"Just living is not enough" said the butterfly fairy, "one must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower."  - Hans Christian Anderson

I was a lucky child  and my childhood was a fairytale.

Barring the endless battle with my unruly hair, my constant struggle with knees and elbows scraped raw by misadventures,  and my inclination to wander off into the countryside for long periods of time without word or warning, I wasn't  much trouble to anyone.

The two bedroomed flat in Zurrieq in which I was born and raised didn't require too much to keep constantly spick and span, so even though I had my share of chores to finish before I  could literally burst out of the house to freedom, there was always time to  run,  climb, swim or just roll in the fragrant grassy meadows and simply stare up at the  majestic blue  sky and  dream away.

Our flat didn't have a garden or a pool, but I did.

I had an extensive wild  and overgrown garden  stretching out from the end of my street to the next village , rolling down the valley to the crystal clear waters of my  picturesque , navy blue swimming pool where I  kept my starfish , seahorses and other sea creatures .

Fig trees and carobs, mulberry and almonds , all sorts of shrubs and thistles , and carpets of bright yellow lellux, gurgir or ingliza constantly  filled my vision with a chaotic but splendid feast of colours , and my nares with a fragrance which was as reliable  as the seasons  were then, and as fickle as the  combination of rain , dew or sun allowed it to be. 

Then there were the rubble  walls  harbouring the tfief which kept our rabbits healthy ,and the little blue flowers that I used to nibble away to kill off a cough when I very rarely had one. All sorts of snails and  strange creatures occupied the  galvanising maze of crevices and holes that marked the familiar little bastions that guarded our precious soil which would give us our beans, potatoes, tomatoes or anything else we bothered to plant.

All this spectacular  landscape   constantly doubled up into the most enchanting orchestra , tirelessly composing    'aria'  after  'aria' , symphony after symphony  of  masterpieces, instantly played to perfection by the thousands of insects, birds, molluscs and mammals, leaves and twigs, wind and rain,  ripples and thunder, waves and splashes.

As a child I saw no end to this dazzling little world of mine. Of course the fairytales that I constantly read tried to warn me of potential sorcerers casting damning spells on entire landscapes  and sucking the life right out of them until a prince ( rarely a princess)  came by and somehow broke the magic spell. But I was hopelessly optimistic , even then, and preferred to believe that ultimately the good fairy will have the day and the dark episodes will  be illuminated to the extent of losing their darkness.

So I decided to be a politician.

And  that's because  politicians love fairytales.

Politicians love fairytales  for different reasons of course.

Almost half a century later my garden  and my sea  in the Southernmost part of Malta are  still there. Of course. 

The garden is much much smaller and the  colours ,scents and sounds have changed drastically.  Some of my sea is still crystal clear ,  but some of the other sea is not there anymore, it has become  a warm and lifeless appendage of the memory of  a  rocky beach.

Gigantic , cold  grey steel structures have occupied  entire swathes of the southern coastline. Masses of containers and towering cranes reach deep into residential areas in Birzebbuga, snatching the 'pretty' out of Pretty Bay, Benghisa  is  now a legend, Wied ix-Xoqqa unrecognizable, il-Hofra z-Zghira a mess and Kalafrana a  fading  impression.  

Splendid Marsaxlokk  previously  unmatched worldwide for its colourful, lively,  authenticity  , ten times as charming  and vibrant as Marzamemi or Scoglitti,  is now struggling to protect whatever is left of the unspoilt quaintness that set it apart.

Wied iz-Zurrieq is  in  desperate need of  aesthetic re-organisation of its existing structures and can certainly do without the oil rig platforms that habituallly park away on its priceless clear horizon.

Then there is Wied Fulija and Wied Moqbol. 

Wied fulija served the nation as a landfill for years on end,  suffering irreversible devastation  in the process and still waiting its turn to become part of a nature , archaeological  park  that can extend  and include the Wied Moqbol area which  incidentally has just been given the  green light for  further destruction through quarrying.

The Zonqor area and the rest of the coastline extending between Xghajra and Marsascala, which is peppered with archaeological  remains  is another incredibly beautiful  span  of shoreline  deserving of conservation  which needs to be cared for and  allowed to remain the  borderless  , magic garden  belonging to today's and tomorrow's child.

And  then there is the inner harbour areas which  are still reeling under the continued effects of grit blasting from the reduced but still unsavoury dockyard activity , and Marsa which has just been freed from the clutches of the effects of an ancient power station, but still waits with bated breath for the announcement of its next 'use ' in the national interest.

These densely populated maritime and architectural treasures deserve the most caring and sensitive regeneration and  conservation. Any planning  or change of use of areas in their precincts has to be decided with the utmost care. We cannot reverse the scars of the abuse they have suffered but we can mitigate the damage and turn these renowned cindirellas into  veritable princesses.

Now I know it feels like too much  for us little plankton to stop the whale  from devouring us completely and it’s true that  if you take us one plankton at a time we're powerless, but  its good to remember that the whale subsists on plankton and depends totally on us for a life if we get it into our heads to act together.

So let us act together to regenerate and save the spellbinding natural beauty and heritage of the South of Malta.

We can start by choosing local councillors that  have the wellbeing of the  nation at heart  first, political allegiance second 

In the meantime we can join forces with NGOs who are trying to bring the debate for the   protection and renaissance of the  South   to the fore of the political agenda.

Looking back will not help us much now. We have to look forward much like Cindirella of the fairytale did. Had she  looked back and gone back for the shoe  the Prince would have never found her.