The feast of the Kunċizzjoni (the Immaculate Conception, being held today at Cospicua) presents us with a bit of a puzzle. Anyone who knows anything about feasts in Malta will tell you that ‘bla pika m’hemmx briju’ (there is no sparkle without rivalry). Since it is also said that ‘bla briju m’hemmx festa’ (there is no feast without sparkle), it follows that there is no feast without rivalry (pika).

The logic is often used to justify rivalry, which in principle appears to be at odds with Christian notions of brotherhood and their secular mimics grouped under such banners as community and inclusion. The sleight is that there is such a thing as ‘good’ (meaning good-natured and playful) rivalry, and that it lies at the heart of Maltese feasts.

Problem is, Cospicua is one of very few localities in Malta where a single feast is celebrated by a single bunch of people. There are no festi sekondarji (‘secondary feasts’, usually a by-word for rivals) and there is only one band club.

Which means that Cospicua lacks the basis for rivalry and, by inference, that we might expect the feast of the Kunċizzjoni to be something of a damp squib, a bloodless do which lacks the passions of its appropriately-divided peers. Only it’s anything but. ‘Bloodless’ is not the first word that comes to mind when one thinks of Bormliżi (people from Cospicua) and their feast is no exception. Somehow, somewhere in the works, Bormliżi produce and happily consume passion.

There are at least two ways in which they do so. First, it turns out that rivalry is not altogether an unknown quality at the Kunċizzjoni. The three cities of the Cottonera may seem like a dense and continuous whole to outsiders. To locals, however, there is no question where each begins and ends. Sparring (not always of the friendly sort) between neighbours has been a characteristic of this part of Malta for centuries – and what better floor to practise on than that of the festa?

There’s also a general point to make about feast rivalry in Malta generally. When revellers chant the staple ‘ħadd ma jista’ għalina’ (nobody does it better), they have two standards of comparison in mind.

The first is the local competition, usually a rival band club or secondary feast. The second and broader standard is that of all other Maltese feasts. If nobody does it better, that includes locals as well as all-comers. This latter variety is certainly in the air at the Kunċizzjoni.

The second means by which Bormliżi produce and experience passion is actually a composite made up of many disparate bits and pieces. Let’s first take a leaf out of a London taxi driver’s notebook.

One of the things about the Kunċizzjoni is, it’s out of season. It’s there with the feast of St Paul in Valletta, lost someplace in the gloomy months. Which makes the weather part of the competition.

Bormliżi like to quip about a statue which is taken out in procession on the week of the feast. It shows a Pope (Pius IX, I think) making a three-fingered gesture of blessing. The joke is that he proclaims three days of bad weather. Rather like the British, who define their ‘indomitable spirit’ also in terms of their perennial tussle with the rain, Bormliżi see themselves as a breed apart that perseveres with an out-of-season feast.

Even so, there is much nail biting on the days that lead to the feast. This year happens to be one of those really nasty ones. The gut-wrenching feeling is that the weather will not permit the most anticipated part of the feast, the procession with the statue of the Kunċizzjoni.

Which brings me to my next point. In Cospicua, the lack of immediate rivals and the consequent shortage of pika means that a good chunk of the feast’s passion hovers around the procession and statue. One thing I noticed at the feast of St Lawrence in Vittoriosa this year was that the procession was a relatively low-key affair punctuated by the two effervescent moments of il-ħruġ (when the statue leaves the church) and id-dħul (the opposite).

Cospicua is one of very few localities in Malta where a single feast is celebrated by a single bunch of people

Cospicua is different in that the procession brings locals out in their numbers and draws thousands of diaspora Bormliżi (meaning people who live elsewhere but who trace their family roots back to the place) to the town. It’s the real highlight of the feast, and I don’t mean just the ħruġ and dħul (although those are particularly special moments, as elsewhere).

There is not much thought given to fireworks, and armar (street decoration) is relatively low-key compared to the miles of bunting one finds at other major feasts. I suppose that has a lot to do with the unpredictable weather.

The point is that the Cospicua feast is very much one that is centred around the parish church and its contents and associations. Which also means that the Church has greater control over the Kunċizzjoni than it does over other feasts. By the standards of the Church and its efforts to ‘restore’ feasts, Cospicua is probably considered well-behaved and in need of little restoration, if at all.

Unless it decides to misbehave. The events of 1990, when the statue was sneaked out of the church to greet Pope John Paul II, are stuck in people’s memories. And, since a few years now, the feast includes a marċ ta’ filgħodu (morning band march), just like its pika-ridden peers.

The Kunċizzjoni may be moving towards the standard mould after all. Which would be a pity, since it feels good to be reminded that Maltese feasts can produce sparkle in a hundred different ways.

This column is dedicated to the memory of Charles Falzon (no relation), a Bormliż who will be missed at today’s feast.

mafalzon@hotmail.com