In a world of juniors

Pardon a senior's use of the first person singular - it has to start this way. I moved towards the year's end along a great track. My favourite bunch of juniors kindly shared part of their school holidays with me. They took me along with them on a couple of days out, without as much as wagging tongue or finger to warn me not to get in their way, to keep my place, and behave. I did all that without bidding, of course - no way would I prejudice the possibility of other similar invitations.

One outing saw us off to the cinema. Being the only one with a car and a licence among them, I did the driving. Noting my hesitation about which way to take to get to their favourite cinema cluster, they guided me there with firm directions, up to the point of where best to park in a side street near the cinema. The youngsters reassured me that we would find our way back to the car - meaning, they would.

There was some discussion as to which film we would watch. They decided by a majority vote, without as much as a murmur by the minority among them. So, Happy Feet and its penguins - it was for all of us. The girl at the ticket office was as courteous as could be. She pointed out the contradiction - to me, anyway - of senior citizens' cards entitling no discount on a busy day, and in the same breath warned us that the movie was over ten minutes into its run, would we prefer to wait for the next showing?

No way was the junior council going to waste any of their available time. In we went. The one most carried away by the brilliance of the story line and exposition, plus the music, was the eldest kid on the block, even if I did catch myself snoozing once or twice, tiredness from working late into the night daringly defeating the exuberance of the screenplay and the music score.

The dimmed-light robbery implicit in the beverage prices - such as 75c for a small Cola, for Pete's sake - was airily waved away by the kids, though one or two did say that their mum had warned them not to hit the cup in there; they could do that later much cheaply nearby outside. But, ran, the cool consumer logic of the younger generation, since we're getting snacks, we had to buy drinks to go with them, right? No doubt, they'll soon get round to understand the scandal implicit in five-time mark-up. But, not just yet, no.

We left the cinema tapping our own feet, though not as marvellously as the penguin that had created a global consciousness regarding the relentless destructive attacks on the environment, all on his own. And the kids did lead me to the parked the car in a jiffy, though I had not least notion how to get to it.

What now? Bowling alley? I had to bow out, too far from my scene, and since they were lumbered with me as their driver, the kids let it pass. We went to San Anton Gardens instead. Idyllic, in the winter sun, too. And well kept, even if far too sparse on friends from the animal and feathered kingdom. I could not offer a reply to persistent questions by the kids as to why, in their short lifespan, the attractions had dwindled so.

There was a good peacock specimen, though, and it almost set about preening its feathers for us, until one junior spoke up and made it fold up in a huff. We met three kids coming our way, moving close together. My hosts gave them longer looks than usual. Hey, they told me as they continued to look back, those African boys are picking at the plants. They're boys, I said. No adjectives needed.

We caught up with one of our group, who had ventured ahead of us. He was in pain. Those boys had shot a stone at him off an improvised catapult, he said. It was those African boys, they did it, said of the kids I was tagging along with. The mood had changed distinctly. I intervened again to say the boys - just boys, hear? - had been wrong to do that. You also slip at times, right?

The absence of an enthusiastic admission that to err is human indicated that a not too pleasant reaction to culture change has already percolated to our budding generation. Still, the sun was warm and the thought of ice cream and more fun, brushed nudged that unpleasantness away.

"We should do this again," said the kids, as we drove home.

"I'm game, if you want me," I said, looking forward to it.

The second outing on the morrow saw us heading towards Ta' Qali. It was a toss-up between the Aviation Museum and the Mdina Glass factory. One or other of the group had been there before. Most schools do give a broader meaning to education than classroom lessons. The majority opted for the Aviation Museum; the glass factory would be the venue on another day.

We saw a helicopter overhead. "By the time you grow up," I said, "I wouldn't wonder if cars wouldn't be flying." I knew that my futuristic vision was hardly original. I found out how true that was by the spontaneous discussion that followed on what the future would be like.

Sure, vehicles would fly. The driver would press one button, and the vehicle would stick to road travel. S/he would press another button, and the vehicle would take to the air. It will be commonplace. Somewhere, they are already carrying out experiments.

How do you see things coming about, I asked. I was inundated with replies. The population in Malta will grow smaller, one kid said, offering neither nor reason for his prediction. China will become the most populated place on earth, piped in a junior. It already is, and do you know why? said an older one, as streetwise as can be. They make their kids marry very young, that's why; kids are told what to do.

"Stick to the future, what of the future?" I queried.

There will be no more sea, opined a frowning youngster. All the islands will come together again, added another. Like they used to be, said a third.

Hey, that means there would be no more fish, what we would eat, then, cried one seven-year old, displaying an early interest in scarce resources and economics.

"What about Malta?" I prompted again, trying to see the future through the eyes of that time.

"Maybe Malta will become extinct," said the kid who predicts a shrinking population. He took a global sweep - "maybe the world will end," he said, matter of factly.

I didn't know what to reply to such early foreboding. I didn't know the way through the Ta' Qali maze, either. The kids rescued me from my ignorance once again. They spotted the signs. Not all of them could read with similar confidence. But, having seen one tiny sign, all of them but the three-year-old spotted the rest that led us to the museum, and each time articulated that fact in unison.

The museum itself was a marvel. Both in terms of the exhibits there, as well as of the human endeavour embedded in the venture. The government, I quickly learned, had granted the land against a payment of a token Lm500 annually, some 14 years ago. The creation of the museum is the result of donations and voluntary work. Recently, the enterprising volunteers who make the aviation museum fly also secured funding for a specific project from the EU, which put up 60 per cent of the requirement.

The rest came from donations. The museum only has two employees, who would probably earn considerably more in similar employment elsewhere. There are a number of volunteers, who involve themselves with a passion that the kids did not fail to notice and be fired by it, including this one. One of the volunteers, Tony Spiteri, gave juniors excitement plus an extension of our education.

He helped each one of the kids, including the three-year-old, one by one into the cockpit of a reconstructed 60-year-old plane. Tony explained to them, one by one, with similar commitment and enthusiasm, how the instruments worked. One kid on the ground called to another who was in the cockpit - do not touch the lever of the ejector seat!

Tony, who will soon become a grandfather, evidently loved showing kids around. His knowledge of aviation history and Malta's historical importance in it, beyond war considerations, is amazing, though his regular job is totally unrelated to that sector.

He gave the kids a copy of an illustrated informative guide to Ta' Qali Malta Aviation Museum, which - as PRO - he compiled last year, including the brief technical and historical details to be found in it. I shall keep the guidebook on the kids' collective behalf, and for my own enjoyment.

The museum's attractions include a model plane which children of whatever age try to manipulate with ropes into take off. It was the three-year-old in the group who, to our amazement, managed it. Perhaps the fact that her mother had already been a pilot for several years when she conceived her, explains it.

Ray Polidano, director-general of the Malta Aviation Museum, was another fount of enthusiastic information and a striking example of commitment. He told us that the museum is planning a Malta aviation history for juniors. It should be an exciting addition to occasional teaching and reading. Ray did not mention funding, but I rather suspect that sponsors would be welcome.

Close to 20,000 visitors go to the museum annually. The total includes schoolchildren, as well as a considerable number of foreign visitors. They were very evident when I was taken there by my junior group. They had a great time and found assistance and information from the volunteers, who also found the time to spread themselves around for the benefit of other visitors, even when besieged by a group like ours.

I can wish readers nothing better for the New Year than to find simple enjoyment as my junior hosts gave me during their school holidays, along with enduring peace in their heart and serenity in their lives.