I first landed at Malta airport in mid-late August 1974. I was nine years old and flying from Lusaka to Heathrow. I was about to start my 11^th year incarcerated in an English preparatory school in Gloucestershire. As a child of the dawn I woke my mother to see dawn from 30,000 feet as we approached the island. It was a refuelling stop. My mother being a creature of the night was not overly impressed. By this time I already had ~50,000 air miles under my belt and I had a BOAC captain’s logbook to get filled in, another 5,000 miles to add to my tally.

Something very deep was touched as we approached the craggy light-brown rocks pinking in the sun. I knew this place, it seemed.

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The last time we went to Malta was at Easter in 2015. At the time I was keeping a poo blood diary to note symptoms. Not long after I was diagnosed with bowel cancer. I had a T3 tumour removed on 2^nd July 2015. On this visit we went to Mdina and remarked that inside its walls would be an interesting place to live. Properties within the walls are not for sale often. When they are the likes of Sotheby’s and Christie’s have them on their books.

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Clearly these are way out of our price range!!

I visited the airport a number of times on the way to school in the 70s and went to the island for another holiday around 1990. There was déjà vu of a profound kind, to the core.

My understanding of the link relates to my Christian priest-soldier life around 800 years ago. This is entwined with the first Sicily visits. {Insofar as I can tell} In this life I met my end in the oxymoronically named holy land. I was executed on a beach by “Arabs”. I had been under “protection” but there  was political upheaval and that protection no longer held for the rebel faction. There were a number of us killed that night and early into the dawn. I can still smell burning oil used for torches. If I flare my nostrils now I can scent it. I can hear the drums and the noise.

I belonged to an order and wore the rosy cross over my chain mail. My function was largely scholastic and I was welcomed by Jew and Arab alike. For us knowledge was more important than creed. Here I was exposed to Kabbalah and to science. I had licence to travel where those of my creed were not usually welcome. I made several visits by sea. We found ways to speak amongst us and using Latin was one of those. The “sultan” wanted to be kept up dated as to progress as did the head of my order. I was accustomed to meet both separately.

Weird that Mdina should pop into my dreams, not so weird for Malta. I have been looking at houses to buy near where I went to school in Gloucestershire. It is a 1974 vibe in a way…

Having had a former abode at Mdina is consistent with my liking for the place, a kind of home. It was not my real home in that life, though I did spend time there with my studies. Home was in a green part of France. Where I was clergy to a village by a river. From time to time duty called me away.