I managed to go and see La Vie En Rose, thanks to KRS who alerted me that it was showing at St James Cavalier cinema. My 1980 baby volunteered to come with me sans Harry, though I shall make certain he becomes a devotee too. The film was very well attended and a couple of friends said: ‘Just your cup of tea Marie’ as I took my seat. It was not a wild guess.

So we sat arm in arm, my eldest darling and I, and watched the story which I thought I knew, unfold. La Vie en Rose is the fragmented chards of Edith Piaf’s tragic and mysterious life pieced together in a poignant, strange and unforgettable biopic. Someone had told me there was a bad review in one of the local papers. I never read reviews as we all come with different backgrounds to public performances, be they film, theatre and so on. I like to make up my own mind about everything, including people.

Neglected by her parents, the great Parisian chanteuse began life as something of an urchin; brought up first in a brothel, then as part of a circus troupe. But Piaf found confidence through her voice. However, personal tragedy and the onset of degenerative arthritis (which spawned a devastating morphine addiction) meant pain literally coursed through her veins. But it was the pain that injected passion into her singing. Would she have sang so passionately without the pain? I don’t believe it. Her performances are electrifying.

Marion Cotillard transforms herself as the lead and deserves a standing ovation I must say. I gave it to her in my heart.

What I did not know was that Piaf had lost her only daughter to meningitis. But it was not the only tragedy in her life. She was later to lose in a plane crash the love of her life the boxer Marcel Cedran. But devotees all know that.

It was not all ill luck. She also had tremendous luck. She had Raymond Asso writing her songs for he realized that Edith could not sing other people’s songs and that he would have to find a repertoire to suit her. It was Raymond who created the type of ballad which came to be identified with her.

She also had Marguerite Monnot or Guite as Piaf baptized her, writing the music. Once Raymond Asso completed the words then Marguerite supplied the music. It was Raymond Asso and Marguerite Monnot who put Piaf on the map.

Marguerite, a dreamer, had earned her first fee playing Mozart in the Salle des Agriculteurs when she was just three and a half. She had studied with the legendary Nadia Boulanger, one of the most influential women in the history of western music who was a member of Stravinsky’s coterie. It is said that Marguerite should have become a concert pianist but gave up playing in public as she suffered from bouts of nerves. But it is just as well as she would not have written all those beautiful songs. The ones that immediately come to mind are Tu est partout, C’était un jour de fête and Mon

legionnaire.

Piaf was again lucky to have Charles Dumont compose songs for her, too. He is of course the composer of the world famous Je Ne Regrette Rien. Piaf felt that this was absolutely her: ‘It’s just what I feel, just what I think…it’s what I believe.”

In the film Piaf’s talent for interpretation immediately comes across particularly in this famous optimistic ballad. Dumont sits at the piano and sings it and then Piaf takes over and transforms it. Her performance is incredible.

Dumont went on to write some 30 songs for her, some of them are classic Piaf which we all play again and again: Les Mots d’amour, Les Amants and particularly Mon Dieu…Laissez-le-moi, encore un peu, Mon amoureux…absolutely stunning words and music.

I was a little disappointed that one of my favourite Piaf songs Fais-moi valser une dernière fois..was not featured at all. Another film which features all the songs which were left out will have to be made, someone please.

I found Piaf’s faith in St Theresa touching. She believed that the saint had cured her of her blindness when she was a small girl and remained devoted to her until the end. Laugh, those who find this sort of thing a laughing matter. I certainly am not. When on her death bed she told her devoted half-sister Simone that she wanted to kneel down to say her prayers, Simone touchingly tells her that she did not think that God would mind if she did not kneel down this time round.

Piaf was addicted to love but, in turn, gave out a great deal of warmth and affection which is so evident in her singing.

A beautiful and moving film about one woman’s difficult journey through life. It was one hell of a ride.

The well-read father of a neighbour recently told me that he was disbanding his enormous personal library and would I like a couple of books. I immediately said I would of course and he sent me a handsome collection of Colette’s works and Simone Berteaut’s Piaf which I had many years ago but which I had lent to someone, in some part of the world. Simone was Edith’s half sister. From the moment she met Edith, Simone gave up everything and stayed with her, often singing in the streets with her. I shall have to settle down and re-read this promising biography.

I read with interest the letter sent to our editor by the hard-working Sergio Grech, Executive Director of the National Book Council regarding my comments on Karl Schembri’s book and Karl’s reaction.

I do not wish to be disrespectful to priests in general in any way. The majority have my utmost respect. I come from a generation in which priests were an important part of our household. I was brought up to kneel down and kiss their hand if they were passing by our house and at home, throughout the years, I made dozens of cups of coffee for those who came to visit my father. In those days they would give us a holy picture or a medal which we treasured.

However I am of the firm opinion that priests should do priestly work and certainly not discuss sex in newspaper columns, for example. Leave this to lay sexologists or psychologists. Priests who are part and parcel of political parties and advisers to members of the cabinet too, are neither fish nor fowl to me. And I don’t think priests should attend performances such as the Vagina Monologues. With them present it’s like watching such a performance with my father (or indeed my mother) in the audience. Unthinkable. They cramp our style and yes, I find it disturbing. Call me old-fashioned if you like. Well I am when it comes to this sort of thing. As far as I am concerned priests should be doing priestly duties – looking after the poor and disadvantaged. Maybe even teaching children and adults English and other subjects in which they are proficient and thus giving them a better chance in life. If there is no work for them to do here – which is impossible of course, then ‘Go ye forth and teach all nations.’ There is plenty of work to be done in the missions. So many countries in Asia, Africa and North America are crying out for hands-on missionaries who can alleviate some of the suffering there is everywhere.

I have an admiration for those who give up the priesthood to pursue other ways of life as they feel they have dedicated enough time to the service of others. One is either fish or fowl but cannot be both. A priest must do priestly work and to me that means being in the service of others and looking after their spiritual and material welfare. There is an enormous need for ‘social workers in uniform’ as some writer about Malta said of our priests and nuns. Once they enter the layman’s domain, I am afraid priests become ‘suspect’. Hence my – and Karl’s feeling about having a priest and a former priest judge his book, or indeed any book which goes beyond the ‘acceptable limit’. There I stand my case.

Now for something slightly different. I enjoyed the Richard Clayderman concert very much. I have always been a fan and I must say, I am relieved that he is ageing too. A closeup of him on television showed him to have more wrinkles than I thought he had acquired. But I am also here to promote those of a certain age who do something with their lives so hurrah to Richard Clayderman.

However, and I am afraid, there is a ‘however’. I was slightly disappointed to see that he has changed his style. I was ready for an evening of mostly romantic music with Clayderman at the piano and our National Orchestra playing for all it is worth. The programme did not have a sufficient number of romantic pieces for me though what there was I enjoyed very much, including, but of course, Liszt’s Liebestraum (the most famous one, cannot remember which number it is) although even this had far too many ‘special effects’ laid on and I prefer listening to my friend Cynthia Chircop’s sensitive version of it, which she plays for me together with his Consolation No 3 if I go on my knees.

Historia de un Amor was beautiful and also the Medley with Don’t Cry for me Argentina and Love Story. He also played that which originally made him famous Ballade pour Adeline. But, I found his playing far too aggressive…too much in the spirit of the 21st century…too bent upon pleasing mass audiences. It was full house at the Mediterranean Conference Centre and maybe I am alone in thinking this. In spite of everything I would not have missed it for the world.

I bought the CD of Enzo Arbore pictured above and because I like it so much I’d like to share it with you. I could not go to his well-publicised concert when he was here in summer so I got myself a CD instead and I have not stopped playing it. I love the different voices and my favourites are: Amapola, Tu Sei Sempre nel Mio Cuor (the original is the English: You’ll Be Always in My Heart); Voglio Amarti Così and Perfidia. And in a totally different style La Romanina, Scapricciatiello, Lazzarella and La Pansé all harking back to a long lost youth, to which I would not wish to return. There are 34 songs in all and you will not stop playing it if they mean something to you. I haven’t yet foisted it on my daughters but I know it will be meaningless to them.