In the locality of Birguma, part of Naxxar, the committee that gives names to streets decided, some years back, to give most of the streets in this locality names of persons that the residents would never have heard of.
Under each name there is written the following description: "He (She) wrote about Malta." This book explains in greater detail what those persons (and many others) wrote.
The editor writes in her introduction: "This collection of writings about Malta can only serve as an introduction to the literature and experience of Malta; it is the tip of an iceberg, for there are far, far more gems for those inspired to research more.
"Many of the British writers included are familiar names: the young Benjamin Disraeli, Sir Walter Scott near the end of his life, but longing to write a novel about the Knights and their Malta, William Makepeace Thackeray voyaging to the East, Edward Lear, the novelist Joanna Trollope, Vera Brittain and David Niven, to name but a few. But others who travelled to Malta are little known today - although often deserving of more attention.
"I was fortunate enough to do some of my research in the Maltese National Library in Valletta, set up by the Knights themselves five centuries ago. The building is almost unchanged from the days of the Malta Penny Magazine in the mid 19th century.
"Much of my research was done in the changeless rooms of the Bodleian and Rhodes House libraries in Oxford where I have spent many hours trawling through the literature of Malta and Gozo."
I end by quoting from a poem, a malediction rather than a valediction, by Lord Byron who had to endure two bouts of quarantine in Malta.
Farewell to Malta
May 26th 1811
Adieu, ye joys of La Valette!
Adieu, sirocco, sun, and sweat!
Adieu, thou palace rarely enter'd!
Adieu, ye cursed streets of stairs!
(How surely he who mounts you swears!)
Adieu, ye merchants often failing!
Adieu, thou mob for ever railing!
Adieu, ye packets without letters!
Adieu, ye fools who ape your betters!
Adieu, thou damned'st quarantine,
That gave me fever, and the spleen!
Adieu, that stage which makes us yawn, Sirs,
Adieu, his Excellency's dancers!