.   

But if you could have only seen it a couple of centuries ago perhaps you would have been more impressed still.   Before the onslaught of modern hotels, businesses and contemporary apartment blocks there was a beauty that was unique.  However, when you think of the hammering Malta received during the war it is amazing how much still remains to be admired.  The extent of this bombing is difficult to get your head around but some old photos do speak volumes.

So I suspect we should be grateful for the beauty that remains. But some of the slightly older photos of St Julian's show us another side to this familiar spot that deserves remembering.

This aerial view of the approach to St Julian's from Balluta bay is still recognisable despite the age of the photograph.  But other photographs of St Julian's suddenly begin to show the changes that have occurred.

In particular, the lovely old buildings on the other side of the bay look stunning and I suddenly see what this area has lost with time.  There is a simplicity and loveliness in this shot that surprises and the two boys with their bicycle seem from another more innocent age.

Going back a few more years this close up of Spinola Palace shows that it is missing the crown on its facade that had been removed in 1798 during Napoleon's visit to signify the Knights Hospitaller of St John's expulsion from Malta. The palace itself was originally built in 1688 by a certain Fra Paolo Rafel Spinola, Grand Prior of Lombardy, on a piece of land he obtained from his brother Frangisku Nupuljan Spinola de Roccaforte, Marquise of the Holy Roman Empire.  

Fra Paolo Rafel Spinola's nephew was appointed Ambassador of the Order to the Court of King Philip V of Spain, to the King of Sicily and to the Court of Pope Innocent XII. In 1733 the Palace was passed on to him and he enlarged and embellished it. This later construction was designed by Romano Carapecchia, and is considered a masterpiece. We can see his original plans for its construction below.

This building also had at the time of its construction a number of ancillary buildings including two boathouses, a church, a belvedere and a building serving as stables. They still survive today belonging to different private owners, with the palace belonging to the Maltese government. Originally the building had also large extensive gardens, including baroque gardens and vineyards.  Over time these were reduced to an enclosed back garden and a small front public garden. Today the palace is barely visible from the bay, being obscured by apartments and other modern buildings.  Which is a shame as it is still an impressive building.

The original church, across the road, is also still there but has a new facade.

The stables are now inhabited by Pizza hut and have undergone considerable reconstruction.  However, the original belvedere still exists.  I had no clue as to what this was, but have since looked up its definition  "an architectural structure sited to take advantage of a fine or scenic view".  It looks a little neglected but still an impressive building.

Spinola palace's original wine cellar now houses the L-Għonnella Restaurant while the two boathouses, whose structures largely remain, host two other restaurants as well.  The original boathouses can be seen more clearly in the photograph below.

The Palace has had a colourful history passing to the church and then in the 1830s, it was used as a residence by the artist Charles Allingham (c.1778-1850).  The British military rented it for £20 a year as a hospital and during the 1860's it became known as Forrest Hospital.

It was after named Dr John Forrest who was the Inspector for Hospitals of the period and it served soldiers and was divided into nine wards on different floors. Following the cholera epidemic of 1865, when three patients there died, a sanitary report pointed out that the building was not suitable as a hospital as the building had serious issues related to a bad drainage system and poor ventilation. The following photograph shows the building with its extensive gardens still in existence.

In the 1940s, the Palace was used as a shelter for people whose homes had been destroyed by aerial bombardment in World War II.  Following its restoration between 1984 and 1986, it was used to host the Museum of Modern Art rather unsuccessfully and then by the Ministry for Tourism for a period. Spinola Palace was restored once again between 2006 and 2007 and this time the crown on the clock, which had been missing since 1798, and the expulsion of the Order was reconstructed in 2012.  The following photograph is not a very old one but shows the Palace still clearly visible in St Julians before it became largely hidden by new buildings.  The two boathouses can also be clearly seen here at the waterside along with the traditional buses in the foreground.

I find it a little sad that Spinola Palace is not really visible from this perspective today and it is perhaps reflective of much that has been knocked down, built on and obscured in the rush to commercialise. When Malta's heritage was demolished by bombs during World War 2 there was a need to rebuild and reclaim in a tangible way what had been lost.  But in modern Malta, the pace of change seems so very fast that there is almost no time to appreciate what we have before it is cemented over and lost.  The beauty and bravery of Malta and the Maltese deserves to be remembered and respected.  Sometimes it is by looking back we find the things we value and also the parts of ourselves that need preserving in order to create the future we truly deserve.  In these odd, unpredictable days of a pandemic perhaps we all need to dig deep and reflect on the individuals, communities and institutions that Malta needs now.

"Therefore strive that your actions day by day may be beautiful prayers."

Bahá’í Writings

The Trip of a lifetime by hot air balloon - London to Constantinople via Malta

It seems an excellent offer, a wonderful adventure which would start at Charing Cross in London and then you would travel by air balloon to Lisbon for a stopover, followed by a quick balloon trip to Gibraltar, then the balloon will continue its flight first to Malta to dine and finally, the last league of this entrancing balloon adventure would be to Constantinople.  Then, the whole journey will be repeated in reverse. Imagine being able to float above the countryside and over the sea exploring countries at your leisure, all spread out beneath you stopping to dine at such extraordinary venues.  

Even now it makes the mouth water and seems an exciting idea.  Unfortunately, this offer has expired. I hasten to explain before the online booking begins in earnest.  It is an offer from The Times dated April 6, 1785.  So, it actually expired well over two hundred years ago.  Seems incredible, doesn’t it?  I actually spend a large part of my free time combing through the archives of this newspaper as they have past editions from 1785 all available online.   I know it is an odd habit for which I can only apologize but the joy of it is that occasionally it turns up interesting little snippets that surprise and delight.

Here is the advertisement in case you doubt me.

 

The article is tricky to read so I will give a text version below.

INTELLIGENCE EXTRAORDINARY.

To Travellers

A new real Air Balloon Poft Chariot, to carry- four passengers in two days to Constantinople, is to set off, at six o’clock precisely, on Monday evening, from Charing-cross, and to breakfast next morning at Lisbon, dine at Gibraltar, and sup and lie at Malta; to set out from thence time enough on Wednesday morning, so-as-to arrive at four in the afternoon at Constantinople – from whence it-is-to return exactly at six on Thursday evening, breakfast on Friday morning at Malta,: dine at Gibraltar, and sleep at Lisbon; to depart next morning soon enough to arrive at the Hotel Dieu in Covent-Garden, at four in the afternoon. To be performed (if God permit) by Signor Zampango and Co. 

N. B Each passenger will be allowed to carry fourteen pounds weight as luggage. 

This seems an incredible journey considering air balloons were only discovered fairly early in the 1700s.  The earliest mention of a very small balloon lifting is on August 8, 1709, in Lisbon, Bartolomeu de Gusmão when a paper balloon full of hot air rose a mere four meters in front of King John V and the Portuguese court.

A more effective balloon was the world’s first hydrogen balloon launched by Jacques Charles and the Robert brothers on 23rd of August 1783, in the Place des Victoires, Paris. This balloon was still quite small, a 35-cubic-metre sphere of rubberised silk (about 13 feet in diameter), and could only lift around 9 kg.  So obviously no passengers allowed!

The exciting news of this startling attraction drew such a huge crowd that on the 26th the balloon was moved secretly by night to the Champ de Mars, now the site of the Eiffel Tower some four kilometres away. On August 27, 1783, the balloon was released; Interestingly Benjamin Franklin (Founding Father of the United States) was among the crowd of onlookers. 

The balloon flew northwards for 45 minutes, chased by excited spectators on horseback, and landed 21 kilometres away in the village of Gonesse.  Here the presence of the balloon created a huge amount of fear and the terrified local peasants attacked the ‘floating demon’ with pitchforks and knives, and destroyed it. A successful first flight with a rather deflated, disappointing ending.

On 5 June 1783, the Montgolfier brothers demonstrated an unmanned hot-air balloon 35 feet (11 m) in diameter. On 19 September 1783, their balloon ‘Aerostat Réveillon’ was flown with the first (non-human) living creatures in a basket attached to the balloon: a sheep, a duck and a rooster. This remarkable demonstration was performed before a considerable crowd at the royal palace in Versailles, in front of King Louis XVI of France and Queen Marie Antoinette. The flight only lasted around eight minutes and travelled only two miles (3 km), but reached an altitude of about 1,500 feet (460 m). Thankfully the craft plus its three reluctant animal passengers landed safely after flying. 

The first untethered flight with human passengers was on 21 November 1783. Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier, along with the Marquis François d'Arlandes, piloted the balloon. In 25 minutes the two men travelled just over five miles. Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier, would later also try to fly across the English Channel in June 1785 but died in the attempt the very first casualty in balloon flight.

The challenge to fly across the English Channel was accomplished on January 7, 1785 by Jean-Pierre Blanchard.  However, these early trips were full of challenges and the two balloonists who successfully crossed the English Channel ended up almost naked trying to keep their balloon aloft.  Here is an interesting account of their trip.

The technology of these early balloons, as you have seen, was not sophisticated, and many things did go wrong. Tullamore, Ireland was the scene of a balloon disaster on 10 May 1785 when a hot air balloon took off from the centre of the rural town and got snagged on a chimney. This collision brought the balloon down, which crashed and set a hundred homes alight.

By now like me you are probably wondering if these firsts were being achieved in terms of managing to cross the English Channel in 1785, how on earth does this advertised flight appear in The Times, from London to Lisbon to Gibraltar, Malta and finally Constantinople and back, seem possible in 1785?  Something doesn’t seem right about the timeline.  I am still scratching my head but am wondering if this article is an early scam by someone attempting to get money from naïve passengers excited by the thought of balloon flight.  If the flight occurred, then surely there would be more mention of it and secondly, in 1785 the direction of flight was still difficult to control.  In these early days, balloons generally went whatever direction the wind blew so how could the pilot achieve five cities in different countries in so short a time?  Perhaps the exciting experience mentioned was simply being swindled by Signor Zampango?  I would love to know the truth and if there is some detective out there willing to examine a 235-year-old case please feel free give it a go.

 

Michael deals with dirt and life

Michael Abateo wiped his brow as the sweat pulsated from his pores. He was getting old. He reckoned you leaked more as you age. From one’s bladder, nose and even eyes. He had grown accustomed to the gradual changes in his body. He didn’t complain but hugged the physical pain close to keep other pains away.  Losing his wife Maria had broken him in so many ways.

It was only after she died he realised her happy nature has ever been the sunshine in his life. Of course, she had driven him crazy at times! Her good nature seemed to extend to every passing stray she met. But she had chosen him to love and that still felt like an undeserved blessing, even 50 years later. He couldn’t put into words what she meant to him but now even a year later, her loss felt like a mortal wound.

The children had been great. Loving and supportive despite their own personal loss. During Maria’s illness and funeral, he had been shocked that they had become mature adults and he a devastated child. Every day that passed he was reminded of Maria in all their acts of kindness towards him. When they called at his house there was always a tender look of concern as if to ask, “Are you, alright dad?” Their faces reminded him of Maria and sometimes when they spoke to him he stopped listening to the actual words and just drank in their similarities to Maria. The way they laughed. Full-throated, head thrown back and arms flailing. They seem to use their hands when they talked just like their mother. Turning both hands outwards as if opening two door handles at the same time. He remembered the gesture and it felt like being in her presence for a second again, warm and loved once more. Michael had realised he wasn’t getting over his loss.  He didn’t need anyone to tell him that.

Neighbours had been kindly, he couldn’t complain about anyone. Even Maria’s friends had cooked meals and dropped in to try and cheer him up. He realised how Maltese he was in his ability to have so many people around him and yet feel so truly alone.

These days he’d taken up a service project in Valetta and as he walked rapidly through the steep streets he’d begun to notice the lonely older faces in upstairs windows looking out. Strange how you can live in a place for decades and yet fail to see so much. The project had been his son’s idea. An old palazzo needed weekly cleaning and Michael for some reason had accepted this suggestion when he had rejected so many others.

He actually looked forward to his weekly visits to the empty deserted building. Dust covered the front door and the litter box was ever filled to overflowing with stupid fliers. He liked the silence and the practical tasks, they both soothed him.  Even dumping the fliers felt like a weekly ritual cleanout. He would take a wooden folding chair and place it near the front to prop the big green wooden doors open to help dry the tiles while he cleaned. He’d been startled to find a huge dead red cockroach near the front door lying belly-up in the empty corridor. It must have cooked in the heat, he thought. Although he had spotted it the week before, he hadn’t disposed of it. The big front doors that day had proven difficult to open, so he’d gone to the ironsmith shop close to Saint John’s Cathedral. The owner had explained all the old wooden doors swell up in the summer sun and become stuck.  He explained,

“You have to be careful though, if you sand them down in summer then in the winter you’ll let the rain in!”

Michael had enjoyed the chaos of his shop and their conversation. It was rarer these days to find shopkeepers with time to chat. He’d carefully sanded the door of the palazzo, just a bit, to make it easier to open and so hadn’t had the time to deal with mopping and cleaning. He wasn’t getting paid for his services so he wasn’t unduly worried. When he returned a week later the red coloured cockroach was exactly where he had left it, still lying on its back.

Rather than handle it, Michael decided to use the mop and just wipe it off into the water in his bucket. He’d done the whole of the entrance hall when he noticed movement in the container. The cockroach had come alive! Given that the bucket was full of strong cleaning fluid as well as water, Michael was shocked to find the dead cockroach now clinging to the mop head in his bucket.

He was incredulous at this rejuvenation of a previously dead insect. Unsure how to proceed he decided to shake the mop out through the front door over the metal gate. The cockroach landed on it back on the pavement and Michael forgot about the incident until he’d cleaned the whole lower floor and was ready to head home. He was delighted to find the front door easier to close, following his sanding of the previous week, and as he closed the door he straightened his back and stretched his arms above his head.  It was good to be physically tired from real work.

A movement on the curb drew his attention. It was the red cockroach! A little the worse for wear but sitting the right way up shaking its wings in the sun, loosening up just like Michael. He looked at this fellow creature and remembered it lying seemingly dead to the world. It was saved by immersion in the dirty detergent water. Brought back to life by moisture’s magic. Michael felt a strange surge of optimism. Perhaps it was a sign of hope? Sometimes life leaves you with nothing, hardly a breath, barely a flicker to show the life force within. Unexpected things can bring you back from the edge, even the dregs.

As Michael walked home he began to feel a shadow lifting from his heart. Maria would’ve thrown back her head and laughed with her arms aloft if he’d told her about his encounter with the insect. That made him smile to himself and chuckle.


Previous story about Michael and Maria Abateo from years ago - Maria's kindness

Parcels, journeys and lessons learned

Tried to go to the post office centre in Marsa, on Malta, and got hopelessly lost. Ended up in the Three Cities having started in Sliema. Totally the wrong direction what a failure. Seems to typify most of my endeavours at this stage of my life. Set up simple task clearly in my mind this morning - retrieve parcel from post office. Expend huge amounts of energy and end up exhausted but with totally nothing to show for it. At times you feel everything in life is a spiritual metaphor. Reflecting back to us fundamental truths that need to be heard whether we like it or not. 

So let's look at today. The parcel had been delivered to Malta. Being from outside Europe the parcel goes to an office in the middle of the island. You have just seven days to pick it up and must pay a percentage tax on it. I have no idea what it is or how much it costs. Without a car you must master the intricate bus routes that exist on Malta. It is a tiny island and a mere 27 kilometres by 15 kilometres but by bus almost every destination is over an hour, or more, away. You spend ages at bus-stops waiting for buses which completely ignore their timetables. It's not their fault. The roads are gridlocked and ,as no one gets anywhere fast, anger grows. You can see it in the faces of car drivers who sit breathing in fumes.  It is also apparent in the erratic bus drivers who brake, accelerate, swerve and stand on their brakes, sending passengers flying down the aisle. Bus passengers here have adopted a weary resignation tinged with humour. Only when driven to extremes do they display anything other than determined good nature. I burn with agitation that I must have sailed past the proper stop and ended up at the opposite part of the island. Today I have failed in my endeavours.

What are the fundamental truths learned today? Despite being a foreigner in Malta people are universally kind to me. They offer me seats on overfilled buses. I must have reached that age of visible vulnerability? On the second bus, going in the wrong direction, the Maltese, dignified, elderly man beside me, sensed my growing agitation as I consulted my map and signs of passing bus stops. Eventually, he asked, “Where is it you want to go?” I showed him the Maltapost address and he sighed in some distress. “You are in the Three cities and will have to go back the way you came”. He carefully wrote down the name of the stop I should get off at and then instructed me to catch a completely different bus from there. I thanked him profusely as he got off at his stop. A tall white bearded figure in a suit with a briefcase. Hands like a musician and kind concerned eyes. I then, typically, totally ignored his instructions. The bus came to the end of the line and I got off there instead. 

In between tall old houses I can see the ships and oil rigs. It looks too interesting not to explore. 

Going back on one’s tracks always feels like failure somehow.  I eventually find myself close to the ferry terminal it will take me to Valetta and home. Travelling by boat is such a treat. I order a cappuccino and enjoy the moment. 

Lessons learnt so far. 

1. Even when given a clear and limited objective, I have the infinite capacity to fail. 
2. People are exceptionally kind and courteous much more so than I deserve or expect. 
3. Being beside the sea is a constant joy. 
4. Travelling by public transport forces me to engage with people. This is a necessity as I am by nature a loner and odder than one can possibly imagine. 
5. The days of one's life march past at an incredible rate and I do hope no one is tallying up my productivity. It seems an inverse relationship. The more days pass - the less I appear to achieve. The only logical explanation is that I must be in reverse!

I better go and catch this ferry as I've already missed the first two sitting here having a coffee daydreaming.

PS caught ferry after being distracted by Senegal and then decided having reached Valetta to try once more my original destination in Marsa. I have now found the Maltapost office and am awaiting customs inspection as the item is from Turkey. After waiting for a customs official for forty minutes, I am now thinking perhaps it is far from being such an innocent gift from an ex-student! Will it contain illegal substances of which I know nothing? Suddenly, images from Midnight Express film flood the mind.

Since, I have instructed the customs officer to open said package to determine its value (necessary to pay tax) I am now awaiting to see if the amount is of the order of the few euros or serval tens of thousands. In the latter case I will be in deep trouble. I could be totally innocent but also a stupid drug mule! Why does customs the world over make you feel as guilty as sin?

PPS gift turned out to be a simple backgammon set. I'm not a drug mule as I feared. I feel a heady sense of freedom. Another lesson learned - take nothing in life for granted!