It was such a pleasure to read Stephen Calleja’s Tribute to (his) nannu (TMID, 6 August). Unfortunately, too many of us tend to forget where we came from and to whom we owe so very much. Thank you, Stephen; your contribution prompted me to reflect on my own roots and two very important people in my life: my father Reginald Dowdall and my grandfather Peter Dowdall. I have never been a conformist and do not hesitate to speak my mind and speak up for what is right and I owe it all to them.
Like Stephen, I too have a bar background. My grandfather Peter, I am told, ran the first hotel in Malta, if their Irish blood was not exaggerating. Dowdall’s Hotel was a meeting place for all the people in Malta who loved life and mingling with the lads and ladies in uniform! Nannu Peter played his piano surrounded by the ladies. His wife died young, leaving eight children and he never re-married.
My fondest memories of him are when we, as children, were swimming on the beach directly below his small verandah and he would throw sweets to us.
Or when we visited his tiny house adjacent to the hotel and sat in his tiny sitting room on a tiny old sofa. The walls were absolutely covered in cards and mementos he received from people who had met him and never forgotten him. He was quite a character. But my fondest memory is of when every Saturday my dad Reg took me to pick up Nannu Peter and together we would go to Valletta and eat pastizzi and drink coffee at the Band Club in Strada Rjali.
Invariably he wore green - a green suit, a green hat, a green tie and a smile! On St Patrick’s Day he added a feather to his hat.
Dad believed he was Bing Crosby’s double. He crooned like him but his speciality was telling jokes. I don’t know how he remembered them all. When he told a story everyone listened. And he could talk about every subject under the sun. What he did not know, he made up in true Irish fashion. His great love was roses. Many a lady who visited his bar, The White Horse Inn, received a beautiful rose and a smile. He worked at the Dockyard as a quantity surveyor, I am told. But he was too independent a spirit to suffer office walls and resigned, to first help Nannu in his hotel and later to open his own business. He flourished not because he was a shrewd businessman, because he was not, but people loved him. He had charisma.
Dad loved the cinema and my mum found it suffocating. So on most afternoons dad would ask ”Who wants to come to the cinema?” Invariably I jumped into his car and together we drifted into the wonderful world of film. He was an excellent sailor. In those days there was no Freeport, just pristine white rocks and blue sea.
On Saturday, together with the crowd, we ran round the Birzebbuga promenade and followed the ‘fregatinas’. But the special moments where when he asked me to join him for a sail. I remember one day as we were sailing under the Delimara lighthouse we were caught in strong winds and he gave me instructions. I must have been about 10 years old. When we managed to sail safely out of danger he told me “Dorothy you are a wonderful sailor. Well done! “ I have never forgotten his words of praise and appreciation and have always sought to praise the hundreds of children I have dealt with in my long teaching career including my own. Memories such as these dig deep!
When nannu died we were in our early teens and wore mini skirts to the Addolorata and were thrown out and not allowed to enter. His best friends wore bright red. I know he was well pleased. He would not have liked it any other way.
When dad passed away at the age of 63, I took my windsurfer and sailed to the horizon because I knew I would always find him there! Thank you dad. Thank you Nannu. My roots did not make life easy for me but they certainly made it worth it to have lived!
Dorothy Fenech
Birzebbuga