Two majestic horses pulled a gold leaf-adorned carriage with four angels, one at each corner, that carried the deceased. Photo: Darrin Zammit Lupi

November is the last full month of autumn, a precursor of cold winter months and the Christmas festivities. Somehow, this month it brings with it some very lucid recollections of childhood experiences, many of which, I am sure, those of my age would also remember. I would like to share some of them with readers.

It is the month when we put particular focus and stress the importance of remembering our dearly departed family members and friends. Following All Saints Day and on the second day of the month we dutifully participated in three hastily-celebrated Masses.

We must have referred to this day as the ‘Day of the Dead’.

During my long stint as an altar boy, I remember waking up each morning to take part in solemn Mass, held daily throughout the whole month at 6.30am. In those days, the church ambient would be sombre, shorn of any embellishments and black would be the liturgical colour adopted throughout.

In the middle of the church, just a few feet away from the altar and in the middle of the congregation, a cenotaph all covered in black drapes and lace would be erected.

It would be headed by a bronze cross and four candlesticks. The liturgy for the Mass, sometimes a concelebrated one, would be that for the repose of all souls.

The celebration would end with the blessing of the cenotaph with holy water and incense. I do not know why but, at the time, the cenotaph somewhat made me feel uneasy.

It also brings me specific memories of the time that, as an altar boy, I regularly used to accompany the priest, occasionally throughout the year for that, to the hospital mortuary, a hall which then looked like something from the Middle Ages.

November brings with it more intense memories of departed members of the family

We used to sit facing each other in a black carriage drawn in harness by two black horses with dark plumes on their heads. We would be preceded by another gold leaf-adorned carriage with four angels, one at each corner, carrying the deceased and again drawn in harness by two majestic horses. The cabmen of both carriages wore a black top hat, tie, suit and a white shirt.

The priest would normally sit with his back to the cabman. I would sit opposite him, inside, silently, struggling to balance the weight of a white iron cross. Somehow, I do not remember being that afraid at all during these functions.

You might wonder where all this is leading to. After 50 years, I still carry with me limpid memories of the times we accompanied a dead baby or the destitute person in the plain, white wood, casket.

Luckily these situations do not exist among us anymore.

Or are they still present away from our sight under a different guise? Because we regularly read newspaper reports of families in a destitute and desperate situation fleeing the ravages of their country and end up drowned, lost forever near our shores in the Mediterranean Sea.

November brings with it more intense memories of departed members of my family. My mother, who died at a very young age, whom I had known as a very sick woman since she was 31. Medical treatment at those times was not as advanced as it is today and a truly sick person would have had to pass through harrowing and testing experiences.

Today, having myself reared a family of four, I wonder how hard it must have been for her to take care of us five and am also eternally grateful to my father who must have suffered a lot of stress and toiled pretty hard to keep up with the demands of his teaching job and home.

They were two persons made of steel like many other Maltese of their age, who had faced and survived the horrid experiences of war.

The next persons I remember are my grandparents and the way they marked the feast of St Martin, which, incidentally, is also celebrated in November.

No it’s not about the Roman soldier from Tours who converted to Christianity in adulthood but it’s about how much we, as children, anticipated the bag of nuts, fruits, sweets and sweet buns with a liquorice in the middle, which they used to give us annually. It was their way of showering all us grandchildren with their boundless love.

Nannu, who was a very good cook, would prepare a tart, which recipe he claimed was a closely-guarded secret of his, but which we always relished. Besides sweet pastry it must have contained an assortment of nuts, dried figs and chocolate.

I cannot remember the name or the person but it must have been one of our primary school teachers.

There was someone who would, with the least fuss and great dedication, go round the classrooms and organise the distribution of poppies by children and we would eagerly roam around the streets of Floriana and Valletta, carrying a tray and tin, distributing these poppies in turn for a donation which, many times, did not exceed a half penny. At the end of the week we would have returned with an empty tray and a heavy collection tin.

Poppy Day entailed a collection which, we used to be told, was in aid of maimed servicemen who had survived the ravages of war.

Remembrance Day was celebrated with a big parade held near the War Memorial, in Floriana. Exactly at the right time, on the 11th day, at the 11th hour, the last post would be played to a crowd of bowed heads.

It is from such occasions that I developed a passion for military parades and military hymns.

The last Sunday of November marks the end of the liturgical year and the start of a new one. It marks the start of a time of waiting for the feast of the Nativity on Christmas Day.

We would be helping the church sacristan preparing the church for the coming liturgical functions.

We enjoyed the time spent filling a large number of tins with sawdust/sand and soil and sowing grains.

Placing them in the dark, under a large cupboard in the staircase leading to the belfry and watered regularly these would eventually grow white sprouts that would be used to embellish the altar at Christmas.

Preparations will be in full swing at the premises of the Christian doctrine society MUSEUM for the procession with baby Jesus on Christmas Eve.

We would spend hours assisting in the making of papier mâché cribs and clay pasturi.

These are just some thoughts that come to me and hope my memory serves me right. I have other later experiences attached to or around the month of November, some of them very sad indeed. But it’s best that these are forgotten and forgiven because they are still recent and it’s too early to treat them as just reminiscences.