A citizen salutes Floriana

Your perspective is notoriously that of a clown manqué, proud to have been born and bred, like the Prime Minister and Archbishop, in the heart of Valletta. You must find living now in Birkirkara on occasion a trifle galling, but surely not as much as last Sunday when your champion footballers were thrashed in the Trophy final by Floriana. I understand that you all felt bad about it but didn’t the barbarian reaction make matters worse rather than assuage your feelings?

I would have readily expected that sort of rub-it-in question from some dyed-in-the-wool Florianite like my friend Prof. Joe Friggieri but not from the demure girl from Mosta whom I always thought you were.

Alas! Hooliganism seems to have become part of the game ever since football became, according to some neo-Marxists, “the opium of the intellectuals”.

Were it not for that sequel what I would have been pleased to tell you after last Sunday’s match would have been on the following lines. My predominant feeling towards our suburban neighbours dwelling outside the city but not in the rural charm of a raħal, has never been anything other than a deep compassion.

I have never quite shared the romantic delusion that eccentric ghetto-dwelling is a privilege in terms of potential for creativity. But I have always accepted the common teaching of the mystics that when anybody has been so buffeted by donkey-kicks as to be in danger of mentally collapsing into Nihilism, then a touch of mercy is timely.

What do you mean by donkey-kicks?

Well, for example, I boiled with indignation in sympathy when I read their protests when it had been decided that the Tritons Fountain was to be translocated without so much as a pretence at consultation with the Floriana council but what could you expect from such a Valletta type as the minister responsible?

Admittedly he has the bark of a wolf but he shows there is a sheep under the wolf’s clothing when it comes to confronting angrily disagreeing Furjaniżi – almost all of them expert town planners and landscape designers as suburbanites tend to be by nature.

However, the failure to give Floriana its due that I personally regret most is that preference was given to other projects for EU funding over the rehabilitation of the Ospizio area.

This admirable project consisted of developing a garden tourist trail following the bastions on the perimeter of the Floriana-Valletta peninsula.

A highlight halting place of this route was to be an artists’ village on the site centred around what is still known as the Ospizio.

Many had the opportunity to experience themselves the fascination of this area during a recent addition of the Arts Festival organised by the Malta Council for Culture and the Arts.

The area winds serpent-like in the midst of the fortifications and culminates in the gardens beneath the Argotti botanical centre which should rightfully be considered a superb tourist attraction in itself if properly publicised.

In the course of the festival, a play inspired by some fabulous sounding episodes in the history of the Ospizio was directed by Paul Portelli in such a way as to bring out the unique potential attractiveness of this almost unknown historical segment of Floriana.

This project on which one of Malta’s leading artists, Anton Grech, had done a lot of work, was chosen for top priority when a wide and intensive consultation was held by the Malta Council for Culture and the Arts among all stakeholders with promotion of local culture as well as tourism at heart. I fervently hope the project will be resurrected.

Do you happen to know why in the most prominent place in Floriana there is that famous statue of a lion, which happens to be the cherished symbol not only of Grand Master Jean Parisot de Valette but also of the Valletta FC fans?

I have actually heard two theories about it from Florianites, but I do not have much confidence that either of them is the right explanation.

My first friend whom I suspect had his tongue-in-cheek told me: “Can’t you see what a sad look the poor animal is wearing? Can’t you see that his supposedly tawny coat and mane have faded so that they now appear to be just a dirty white? Haven’t you noticed how mangy is the paw with which he holds the coat-of-arms as if it were on the point of dropping out of his grip? So the obvious interpretation of this example of the king of the jungle is that he represents the Florianite perception of the Valletta symbol.”

The second interpretation was given to me by a fellow priest . He told me that the lion was a monument in memory of a Capuchin missionary from the nearby convent. This bearded friar was in an African forest when he became aware of a lion growling in the vicinity, apparently very hungry judging by the sound.

The friar fell to his knees and began imploring God to instil some measure of Christian charity into the beast. To his amazement and joy, the lion made the sign of the Cross. But it was not the end of the miraculous event. The lion went on muttering, “Bless us O Lord and these thy gifts which we have received out of your bounty …”

These accounts sound in my ear as credible as that the Valletta football team deserves to be eaten up by our neighbours in our next-not-so distant encounter.

Fr Peter Serracino Inglott was talking to Miriam Vincenti.