My project Clearing up is being slowly resumed. I am disgarding things which don't interest my daughters and have no value to anyone but myself. My enthusiasms are not theirs. I am slowly doing away with the memories of my life as I prepare to take leave of this world.

Last night I came across a padded envelope,  about the size of a foolscap. I recognised the writing immediately.  It was Ethel Farrugia's.  Clear, bold, black, and slightly shaky. I remember the envelope being  delivered by Margaret, some years ago, one of the twins around this neighbourhood who were so familiar to us since they were school children in plaits. They earned a little pocket money by doing errands in our neighbourhood and helped the grocer with small deliveries. They went on doing this throughout adulthood. They were very much part of our community, a community that is no more. They are no more.

Ethel was largely housebound. Her one outing was to hospital. A trip to the post office, then only just up the hill from her home, had become too much for her. Letters were usually delivered by a taxi driver. It was only after her death that I discovered she was born in 1924. And yet she was still living alone with minimum help. I had never seen a single white hair on her head. It was jet black. I knew she was older than me but not that much older.

Inside the envelope was an Easter card. A photo fell out of it, a beautiful photo of Ethel in her younger days. "Needless to say that the photo is some time back," she wrote.

There was a typed letter and another handwritten one from her. I could feel there was something at the bottom of the envelope. I shook it and this pretty, silver charm bracelet fell out, to my great surprise.

I am sharing this story as it is my way of rendering homage to Ethel, paying her possibly my last respects and for us all to be reminded of this gifted actress who for a woman of her generation, achieved a good deal.

But before I say anything else about the envelope and its contents, how did I get to know her? Obviously, I knew of her existence through the newspapers which regularly reported what she was doing but I had never met her personally or even seen her on the stage.

One day a taxi driver delivered a letter and a box of chocolates from her, to my utter astonishment.  In the letter she told me she would like to meet me as she had been following my writing. She sent me her phone number. I immediately called her to thank her and invited her to tea at home as it turned out she lived quite near.  At first she declined but finally we fixed a date. So that is how our somewhat erratic friendship started.

Ethel loved newspapers and when she stopped going out I occasionally dropped a copy of The Malta Independent on Sunday through her letter box on my way to work. I visited her a few times. Her house with its extensive garden was in a precarious state. I encouraged her to do something about it but she wouldn't hear of it. She once took me upstairs to show me where a part of the roof had caved in. I found it alarming and hurried back downstairs quickly.

On my rare visits (I was so busy then and parking where she lived was impossible)  she spoke to me about her life. Her mother had died early, maybe at childbirth but I am not sure. She was brought up by an aunt whom she adored but when her aunt married, the grandmother for some unknown reason, forbade her from seeing Ethel ever again, which broke both their hearts, but particularly Ethel's who had now lost her second mother.  This was a huge childhood trauma. Her father had remarried a German lady who was very good to Ethel. I believe that that rapture with her second mother was a mortal blow for Ethel. She never quite got over it.

She believed in God but had stopped attending church services.  However, she told me she was going to leave all her worldly goods to the church to ensure that masses and prayers are said for the repose of her soul as she did not want to remain in Purgatory indefinitely.  And that is what she did.

So, what about the two letters in the envelope?

The typed letter was dated 21 March 1963, a photocopy of a letter sent to her by Hugh G. Ellis (ex-British Council Representative in Malta), a testimonial which he had promised her. He wrote: "During the four and a half years which I spent as the Council's Representative in Malta, I had abundant opportunity to observe your work in the field of music and drama, particularly the latter, and to form the highest opinion of your devotion to it and your ability in it. For this reason, when I decided to abandon our own, direct work in this field I was glad to be able to second you part-time to the Manoel Theatre as Stage Director and Advisor.

It was our purpose in lending your services to the Manoel Theatre to assist its Management Committee in developing it as a National Theatre; and I know that the Committee shared my own view that there was nobody in Malta better fitted by experience, personality and industry for this task than you. I sincerely hope that you and the theatre prosper hand in hand.

Perhaps I should conclude by adding that when the Council still organised its own activities in Drama you were outstanding both as producer and actress."

Now, later on, as I got to know her I had nominated her and a prominent pianist for an award of the state and in 2011 she was decorated with the National Order of Merit. And so was the pianist.

So Ethel sent me this testimonial from the British Council representative "to show you how intuitive you were to "take action" when no one seemed to have cared much, without ever having seen the truth in print, regarding the heavy responsibilities  I was to have to make the Manoel have a dignified re-opening as Malta's 'National Theatre'.

I held great respect to the memory of the then manager, the late Mr Michael Kissaun, a true gentleman, for his great appreciation of my work."

I shall only quote appropriate parts from her handwritten letter, so clear, so much a reflection of her personality. "I have been very ill indeed, always wondering how long my inborn resistance can last. Maybe Mr Kevin Cassar (she was a great fan of this clever surgeon and of Dr Fenech Adami) was right when he told me that he never came across an adult patient with the heartbeat of a teenager. He made the other doctors listen in. Irrespective of this bonus I suspect that I shall have to go to hospital one of these days!

Before doing so I have not forgotten my everlasting appreciation of what you did for me - totally unsolicited. Were it not for you I would have had absolutely nothing to show for what, singlehandedly, I sacrificed my very self and my career in the UK and Italy where I was wanted at the time. For making up for all this negativity I wish you to accept the bracelet Marie (It happens to be very fashionable at the moment!) which was given to me by my dear Papa, so many years ago, when he took me and my stepmother to introduce me to the Arts in Florence where he bought it for me. Whenever he took me anywhere it was always for instruction purposes bless him -  something I loved!  Strangely, so I remained!

I am sure that from heaven he too is very grateful for what you have done for his daughter, 'per di più' totally unsolicited as even if he never wanted me 'to go on the stage', as he put it, until his friends at the Casino Maltese kept telling him "Mur ara dik it-tifla tieghek Paul! Kulhadd jghid kemm hi brava, ara daqxejn il-gazzetti." This finally sank in and on the last performance of a very well received play, as I was bowing to the great applause there he was in the centre, second row, applauding with the rest! I could not hold back my tears! Furthermore, along with the rest he came backstage to kiss me asking me to forgive him. I can never forget that day. So you see Marie that the bracelet does not come from me alone but also and primarily, from the one who bought it. It comes as a token of deeply felt appreciation for your having spontaneously done what no one in all those years, ever dreamt of doing." 

In January 2017 I was abroad visiting one of my daughters.   She called me a couple of times but I explained that I was away and we spoke for a while, assuring her that upon my return I would pop in to see her.  On the 22 January of 2017 she passed away  I was still abroad.  I was so sorry.

I am also very sorry I simply did not have more time to spend with her, to interview her, to hear about her triumphs: her time studying at The Bristol Old Vic and at the Bristol University Drama Department; her experiences on the stage in London and in the film The Magus.  Ethel was a complex character and did not take decisions quickly. The interview never happened as she kept on postponing it.

A couple of years ago I gave the bracelet to the elder of my two granddaughters. I will now pass on the letters so that she will understand the origins of that charm bracelet and look after it. This is a bracelet with a history. Ethel parted with it and I am very flattered that she chose to give it to me.

Was she a happy woman? Everything is intertwined that's what existence is,  it isn't just blocks of sadness and blocks of happiness. No doubt she had her happiness but also her sad times. Like most of us. She was part of my journey. She must be resting in peace. I regularly pass by her home and garage. Still with a padlock, no sign of life. I recite a Requiem Aeternam.

"If I should meet you after long years,

How shall I greet you? In silence and tears."

I say this to all my beloved dead. Who knows what lies in store for us after death. I hope to be pleasantly surprised.