Donna Zammit relates the story of a family wedding ring which was lost on the seabed at the Exiles…and found days later

“We married in August 2003 and both Peter and myself were the last to get married of all our siblings; he was the last of seven and I, the last of three. My mother-in-law was then still in possession of her late husband’s wedding ring; it was of a large size and didn’t fit Peter’s other two brothers.

One July morning, whilst Peter and I were having a late breakfast in my mother’s garden, my gaze fell onto Peter’s hand and I noticed that he had big fingers and asked him why he doesn’t ask his mother for his father’s wedding ring, which would probably fit him. I had never met Peter’s father but knew that he resembled Peter. They had similar values and other qualities. His mother consented, much to our joy.

Exactly a year later, Thursday 12 August, the day after our return from our holiday from a cooler country, we found ourselves dipping in the sea at the Exiles, Sliema in the afternoon heat. After much splashing and talking, it was time to get out to dry so that we would return home. But suddenly:

“Donna, my wedding ring, it’s gone! It’s fallen out!”, Peter cried out, showing me his hand.

I looked in disbelief. The ring was not there. We looked at each other, unable to utter another word. Ugly thoughts of that sentimental ring now lost forever in the sea, raced through our minds at miles per second.

“I’m going back down to search for it – I’m not leaving it behind”, I adamantly exclaimed, and raced back into the sea.

Holding my breath I dived praying, “Please Jesus, please. let me find it”.

Sure enough and to add more bad luck to the pot, I realized that I had lost the ability of remaining under the water for long, with the passing of the years. In my younger days my friends would comment: “Where’s Donna?” as it seemed to them that I was disappearing into the blue for ages.

But now the breathing issue was of a totally different nature; I could only stay under the water for a maximum of 10 seconds, which was not enough to search for a tiny ring on the seabed. I dived and came up to breathe, puffing and panting until I had run out of energy and I had to give up trying to find our precious ring. I failed miserably. My heart started to sink rock bottom. It was the end. The ring was lost forever.

Whilst drying up on the shore, I noticed that Michelle, a friend of mine, was coming down to swim with her family. I asked her if she had a pair of goggles to lend me and immediately her husband offered to help me search for the ring. The sun was already setting and the natural light drew to a close. I felt hat this was going to be the end of our precious ring. How were we going to explain it to Peter’s mother?

That night we were very restless. The ring was of great sentimental value and could never be replaced. I was unable to sleep; there had to be a way of finding that ring and I was determined to clinch the solution. At last. An idea. I had tried diving with acqualungs the year before, and all I now needed was to go down to the dive shack and rent some equipment. “Good! that is what I will do tomorrow.” And with that thought in my mind, I was finally able to doze off.

Next morning at breakfast, I enthusiastically discussed the idea with Peter who commented that no diving shop would rent out equipment to someone without a licence. It did not seem such a good idea after all. The following morning we returned to the beach with a pair of goggles that Peter had fished out from the wardrobe. I donned them and plunged into the water only to raise my head super fast because I felt dizzy.

“What type of goggles are these?”, I called out to Peter from the water.

“They’re the type that make things look bigger when in the water,” came the reply.

“Then I cannot put them on. I get dizzy even looking through a pair of binoculars”.

So back out of the water, feeling very disappointed.

In the meantime, and at the precise moment when both of us were feeling very frustrated, Mum had arrived on the beach with a close friend of hers. They settled down on their towels without noticing us while we were getting dressed and preparing to go to the insurance agency. What were we to do? We knew the risk involved if mum got to know about the ring. If we went to greet them she was bound to ask us why we were at the beach so early. In that case, we would be left with no alternative but to play down the situation by just casually telling her the truth. That we had come to search for the wedding ring. Perhaps it was best to tell her that we were in a hurry to go to the insurance people. We finally decided to pretend that we hadn’t seen her or her friend…and they were only six feet away from us.

We left the beach in a hurry, heads bent down.

After going to the insurance office to check things out, we were returning home via the Ferries and I made Peter stop the car: “Meet me at home, I’m going to buy a normal pair of goggles and a snorkle”. The early afternoon found us back into the sea because the sun was at its strongest and I wanted to make use of its glorious light. Peter used his own goggles and helped me with the search. However after about ten minutes he went back up shore whilst I carried on. I prayed in my heart to St Anthony to grant me the grace of finding the ring: “Please, please”, I begged him, in my heart.

I spent around 45 minutes in the sea, diving, searching until my skin was crinkled. There was a current that day and I thought that the ring had probably been swept away to the open sea. I would never find it. Disheartened I returned to the beach where Peter had lost his contact lenses. “I don’t believe it!”, I exclaimed. I searched around in vain. Needless to say, we left the beach with neither the lenses nor the ring.

In the meantime my younger sister and her six-year old son Nicky were enjoying their Summer afternoons at the Exiles, diving with their goggles; she catching octopus with her bare hands and Nicky picking up all types of sea shells from the seabed. When she was a young girl she was nicknamed ‘Goldfish’ because she loved the sea and also because her hair turned blond in the strong Summer sun. Nicky had absorbed her genes. And this Summer Nicky had learnt to hold his breath for far longer than usual and was collecting some beautiful and rare shells.

Monday 16 August. During lunch break at work, I telephoned my sister to catch up with family events and also to let her know that Peter’s wedding ring was somewhere on the seabed at the Exiles.

That same evening, Peter and I were invited to his sister’s for a family get-together. We were pouring out our sad incident when one of Peter’s brothers-in-law told us of friends of his who were divers and who had their own equipment. He would ask them to help search for the precious ring.

At last, the sun is shining in our hearts.

By now Peter’s mother had heard about the loss of the ring and, as we predicted, she was most upset. “What was not lost in 45 years, you managed to lose in just one,” she told us with displeasure and disappointment. This sentence kept on echoing in my mind.

Thursday 19 August arrived, and my sister took her son down to the Exiles for their usual daily swim. Not satisfied with spending three hours there, they shifted themselves further inland for further dives. So Nicky continued collecting shells and anything that crawled on the seabed while my sister hunted octopus.

It so happened that Nicky had forgotten to take down the fishing net with him, so he passed all his catch to his mother for her to keep in her bikini pants while in the sea. True to say, our Goldfish caught an octopus and reached for the ladder. Up she went accompanied by Nicky. She glanced down with horror at her bikini pants. With so many shells in it it was an embarrassing size. It was like she was pregnant. With a ‘humph’, she plucked one of the shells, which was badly chipped, from her pants: “This one is broken, we don’t want it,” she exclaimed and she flung it back into the sea.

Nicky, on seeing this, shouted in horror: “No-ooo, don’t waste it,” and quickly put his goggles back on, while my sister was yelling “Ejja, it’s time to go home!”.

Nicky ignored his mum and jumped into the water to search for that chipped shell.

Some time passed when finally he popped his head out of the water, swam quickly back to shore and sprang out climbing the ladder, removing his goggles shouting with all his might: “I found gold, I’m going to get married”.

My sister was distracted putting on her clothes until – click – she realized what she had just heard: “Let me see, bring it over here,” she ordered. He handed over his find – a ring! She looked on the inside of the ring and read “Iris 12.5.57” and continued turning it round until she read “Donna 2003”. It was our ring. It was found!

Shaken she telephoned me on the mobile to let me have this good news. I was so elated, it was unbelievable. The ring that had been lying at the bottom of the sea for a whole week despite the water currents and swimmers scouring the seabed with their goggles, was actually found by one of the family to return, home safe and sound.

She said in a quiet tone: “There’s one problem, though, it’s Nicky. He does not want to part with it”.

“Try to convince him”, I blurted, too relieved to say much more.

I quickly telephoned Peter who hurriedly left the office and rushed down to the beach. He approached Nicky who was already in the car. Peter gently put his hand forward and obediently Nicky pushed the ring into Peter’s finger, saying in his soft voice: “Uncle Peter, if you lose the ring again, I will find it for you”.

Suffice to say, Nicky actually was the ring bearer during our wedding ceremony.

...and yes, I must say it: “Thank you Jesus and St Anthony”.