Last week was a sad week for Malta. We lost two of our greatest citizens, and only within the space of two days. We are very much the poorer for it and they will be difficult to replace; although perhaps replace is the wrong word in that every man is a different person. Certainly, all those who are in a position of influence must do their utmost to emulate them; to learn from their greatness and their contribution to our small country; something which should make us even prouder to have had them. Both Ċensu Tabone and Peter Serracino Inglott were leading personalities and pleasantly dominating “persona” for most of my life, in their own different ways. Much has been said and written about them. One eulogy after another and I have nothing to add in that sense, although I endorse all. But I can share my own personal impressions and experiences.
It was Sur Ċensin who would instil the courage we required- Austin Sammut
I will start off with Fr Peter (plain “Fr Peter” and that’s all). I never had a personal relationship with him in terms of academic or political issues. Accordingly, I am not in a position to comment and, indeed, would be presumptuous to do so. Certainly I am anything but a philosopher, although I know a bit about politics, and I will give it to him that he was certainly one of the main architects of new and modern Malta after 1987. Like everyone else in certain sectors and activities, however, especially at University, and not when he was Rector, but when he was professor of philosophy, I came across Fr Peter on a regular basis. He came over as being either shy or distracted. When we students reverently greeted our professor on Campus he would reciprocate, but practically bow his head. I quite confidently attribute this not only to absent mindedness but also to humility.
An anecdote. One time during the University lunch break (we were only some 800 students in the early 1970s), a very good friend and I found a distraught Fr Peter wondering around the little car parks we had at the time (cars for students were unheard of). We asked him what the problem was. He replied that he did not know where he had left his car. We helped him search for it but it was nowhere to be seen. He suddenly remarked that possibly he had left it parked (that morning!) at Castille, close to his St Paul’s Street home, and caught the bus to University.
My friend, who did have a car, offered to take him to Valletta to collect his car. And off we went. However, we scoured Castille Square (which was then not exclusive civil servant parking) to no avail. We returned to University and parked in what we then referred to as the Science car park, below the Library. Lo and behold, Fr Peter’s car was there parked in a corner.
Is-Sur Ċensin, as we militant St Julians teenagers of the 1970s used to affectionately call him, was indeed a father figure to us. He was a man of steel in many ways. He had strong principles. He was resilient. He stood up for all he believed in. He was outspoken. He never cowered in any situation or debating forum at a national level. He was stern (and we were always cautious and subdued in his presence), but he was loving and considerate, a perpetual twinkle in his eyes. He would not fail to admonish if he felt he should, but he took an interest in all, caring about our concerns, our problems and our worries in truly difficult times. Besides, obviously, his wife, Is-Sinjura Maria, and his immediate family, he had an extended family in the form of his St Julians constituents.
But one point which perhaps has not been stressed enough in the last days is his love for youth. Although he started late in life in politics, he was in many ways more of a champion to us than his younger colleagues. Way back in the 1970s and into the 1980s, there was no official PN club in St Julians; but there was a PN club – Dr Tabone’s home. Sectional committee meetings were held there. At the same time, particularly during days of election campaigns and times of violence and other troubles, which were the order of the day, there would be a congregation of supporters, particularly young (or youngish) boys, surrounding his large kitchen table or sitting around his courtyard, in better weather, for long hours. The indefatigable Mrs Tabone was always there, dishing out cups of tea and coffee, as well as some very good food indeed, and this even when Is-Sur Ċensin was away from home on his business.
When he returned, some time in the evening, you could see that he was keen to sit down with us. I suppose, in a way, it was some sort of relaxation from the heavy discussions he had just been involved in. A therapy. And seeing all those tea and coffee cups, he would sometimes say “Mari, tihom grokk” (Mari, give them a drink) – something he would not touch himself . We were not competent to draw up PN strategies but we certainly presumptuously tried and at least gave our opinion. He would listen, have his strong say, of course, and advise caution. He would refer to us as ġuvnotti and as we vented our frustration at the situation and become impatient, rearing even to return violence with violence (I must admit), he would say that was not the way matters should be conducted. Like Eddie Fenech Adami in later years he was convinced that truth would prevail.
During the 1976 and 1981 election campaigns, on the eve of voting, given that supposedly sealed ballot boxes were transported to the voting places the night before voting, we would spend the night in cars to make sure that nobody went in to tamper with these boxes. The St Julians voting place was at the Primary School in Lapsi Street, up the hill from Dr Tabone’s house. We were always on edge, actually terrified that the thugs would visit us. But it was Is-Sur Ċensin who during the night would check if all was OK and instil the courage we required.
On one occasion (probably 1976), when voters queued for hours from 7 a.m., there was a so-called “strong man” who lived down the road and would terrorize Nationalist voters with impunity, sometimes manhandling them. When Dr Tabone was advised, he came up there and looked the “strongman” in the eye. The latter moved no more. I could go on endlessly.
“Sur Ċensin” and Fr Peter, I am sure that you are already in the eternity that you so richly deserve. My deepest condolences to family.