15 October 2021

A Distant View of Harrow

 


Again I behold where for hours I have ponder’d,

As reclining, at eve, on yon tombstone I lay;

Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander’d,

To catch the last gleam of the sun’s setting ray.

 

 


Lord Byron and I have something in common. We both went to school on "the Hill." That is, Harrow-on the-Hill. Except he went to the School, whereas I went to a small Sixth Form College located a little further down the road in the grounds of an old Dominican Convent. But, like Byron before me, the Hill remains “a favourite spot” – associated in my mind with a time of very happy friendships. That time was some 30 years ago now, but those friendships have lasted through the decades, and only just this summer, we managed to meet up once again on the Hill for a reunion at The Castle pub on West Street.

 

High Street, Harrow-on-the-Hill, c.1950s

The Hill is one of those places which time never seems to change or alter. It looks much the same today as it did when I was at Sixth Form in the early 1990s, just the same as it does in old black and white photos from the early Twentieth Century, and the same as it appears in even earlier drawings and engravings dating back to Byron’s day. Harrow-on-the-Hill stands like a verdant island oasis rising out of the surrounding sea of suburbia on the edge of London, made all the more distinctive by the tall church spire which reaches out of the green swathe of trees which seem to engulf the Hill. Travelling north on either of the mainline railways departing from Euston or Kings Cross-St. Pancras, Harrow-on-the-Hill can be seen as clearly as if it were a beacon. Long after I’d moved away from Harrow, whenever I travelled on these routes out of London, I’d always make sure I sat on the left-hand side of the train carriage to ensure I saw that familiar view of my old hometown passing by in the far distance.

 

High Street, Harrow-on-the-Hill, 2021

From the top of the Hill, looking out in the other direction, it is possible to get some wonderful views of London to the southeast – I remember a window on one of the staircases in my college building which framed a lovely view of faraway London, with the Telecom Tower as the most recognisable landmark at that time. From ‘The Viewpoint’ on the crest of the Hill in St. Mary’s Churchyard, looking west, there’s an open view all the way to Windsor somewhere on the broad horizon. A brass plaque in the form of a topographical map is set on the top of a kind of look-out-point built of stone on which you can stand and strain your eyes as you try to make-out Windsor Castle – something which I have never managed to do (and, to be honest, I have no idea if it is actually possible).

 


The Viewpoint, however, is far more famous for a sight you’ll see if you turn your back on Windsor and look towards the Church itself. Here you will notice a low table-type tomb built of brick, supporting a cracked stone slab, and protected by an ornate iron cage. This is the Peachey Tomb. Although it is also more popularly known as ‘Byron’s Tomb.’ But this name is somewhat misleading, for it is not his tomb in the sense that this is the grave where he lies buried. Rather, it is ‘Byron’s tomb’ in the sense that this is the spot where the poet says he used to enjoy idling the hours away during his schooldays in the early 1800s. This is the place where he liked to watch the sunset while lying on top of this tomb beneath an elm tree. Indeed, it is a scene which he sketches out in two poems that featured in his first published book of poetry, Hours of Idleness (1807). These were poems which he wrote when he was 18 and 19 years old, around the same age I was when attending Sixth Form. In one of the poems, he imagines, at the end of his life, his body being buried in a humble grave here in Harrow churchyard.

 


Oft have I thought, ’twould soothe my dying hour,—

If aught may soothe, when Life resigns her power,—

To know some humbler grave, some narrow cell,

Would hide my bosom where it lov’d to dwell;

With this fond dream, methinks ’twere sweet to die—

And here it linger’d, here my heart might lie;

Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose,

Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose;

For ever stretch’d beneath this mantling shade,

 



The opening lines from this poem, written by Bryon while sitting atop the tomb – as the poem’s title attests – were later carved in marble and set with lead-lettering as a memorial to Byron which stands at the foot of the Peachey Tomb. The stone was placed there in 1905 by the son of Sir George Sinclair Bart, a schoolfellow of Byron’s, in memory of his father and the poet’s friendship. I am not sure when the iron cage was placed over the tomb, but, so the local story goes, this cage needed to be installed because the spot became a place of pilgrimage for overly ardent Byron fans during the heady days of “Byronmania,” because the tomb was suffering from people emulating the poet by clambering onto it and lolling about on the top, or even more destructively deliberately chipping off pieces to take away as mementoes.

 



My friends and I used to come to this ‘favourite spot’ quite a lot. We’d sit on the benches here during college breaktimes, as well as passing by when en route at the end of the college day, heading back down to Harrow town centre, where we’d then kill time wandering around the shops before reluctantly parting and making our separate ways home. And a couple of years before I went to Sixth Form, I stayed for a weekend in the Vicarage of St. Mary’s Church during the religious studies prior to my Confirmation. The room I stayed in had a window which looked out over the same view as that seen from the Viewpoint, just a short stone’s throw from the Peachey Tomb itself. All of which meant the Hill was a place I came to know intimately during my teenage years, much as Byron must have done.

 

Byron's name, Harrow School

There are other traces of Byron too, which can still be found lingering about the Hill. Perhaps the most direct association is the carving of his name into the wooden panelling of the old School Room. This particular piece of graffiti looks a lot neater than the rendering of his name which is scratched into a stone pillar in the dungeon of the Chateau de Chillon on the Swiss shores of Lake Leman, which is said to have been inscribed by the poet himself while he was wandering through Europe during his years of self-imposed exile, when his scandalous love life compelled him to leave England.

 

Thomas Phillips, George Gordon, 6th Lord Byron (1788–­1824) in Albanian Dress, 1834


A more poignant monument linking Byron to Harrow Churchyard, however, is the one located low to the ground beside the door of St. Mary’s South Porch. This is a small plaque commemorating Byron’s daughter, Allegra. She was born ten years after Byron wrote his poem beneath the elm tree here in the same churchyard, envisaging his own internment there some day. Instead, it was his young daughter with Claire Clairmont who was laid to rest here in 1822 in a very humble grave, so humble in fact that only its rough location – somewhere near the porch door – is known. Allegra’s grave remained unmarked until the Byron Society erected this plaque in 1980. At the time of her burial, Allegra was denied a memorial, allegedly due to the fact she had been born illegitimate, but the real reason was perhaps much more likely due to the Church Authority’s aversion to Byron’s infamous immorality. Hence, he knew they would never permit his body to be laid to rest there when the time eventually came.

 



Allegra was just five years old when she died, and although Byron had sent for her – her mother mistakenly believing Allegra would have better prospects if she was raised by her famous father – he neglected his daughter severely. First passing responsibility for her care onto his friends, who were at best indifferent to her, and then subsequently sending her off to a series of convents in remote parts of Italy, where he wouldn’t have to see or think about her. It’s thought she died from typhus or malaria. Her unexpected death shook her father to the core apparently. Guilt and grief became transmuted. He had her small body sent back to England, where he paid lavishly for her little coffin to be conveyed in a fancy horse-drawn hearse from the London docks to Harrow. Where Allegra was buried in this ‘favourite spot’ of his own youth, meaning that in some sense a part of him does lie here in Harrow churchyard. It’s a sad story. But perhaps Allegra’s death embodies the innocence, both hers and her father’s own, which Byron had so profligately cast aside: “Deplor’d by those in early days allied, / And unremember’d by the world beside.”

 

St. Mary's, Harrow-on-the-Hill, 1921

From The Viewpoint, St. Mary’s Churchyard continues down the slope of the Hill. Filled with tall and imposing Gothic Victorian headstones, there are many interesting graves and memorials to be found hidden away here. It is a quiet and tranquil haven for birds and wildlife. Wandering beneath the tall trees this summer, though, I was struck by how unkempt and uncared for much of the churchyard seems nowadays. A lot of the graves appear to have succumbed to the depredations of time and the elements in the 30 years or so since my college days, when I used to pass through the old place more regularly. At long last, outrun by time it seems, the names of many of those who lived here long ago, and who have long since been laid to rest here on the Hill, are no longer remembered by those ‘dearly beloved’ inscriptions which have slowly eroded from their moss covered and ivy-swathed memorials. It seems strange to think how a poet’s words and a poet’s fame can remain as something more permanent than words and names which were intended to endure, wrought in stone, forever. I suppose, as the Romantic poets knew and lamented only too well, all things must pass in time. Though they change, places persist, while memories fade.

 


It was during my time at Sixth Form College, here on the Hill, while studying for English A-Level, that I first read the Romantic poets. We studied John Keats, but I remember reading Byron too. I can still recite Byron’s She Walks In Beauty by heart even today. It is definitely one of my favourite poems. Studying the Romantics certainly helped to instil a love of literature which in later years lead me on to delight in the wicked humour of Byron’s epic, Don Juan. One of the things I most enjoyed at Sixth Form was being a member of the creative writing club, which wasn’t quite Dead Poet’s Society, but something rather like it given the small size of the college and its beautiful grounds. I genuinely enjoyed Sixth Form, despite the fact that I found A-Levels pretty hard-going – tougher in fact than my subsequent studies at university, both as an undergraduate and as a postgrad. I suppose it was a combination of time and place, but most especially people – my friends and fellow students were what made my two years at Sixth Form College so special. Hence, the same as Byron, I feel a deep and abiding affection for the Hill because of the warmth derived from the memories I retain of it.

 


Beyond the graveyard of St. Mary’s Church, there is a wide expanse of green grass which hasn’t changed at all. This green space, where as kids we used to go tobogganing in winter, is crossed by a narrow path which starts at the foot of the Hill beside St. Anselm’s Primary School (named after the beatified priest who first consecrated St. Mary’s Church in 1094). The path runs across the side of the Hill to West Street. In the mornings I often used to walk this path to college from the bus station in Harrow on the days when I didn’t cycle to Sixth Form. It was always a nice way to start the day, getting a breath of fresh air while listening to the wind soughing through the branches of the tall trees surrounding the church, whatever the season and whatever the weather. But it was even nicer to walk this path once again on a sunny afternoon this summer. A true homecoming, long awaited. Making my way up to The Castle once more, to meet with my old college friends, and to feel all those years simply melt away.

 


Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill,

Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still,

Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay,

And frequent mus’d the twilight hours away;

Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline,

But, ah! without the thoughts which then were mine:

How do thy branches, moaning to the blast,

Invite the bosom to recall the past,

And seem to whisper, as they gently swell,

“Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last farewell!”

 

 


Also on ‘Waymarks’

 

Seeking Solace & Sunshine

The Visitor of Chillon

“Here Lies One Whose Name Is Writ In Water”





Byron's Elm & Church Terrace, Harrow - c.1910


1 October 2021

Megaliths of Malta

 


Writing in 1924, the anthropologist, Leonard Dudley Buxton, observed: “The student of human history will find many remarkable things in Malta.” – He’s not wrong. For anyone with an interest in history, Malta is a genuine ‘Treasure Island.’ My first memory of hearing about this remarkable place was from my grandmother. When I was a child, she used to keep a handwritten list pinned by a magnet to the door of her refrigerator. It was a list of all the places she wanted to visit and all the adventurous the things she wanted to do. Once she’d done them, she used to get me to cross them off using a red pencil. Two of the things I remember listed on that piece of paper were a flight on Concorde and a visit to the Island of Malta. My grandmother knew I was very interested in history; hence I remember her showing me photographs of her and my grandfather riding the beautiful old buses (which until relatively recently were still in service on the island), visiting crumbling castles and sun-kissed harbours filled with beautiful sailing boats. Malta certainly did appeal to me. To my young ears there was a lyrical, lilting magic to the sound of its name, like honeycomb and milk chocolate – Malta. It was something I never forgot, and so, several decades later, having just finished my masters degree in history, I decided it was high time to finally see Malta for myself.

 

Old buses at Mdina, Malta

Malta is a small archipelago of five islands. The two main islands are Malta and Gozo, with two smaller islands, Comino and Cominetto, set in the channel between them; plus there is also a small outlying island, Filfla, located off the southwest coast of Malta. It is only a modest archipelago. Malta is about 95 miles square, and Gozo just 25 square miles. Consequently, it is the perfect size to explore during a one or two week holiday. I got myself a bus pass which enabled me to hop on and off the buses which frequently crisscross the island, and this proved to be the best way to navigate from one historical site to another because there are many interesting places to see. Human occupation on the island goes back to at least the Neolithic period when a flourishing culture constructed a series of unique and unusual megalithic ‘buildings’ and subterranean crypts, some of which predate other well known Neolithic sites such as Stonehenge in England. Many centuries later the island was home to the Hospitaller Knights of St. John who were displaced here from the island of Rhodes when Rhodes fell to the Ottomans in 1523. The Knights of St. John are responsible for most of the formidable fortifications which can still be seen in the main town of Valletta. In more recent history the island was known as ‘Fortress Malta’ during World War 2, when it formed an important naval base for the Allied resistance to the invading Nazi military machine in the Mediterranean arena.

 

'Gallarijia' balconies in Valletta

I spent my first day on Malta exploring the old town of Valletta which is a warren of narrow streets filled with fascinating old buildings, gardens, churches and ramparts. It is a picturesque place to wander around, the streets overhung by distinctive ‘gallarijia’ balconies, and plenty of churches to sneak a peek inside as you find them when strolling the back streets. The Co-Cathedral of St. John is well worth a visit with its grandly elaborate Barqoue interior lavishly decked out in gold, marble and bright paint. The Cathedral’s Oratory holds two marvellous paintings by Caravaggio – the Beheading of St. John the Baptist, painted in 1608, is Caravaggio’s largest canvas and also the only one of his works which he signed; plus, a portrait of St. Jerome writing, perhaps showing him translating the Bible from Greek into Latin. It is one of two versions of this subject by him which I particularly like. When Caravaggio was on Malta painting these works the Cathedral would have looked much more austere. Its Baroque decorations were added later over the course of many years.

 


The Co-Cathedral of St. John, Valletta


Beheading of St. John the Baptist, by Caravaggio


Caravaggio arrived here on Malta in July 1607 and became a novice of the Order of St. John. He was a brilliant young firebrand, noted for his prodigious talents in painting and picking fights. Having killed a well-connected man in Rome the year before, he fled Italy and found sanctuary on the island. Soon after his arrival he was involved in yet another brawl, this time with six other Italian knights in which a knight of high rank was shot and seriously wounded. Caravaggio was imprisoned in Fort St. Angelo, but managed a daring escape (perhaps aided by influential friends) in which he scaled the fort’s massive walls using ropes. He then fled once again, this time on a boat bound for Sicily. From here he made his way north to Naples, but his life on the run ended somewhat mysteriously when he died, it is thought from a fever, at the age of 39.

 

Saint Jerome, by Caravaggio

Caravaggio’s effect upon European painting was profound, particularly on Mattia Preti, who later painted the Cathedral’s six-section barrel-vaulted ceiling. Noted for its realism Caravaggio’s style broke with the norms of religious painting, note the absence of chubby little cherubs and winged angels in many of his works. His subjects can often be vividly gruesome, choosing to focus on beheadings and the like, but he is also capable of scenes of great serenity – as his two paintings of St. John and St. Jerome found here in the Cathedral each amply attest. Whilst I was staying on Malta I found an interesting book about Caravaggio’s time on the island, Caravaggio: Art, Knighthood and Malta, by Keith Sciberras and David M. Stone (2006).

 

Judith and Holofernes, by Valentin de Boulogne

Heraclitus, by ?

Malta’s National Museum of Fine Art (which I think has moved premises since I visited in 2014) also houses some really magnificent paintings. Here the works which struck me most were Valentin de Boulogne’s Judith and Holofernes, which shows clear influences of Caravaggio’s treatment of the same gruesome subject, and a very moving painting of an old man weeping, titled Heraclitus – which sadly I failed to note down the name of the artist (and I’ve since been unable to find any reference to it on-line. If anyone knows who it is by, please post a comment to let me know!). There are also two lovely and evocative views of Malta done by the Scottish artist, David Roberts, who is perhaps best know for his distinctive nineteenth-century views of ruined temples and other monuments which he painted whilst on a tour of Egypt.

 

Valletta Harbour, by David Roberts

The 'Sleeping Lady' from the Hypogeum

The National Museum of Archaeology in the centre of Valletta is also well worth a visit before heading out to the various archaeological sites of interest for which Malta is most famous. A large bust of Themistocles ‘Temi’ Zammit, the father of scientific archaeology on Malta and former Director of the Museum, greets you as you arrive. Here artefacts from Malta’s Neolithic Period (5000 BC) up to the Phoenician Period (400 BC), including the ‘Sleeping Lady’ (from the Ħal Saflieni Hypogeum), the ‘Venus of Malta’ (from Ħaġar Qim Temples), Bronze Age daggers (from Tarxien Temples), and a Phoenician anthropomorphic sarcophagus, help to orient you and explain some of the temple sites before you visit. When I visited, perhaps taking its cue from Neil MacGregor, the Museum had put on a special exhibition illustrating the ‘History of Malta in 100 Objects’, including the George Cross Medal which was given to the island’s population as a whole in recognition of Malta’s key role during World War 2.

 


The George Cross Medal presented to the Island of Malta

Since its independence from Britain in 1964 the George Cross insignia has been incorporated into the national flag of Malta, a curious choice when you consider the fact that the George Cross is very much linked to the British Empire from which the island was then seceding, as well as the fact that Malta already has its own long established and very distinctive signature cruciform insignia – the Maltese Cross, which can be found on Maltese 1 Euro coins. I did read somewhere that this choice might have been made because, when the British Empire became the Commonwealth, it was mooted that Malta might be given British dependency status, in much the same way as Jersey and Guernsey, but in the end Malta was made fully independent instead.

 


Għar Dalam, the 'Cave of Darkness'

If you want to begin a tour of subterranean Malta chronologically then the place to start is the cave at Għar Dalam, which means ‘Cave of Darkness’ – although the cave is far less forbidding than its name might suggest, it is actually quite a nice escape from the sun and heat of the day outside. The cave is said to be one of the first places on the island to be inhabited by humans c.5200 BC. These early settlers are thought to have migrated here from Sicily. Malta is only 93 km from Sicily, apparently close enough to be seen on a very clear day. Excavations of the cave floor have yielded all the typical finds indicative of human settlement, such as human and animal remains, rubbish pits, ceramic sherds, etc., as well as much older faunal remains of animals such as hippos, elephants, bears, foxes and wolves. The archaeologists have left a section of the earth in situ to show the stratigraphy of the cave floor, plus several enormous (and still forming) stalactites and stalagmites. Walking the steps to and from the cave there is an interesting defensive contrast between an old watchtower, built by the Knights Hospitaller, and its near neighbour, a concrete ‘pillbox’ built during World War 2.

 

Knights Hospitaller Watchtower and WW2 Pillbox (above)

The main site of subterranean interest on Malta is, of course, the famous Hypogeum (Ħal Saflieni). I remember my grandmother telling me about this – maybe it appealed to her Irish roots, thinking of similar sites such as Newgrange – because Malta’s Hypogeum is a complex underground burial chamber, or a temple to the dead, its layout reminiscent of the nearby Tarxien Temples. Its construction spanning three distinct phases during the long period between c.3600-2500 BC. The site was discovered in 1899 and first investigated by a Jesuit priest, Father Manwel Magri, but unfortunately his notes regarding his exploratory excavations have since been lost, consequently little is known about his early antiquarian investigations. Temi Zammit began a systematic study of the site in 1910, and he estimated that over its 1000 year period of continuous use the site may have held the mortal remains of around 7000 individuals.

 

Temi Zammit

In order not to upset the environmental preservation of the site, particularly in terms of maintaining its levels of humidity, visitor numbers are carefully regulated. Consequently, it is only possible to visit the site as part of a pre-booked tour. When I decided to go to Malta all of these tours were already fully booked, but I’d read that it was possible to buy tickets the day before for one particular day a week, so I decided to chance my luck and see if I could get one of these tickets. The staff at the museum which sold the tickets advised me to get there early on the day the tickets go on sale because there’s always a long queue. They weren’t kidding either. They said I should get there around 8am, so I got there around 7:30am and there were already 12 people in front of me and 6 more arrived straight on my heels! And the queue continued to lengthen while I waited. I’d been told that there were only 20 tickets for sale, hence it was hard not to speculate how many tickets the persons in front of me might be hoping to purchase. I felt sure most of those in front of me would be buying multiple tickets for friends and family who might not have come with them, plus I thought a couple of people near the front looked like local tour guides or perhaps ticket touts. Of course, there was nothing to stop the first person in the queue purchasing the lot outright. But doubts and uncertainties aside, all I could do was to wait and see and hope the gods of old might favour me with a stroke of luck – and favour me they did. When the place opened at 9am, everyone ahead of me watched as shuffling forward we saw those at the front of the queue leaving triumphant with tickets in hand, but there was no way to know how many they’d bought. As I got closer and closer to the ticket counter I could see people were beginning to leave with disappointed faces and empty hands. But it seemed as though the tickets hadn’t run out yet, and it was only when I got to the ticket counter that I discovered why – there was only a single ticket left. Everyone ahead of me was looking for a pair of tickets or multiples of two. For once, somewhat uncharacteristically, the lonesome traveller was at an advantage. I found out the next day when I arrived at the Hypogeum that the chap at the front of the queue had just bought one ticket for himself and this had thrown the whole system and so secured me my precious ticket.

 

Hypogeum (Heritage Malta)

I was really glad to get that ticket too, because the Hypogeum is well worth the visit and it would be a real shame to go to Malta and not see this singular and remarkable prehistoric site. Here’s what I wrote in my travel diary at the time: “The Hypogeum is truly amazing. A short film at the start explains its discovery and excavation. Amazing to think this place was found under what was already quite an urban area – hence who knows what might lie as yet undiscovered beneath our feet elsewhere. The chambers are actually smaller than the photographs of them I’d seen make them appear, but this is mainly because there’s nothing in any of these photos to give an idea of scale. Nevertheless, they are still an astonishing sight. I was most taken by the remnant drill marks in one of the chambers and by the ceilings of two others which are painted with vivid red ochre spirals. Absolutely fascinating. The main chamber and the ‘Holy of Holies’, of course, are stunningly beautiful and fantastically symmetrical. I was struck by one small passing comment on the film commentary – apparently no evidence of soot was found anywhere inside, so how were the subterranean chambers lit during both construction and use?”

 

The Tarxien Temples



From 1915-1919 the nearby Tarxien Temples were also excavated by Temi Zammit. There are four temples here, similarly dating to c.3600-2500 BC, and they must have been utilised by a substantial sized Neolithic community. Once the temples fell out of use the site has evidence of later activity during the Bronze Age and Roman period, as well as during medieval times, after which the site was lost until its rediscovery in the twentieth century. Many important finds have been made here, particularly in terms of monumental sculptures. Spiral motifs can be found here similar to those of the ochre-etched spiral designs on the roof of the Hypogeum. I noted that many of the snail shells I came across on Malta had similar spiral markings decorating their whorled shells, and so I couldn’t help wondering if these motifs might have been inspired from such observations derived from the natural world surrounding these sites.

 


Tarxien is possibly the key site for archaeologists wishing to understand the Neolithic period on Malta, but it is not the most picturesque of Malta’s Neolithic sites. Hence, a visit to Mnajdra and Ħaġar Qim is essential. These two sites are located very close to one another on the coast, far from any modern urban encroachment. The two sites are now each covered by huge sail-like canopies which were built primarily to protect these important sites from the elements, but they also protect the visitor from the full force of the sun too, making it much more pleasant to wander round and explore at leisure. And I don’t think it detracts from an appreciation of the site’s natural setting because after all when the temples were first constructed they would have had their own stone-corbelled rooves, hence you do get some suggestion of them as enclosed spaces.

 

Mnajdra and Ħaġar Qim

The temples consist of a series of rooms with rounded interiors connected by passageways. The walls are made of large upright limestone blocks, and some areas are still paved. There are niches, benches and ‘altars.’ Several of these yellow limestone megalithic slabs are stippled with a pecked honeycomb-like decoration. And some of the stones might have been configured to certain celestial alignments, although many of these assertions have yet to be definitively explained or actually demonstrated. A lot of prehistoric archaeology is speculative due to the nature of there being no written records to help explain or corroborate the design and original function of such sites and how these factors changed, evolved or were adapted over time. Systems of knowledge at this time are largely a mystery to us as modern interpreters, all we have to work with are the sites themselves and the material finds discovered within them – such as fragments of pottery, sculptures, remnants of food and fire use, tools, etc. But looking at the spatiality of such sites and speculating as to how they related to the surrounding landscape as it may have been at the time of construction, as well as factors relating to the climate, possible population densities, and the like are all things to consider and ponder about. A very interesting paper on these elements by David Turnbull which appeared in the academic journal, Theory, Culture & Society, in 2002, titled: Performance and Narrative, Bodies and Movement in the Construction of Places and Objects, Spaces and Knowledges: The Case of the Maltese Megaliths is well worth a read in this regard.

 

Mnajdra and Ħaġar Qim

Further along the coast heading west, the Dingli Cliffs are a lovely spot to walk and see the sunset. Turning inland, however, there is another site of subterranean interest in the town of Rabat – St. Paul’s catacombs. These are the largest and said to be the most impressive of all Malta’s catacombs. Covering an area of over 2000m² the catacombs date back to the Phoenician period at the earliest, and to the period of Arab rule around 870 AD at the latest, but the heyday of the catacombs was during the Byzantine or Romano-Christian period, 4th-8th century AD. A flight of stone steps takes you down into a wide atrium-like area where you can see two large round ‘agape tables’ carved into the rock, these were designed and used for leaving food offerings to the dead. From this atrium a labyrinth of low and narrow passageways on multiple levels contain many different designs of tombs which have all been cut into the rock. Some of these types are named as follows: ‘loculus’, recessed graves or niches cut into the walls; ‘forma’, or graves cut into the floor; as well as arched recess graves, known as ‘arcosolium’; and ‘window graves’, which are more like small rooms; plus ‘table’ and ‘bench’ graves, which look like stone chests; and the more elaborate ‘baldacchino’ or canopied graves, which look like the stone tombs found in churches, except these are all carved from the natural rock of the catacomb. The whole place is rather reminiscent of the catacombs seen beneath the church in Venice in the film, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade; and like Indy, you can wander around in the almost pitch darkness exploring this sepulchral space – although here the graves are now empty of their ancient bones. When I went down into the catacomb there were hardly any other visitors, and so I wandered at leisure for quite a long time, exploring the length and breadth of the place – never quite sure of how far it would go or if I’d lose my way and not know how to get back to the entrance. But as I wandered, crossing and recrossing my own path, I began to forma a mental picture of the layout in my mind until I felt fairly confident I knew where I was and where certain passages would lead me. It was also a wonderful escape from the intense heat and the bright sunshine of the day outside.

 


St. Paul's Catacombs

Chronologically, the last or most recent of subterranean sites of interest on Malta are the Lascaris War Rooms back in Valletta. These reminded me a little of the Cabinet War Rooms in London which I last visited when I was a child. The Lascaris War Rooms were built to serve a similar purpose too. This was the place where General Eisenhower oversaw the operations of the Allied Forces based in the Mediterranean during the latter part of World War 2, including the invasion of Sicily (which I think my grandfather might have been a part of; he certainly served in Italy later on). A forlorn and somewhat moth-eaten crowd of manikins populate the old bunk room dormitories, the map rooms and radio stations here, lending the place a spooky and surreal aspect as though it were designed to bemuse and befuddle John Steed in an episode of 1960s TV drama, The Avengers. The underground HQ was known to the troops it housed as ‘The Hole’, but it was really named after the knight, Jean Paul de Lascaris Castellar, because the tunnels were originally dug by the knights as living quarters for their galley slaves. After the War these rather dank and musty old tunnels were extended even further, although the works were abandoned before they were completed with much of the excavation equipment simply left behind, hence no one now really knows what the intended purpose for this was, but, had it been finished, it would have been a huge military warren hidden beneath the ancient streets far above.

 

Lascaris War Rooms

Malta is certainly steeped in history. It’s hard to set foot anywhere on Malta without some historical feature from the near or remote past catching your eye. And for the solo traveller it is a wonderfully accessible and easily navigable place to get around. I managed to fill a week with plenty of historical sites, churches and museums – and there were still places I didn’t manage to get to see on Malta, let alone Gozo. It’s definitely a place which I can’t imagine I’d ever get bored of exploring. I’d long wanted to come here, and so, sitting at the airport, waiting to board my flight home, I reflected on the fact that I could now draw a red pencil line through it on my own personal wish list of places to see and visit in my lifetime. It is a place which will linger long in my memory. Maybe one day I will return, but for now – for this history buff, it was the perfect place to have celebrated the personal milestone of achieving my MA in history.


 


 

See more photographs from my trip to Malta here

 

 



References


L. H. Dudley Buxton, Malta: An Anthropogeographical Study, in Geographical Review, Vol. 14, No. 1 (January, 1924), pp. 75-87

Keith Sciberras & David M. Stone, Caravaggio: Art, Knighthood, and Malta (Valetta, Malta: Midsea Books Ltd., 2006)

David Turnbull, Performance and Narrative, Bodies and Movement in the Construction of Places and Objects, Spaces and Knowledges: The Case of the Maltese Megaliths, in Theory, Culture & Society, Vol. 19, No. 5/6 (2002), pp. 125-143






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