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

My Letter of Attack, Dear Des....

A Letter to Des

You live in Northern Ireland and work the land. Generations of mine have worked this land and while shaping their landscape also carved from their time here characters as generous and as unique as the fields they are surrounded by.  

However, you are an interloper.  One of those parasites who move into a community and by terrorising your neighbours seize property and substance.  Owning nothing you hoodwink the widowed or elderly to give over their land management forms claiming you will do all the work for them.  Substituting your own signature you then proceed to claim this money for a full five years.  When owners of the land protest that you are taking their right, intimidation becomes the order of the day.  Forcing yourself into my relative’s home and holding one against the wall by the throat!  When an elderly neighbour is seen peering across the road into your garden you assault him and accuse him of looking at your wife.  Little realizing with his poor eyesight he can barely see his own fence and his habit of staring is born of this defect.  

From owning no land, you merely rented from others, you successfully took their forms and claimed subsidies in their place.  Years later, while no longer on the land and having illegally removed fences and gates from the property, you continue to claim money on this property you do not own.  This abuse of the single farm payment goes unchecked as years later you can still claim this amount despite not owning the land or even renting it anymore. Planning permits are ignored as you construct on property that is not yours, barns and houses.  Complaints by neighbours to authorities fall on deaf ears.  Bullies thrive in today’s world where confusion and legislation fight in incompetent courts.  Time delays in obtaining justice means such characters have their way and painful resignation is the order of the day.  

When the persistent few actually win against you, your approach is always the same. You pay the first instalment of the money owned and then stop all subsequent payments.  Knowing full well for the innocent, court orders, enforcement, unpleasantness is draining and demeaning.  Even appearing in court to explain how they have been abused, is a humiliation of the soul.  “Look how old, confused, helpless I am, such a rogue can seize my land, wrestle control of my property and here I appear month after month pleading for protection” they seem to convey.  And hence the rogue thrives on his tyranny of others.

You and I met many years ago.  I was visiting an aunt whose fields you rented.  You had allowed the cattle in the fields to gain access to her garden and the bullock happily played across the lawn.  I phoned to tell you that your bullock was loose and could easily get on to the main busy road causing serious injury.  Your resentment was obvious but you acquiesced and moved the animal back to your  fields.  Later, after I’d gone you complained to my aunt about my manner.   I know why you didn’t like me.  We looked at each other and I saw a petty tyrant intimidating all around him.  You didn’t know me, didn’t know who I knew, could not work out how I fitted in to the neighbourhood.  As it happens I know no one of importance, have zero knowledge of farming practices or the area.  But, I did sense something as you raised your stick and beat the bullock on its side to chase it out of the garden.    I recognised a bully and applied the same logic I have long used with them.  Never appease a bully, it only empowers them.  Accommodating them in any way will only add to suffering of the next victim of their tyranny.  

Years ago public opinion in a rural setting would bring its own consequences.  If you abused the elderly farmer, a widow etc the community would quickly let the person know their actions were not to be tolerated.  In such tight knit farming communities your actions would have consequences that quickly let you know lines had been crossed.  Now, such is the rural isolation and pressures facing farmers despair, suicide, economic ruin, family divisions, addiction all have broken down the once united communities.  The reason rural communities were so united was out of necessity.  You helped a neighbour build a shed, cut his field, herd a stock etc because you would one day need their help.  Your destiny was linked to theirs.  But more, generations before you had followed the same path.  It felt the right thing to do.  A moral principle was ingrained like table manners and instilled in future generations.  

When staying in my grandfather’s farm for a week, while he was unwell, I was shocked by how many characters came through the door expecting tea and chat.  The door was expected to be open under all conditions and a warm greeting extended whether I knew them or not.  You learned that this was deemed acceptable behaviour and to do any less was bad manners.  My grandfather helped build his neighbour’s houses and was paid in potatoes not cash and sometimes not paid at all.  That too, was okay because most people survived on the generousity of others and you knew that it would be repaid in friendship and respect if not in money.    We all have memories of those open doors and open hearts.  We were shaped at those hearths and kitchens that smelled of soda bread and roasts in the oven.  When something has been lost we have to look back at an older culture to summon a better way.  Each culture had a bedrock of social interaction that gently corrected and directed behaviour.  Today’s splendid isolation does not serve.  We are essentially communities of people in cities and countries who need each other more than we can possible imagine.  Working together on common goals in service will help remind us of the necessity of community cohesion and what wonders it instills in us and our children and grandchildren.  To proceed in the opposite direction will create unhealthy individuals, divided families, miserable communities and serve selfish materialistic agendas.

tree killer, killed by tree

I don’t like to backbite but there are some people who need to be remembered because they were sufficiently bad to stand out despite the centuries of years that separate them from us.  One of them is Mutawakkil (born March 822, Iraq—died December 861).  One of his party pieces was that when he wanted to make merry he would summon his ministers, councillors and functionaries to his presence and let loose a box of scorpions in the assembly and forbid anyone to move.  A real fun kind of guy to have around.  Indeed, when someone was stung he would burst forth in boisterous laughter.

He immediately tore down synagogues and churches in Baghdad.  Then he razed to the ground the famous Islamic shrine of Husayn Ali and did not allow pilgrimages to take place there.  The tomb of Husayn ibn Ali is one of the holiest places for Shias outside of Mecca and Medina.  In case you are thinking why would a Muslim like Mutawakki seek to eradicate such a special place, it has to be remembered he was a Sunni and regarded this shrine as a Shia site.  Such was the hostility towards the Shias that even remembering the death of Husayn Ali, grandson of Muhammad, was not to be tolerated.  Muhammad had clearly indicated that other religious groups like the Christians and Jews should be protected and allowed to practice their religion.  So it is typical of Mutawakkil that he totally ignored this and only a little over two hundred years after the death of Muhammad began to target the Jews and Christians.

 He reversed the tolerant attitude towards Christians and Jews that Muhammad had insisted on, and requiring them to wear distinctive dress. In 850, he decreed that all "people of the book" must wear "honey-coloured" hats and belts, churches and synagogue built "after the advent of Islam were to be destroyed," one-tenth of their property confiscated and government posts were closed to them.

Anyone that Mutawakkil felt had offended him, even prior to his reign, was dealt with cruelly.  The former Vizier was tortured in an iron maiden (don’t ask!).   Even a small accident could be costly.  One of his own military commanders stumbled during a drinking session and fell on the caliph, this was enough to have the commander sent to prison without water, killing him slowly and painfully.

Even the oldest religion in the land was not left immune.  Zoroastrianism, established in the 6th century BC, held in deep respect a Cypress tree in Turshiz, Khurasan.  It had been planted at the time of Zoroaster and was thought to be 1450 years old.  Zoroaster (or else his patron King Gushtasp, i.e. Vishtaspa) had actually planted the tree outside a temple. 

“Doing good to others is not a duty. It is a joy, for it increases your own health and happiness.”

Quote from Zoroaster (c.628 - c.551)

This cypress tree was said to be unique in beauty, height, and size. It was considered one of the wonders of Khurasan.  (In case one doubts the ability of the cypress tree to reach such an age, one need only examine the e-Abarkooh – Abarkooh, in Iran.  This is cypress is 4000 years old. see photo above) Al-Mutawakkil was told about this special tree in Khurasan and was anxious to see it.  Typical of the man he ordered that it be cut down and brought to him!  Naturally, when the people of Khurasan heard of his order there was much uproar and they even offered money for its preservation.  Unfortunately, Mutawakkil was not a man to be turned.  The huge tree of such historical and religious significance was hewn down and transported to Mutawakkil’s palace.  It is suitably ironic that the day it arrived at his palace Mutawakkil was stabbed to death at the hand of one of his slaves. 

Maritime Museum Birgu - Malta

I wanted to explore the Maritime Museum in Birgu, Malta and decided not to do the trip by bus from Sliema.  Last time I explored the Inquisitors palace in Birgu I had to take a bus to Valetta and then follow it up with another windy bus route to Birgu. The whole journey had taken an extraordinary length of time.  So this time I decided to do it by ferry all the way.  Starting at Sliema I caught the ferry to Valetta.

Arriving in Valetta, I climbed the hill towards the centre of Valetta.  The last time I came here with guests a huge argument broke out between two families on opposite balconies.  My friends were so mesmerised by the loud shouting and families pouring out of doorways to continue the shouting match it was hard to drag them away.

Eventually, I reach the main entrance of Valetta and the new parliament building.  There has been much controversy over this building with some calling it a monstrosity and others a work of art.  I've experimented with my guests and have to say it is 50/50.  Roughly half hate it and half love it.  I have to confess I don't like it myself and much prefer the old building style opposite.  It is all those tiny windows that offend me.

Here is the view of the opposite side of the street, giving a more traditional feel.  To my eye they seem so much more elegant than the carbuncle facing them.

Mind you, I would have loved to see the old opera house rebuilt.  That looked to be a really grand building from the remaining ruins.

You can tell really lovely architecture, even when bombed to pieces it retains a beauty and presence. Here's a reminder of how it used to look before the war.

Nice to see Valetta look so busy with people, it makes it feel a city that is very much alive.

Heading up towards the saluting battery I see that now the horses have shade to stand in.  One local wit pointed out in the Malta Times that if the local councillors had to stand in blazing sunshine like the horses all day then canopies would have been quickly provided.  Sometimes it takes smart comments to win the day!  

The Saluting Battery is a lovely place to be in Valetta and everyday at noon you can hear the cannons being fired.  Lovely to have the shelter of the trees and the sound of water from the fountain.  

But it the view that greets you as you emerge through the arches, that takes the breath away.

From here I can see my goal, Birgu, and must descend to sea level using the lift provided new this year.  It is free to go down but you pay coming up, unless you are willing to walk up all the endless flights of steps.

Lovely view out of the glass fronted lift as you descend.  Once you reach the bottom you only have to cross the road and you'll see the sign for the ferry to the Three Cities.

Always nice to see you have timed it nicely and the ferry is on its way to pick you up.  At only 1.50 euros these ferry tickets are value for money.  Note the oil rig in for repairs in the harbour.  At such times you realise this is a working harbour with huge dry docks.

This is a much nicer way to arrive at Birgu than by bus.  I have to admire all the yauchts on display as we pass.

There is so much to explore here and I have only investgated a small part, Malta is bigger than it seems.

As I walk along the pier from the ferry I am approaching my goal the Maritime Museum.  On the way I pass on of the few churches to survive the World War 2 bombing.  As this harbour was the major goal of the bombers, this area was blasted severly and very little left standing.

A little further along the pier and here is the Maritime Museum housed in a very fine building that used to be the old naval bakery.

Inside there are displays on all aspects of sailing history.  I am shocked to find I am the only one visiting today and have the entire buidlng to myself.

My grandfather used to use a smaller table top version of this in our old corner shop.  This is my height.  When goods came through the port this kind of device came into its own.  Need to use the toilet in the museum which is nice and clean but has this weird notice on the back of the toilet door.

It shows some one perched with their feet on top of the toilet.  I remember my mother telling me of an aunt who would stand on the toilet when using it.  It somehow made me look at this aunt very differently because it seemed such an odd and tricky thing to do.  To be honest, I kept quiet about this whole business, it was one of those family secrets you carry but need not share.  To discover that there are so many people out there who do this, that a notice is placed to warn them off makes me feel better. Obviously, it is much more common than I thought!

The rooms are filled with models of ships and I'm wondering if being stuck indoors when the sun is shining outside is a wise move.  Then, I discover this Lateen, rigged boat and am cheered.  Love the angles of the sails.  Such a chirpy chappy.  But rounding a corner I come across this brazen cartoon character that seems way over the top - almost theaterical.

It is from the HMS Hibernia, which was flagship of the British Mediterranean Fleet from 1816 until 1855, when she became the flagship for the Royal Navy's base at Malta.  Later she was used to transport convicts to Australia.  Finally scrapped in 1902 the wood was used in bakeries in Malta and caused lead poisoning!  Toxic stuff despite the cartoon-like figurehead.  Here is a model of the actual ship.

In 1523 When the Knights of St John had to flee Rhodes to Malta, they had a huge ship called the Carrack Santa Maria which helped them carry many men and supplies.  The Santa Anna was an even larger Carrack and had a lead lined hull which shots never were able to penetrate.  The mast of the Santa Anna was so large it took seven men to embrace the huge mast.  It had its own mill, bakery (providing fresh bread daily), a large chapel blacksmith and even had gardens of citrus fruit trees and plants on the stern galleries.  It had seven decks and must have dwarfed every other ship around it.  There is a likeness of the carrack in the refectory of the Order of St John’s Palace in Rome but the closest I could find is this one below, which hardly does it justice.

There is a lot to see in this museum including the largest Roman anchor ever found, uniforms, implements used at sea including a surgeon's operating kit.  It is hard to be excited about display after display of stuff and I began to long to be outside in the fresh air.  How I wish there were audio tracks to bring all this alive.  I did ask at the door but was told to just read the information written on each display.  A great audio account can transform a museum experience and bring it all to life with sound effects and personal stories.  Without that it becomes rather dead and dusty.  Here is an example of the information given.

Such a shame when huge posters are carefully printed and laminated but with mistakes everywhere.  'Russia retreated its stand'  'Due to the ranging plague', 'raking havoc'? If it was just one display ,what odds, but there seemed to be errors on so many.  I begin to feel like one of those critical ex pats finding things to complain about. I know so many Maltese whose English is so excellent it makes mistakes like these very strange.  I liked this lovely rowing boat on display with lovely long lines.

Time to head home.  I shall enjoy the ferries all the way back.  It seemed appropriate to visit the maritime museum by sea.

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;"

from Sea Fever BY JOHN MASEFIELD