To many he was is-Sur-Lin, but to seven of us in this world he was nannu. For those of you who don’t know us personally, we’re an eccentric lot, with incredibly different personalities, but we are lucky enough to have one thing in common; we had the dream team of grandparents: nannu and nanna.

The second you walked through nanna and nannu’s front door you felt as though you were the most important person in the world. The halo of their love engulfed us. At home, it never felt as though nannu had any other role other than being nannu. I don’t think nannu was ever happier than watching the sunset at L-Għalqa with a glass of wine in hand, listening to us running around the garden and splashing about in the pool.

In the Spiteri household, even at the worst of times, things are never too serious. We’re a silly bunch really. The side we saw of nannu was never that of a serious statesman but of a man who despite his many talents could not do the buttons on his shirt without missing one every time.

On family trips he had a habit of getting us lost but always insisted he knew the way. He was incredibly clumsy and there are few corners he hasn’t bumped into. Unfortunately, this is a trait I have inherited and at family lunches it was a rule that either he or I would spill our drink. We never kept a tally but I’m sure we’d be just about even.

We all got to know him in different ways; he showed us glimmers of his mind. He followed his heart and his convictions over anything else. I think all seven of us have watched nannu over the years and have taken different lessons from him. I can’t speak for the others but here are a few I’ve personally taken from him:

Nannu did things in his own way and never did anything for the recognition. I remember one year nannu took me with him to answer phones for L-Istrina. As he went in and made a donation, and the woman processing his donation asked him if he wanted to present it on television, using those big white cheques, he said no.

Being quite young and naïve, I asked him with some outrage why he didn’t want to be on television, and he said that when you give something to someone you do so because you want to and because it feels right, not for the recognition. That lesson has never left me.

Nannu had a strong respect for his friends. When driving around with him he’d often pull up to some hospital or care home and park and then announce that he’s visiting a friend. Being a child I thought this was dull and I’d sulk a little for this short visit would have interrupted our plans.

I remember one day he took me with him to visit Sir Anthony Mamo. I sat there listening to them discuss politics and family and before we left he hugged him goodbye.

Nannu did things in his own way and never did anything for the recognition

This is when I realised something about nannu. He was one of those rare people who never forgot when kindness is shown to him. He had a humbling respect for the people in his life. Nannu was keen to extend his friendship boundlessly, and I’d like to thank those who came to visit him and kept him company towards the end. I know that he appreciated that you were there.

Those who knew nannu probably knew that he never saw himself as a politician, even when he was one. When I asked him about this he said, “I’m a writer and an economist,” adding that he thought “Politics is all just cynical opportunism”.

Even though he enjoyed the political game, his one true passion was always writing. When his health deteriorated, his want for expression through the medium that he made his own was more present than his want for food.

I think the one lesson that’s impossible not to have learnt from nannu is to never let the dogs get you down.

Even though I failed to notice his handicap, his lack of a left forearm forced him from a young age to grow a tough skin. This strength translated into everything he did.

He never rested on his laurels and he constantly endeavoured to make his weaknesses his strengths.

Nannu was a man who always sought reconciliation rather than conflict.

He never shied away from saying sorry and he did so in such a way that it was impossible not to forgive him.

He’s taught us all so much, he led by example and I can say one thing: the Spiteri family is a lot emptier without him in it.

His goofiness and laughter are now fading echoes of a once constant presence in our lives.

One thing is certain, nannu invested every speck of love he could into us and I hope that he felt our love for him in return.