Windflowers

If looks could kill!

2026-10-09T11:25:16.937-07:00

Sometimes it’s only decades after a person has passed away that you begin to gain perspective on them and their life. One member of our writers’ group, in Northern Ireland, was an 87-year-old English lady called Winnie. She was from Yorkshire and spoke of wearing clogs with metal soles as a child, making sparks fly as she and the other children ran down the road.

Her poetry was about simple things like fish suppers, fuel poverty or just living on her estate. It was one of the rougher estates, and whenever I visited her in Coleraine, I remembered my own time living in such challenging places.

We had so much laughter in that particular writing group, and I remember the warmth of their voices and their openness. I suspect it was the desperation in all our lives that made honesty necessary. Those who live in relative affluence probably have just as many problems, but seem to cloak themselves from others and hide their indiscretions better. Winnie has since passed away, and I miss her smile and her jokey sense of humour.

There was a retired local policeman who was also in the group. He was like a breath of fresh air, causing everyone to erupt in laughter over the simplest things. I remember he once ended up spending a night in custody through no fault of his own.

He’d been awakened in the early hours of the morning in his block of flats by the sound of a woman screaming for help. When he came out of his apartment, he could see two figures, a woman and a man, having an altercation on the walkway outside the third-floor flats.

Climbing the stairs, he joined them on the walkway and discovered that the man was beating the woman severely. He intervened and brought the man down in a rugby tackle. When the police were called, it turned out to be a domestic violence incident, but both the man and the woman blamed him for instigating all the violence, and he ended up spending the night in custody.

Poor guy! He swore he wouldn’t help anyone ever again: the risk was too great. But he made us all laugh with his tale of the evening and the confusion—thinking he was doing his good deed for the day, only to end up in a jail cell.

Winnie had her own issues. She and her husband had been unable to have children, so they had adopted two brothers, aged seven and nine. Unfortunately, the boys caused no end of trouble during childhood and went on to commit worse offences as they grew older. As adults, they seemed to gravitate towards trouble, and trouble seemed to gravitate towards them.

When her husband died, things seemed to get worse, and the two men seemed to take ridiculous pleasure in upsetting Winnie. I remember her telling us about one occasion when she was walking with her younger son Paul walking on the pavement in front of the shops in Coleraine. As they walked, he was saying the most offensive and hurtful things to her. He was cursing and shouting so loudly, and gesticulating with his fists so aggressively, that two middle-aged women walking behind them challenged him about his behaviour and intervened.

Pulling him aside, away from Winnie, they called the police and gave him a good scolding as they stood on the pavement waiting for the police to arrive. Middle-aged ladies working in tandem can give a powerful ticking-off, and these two were well built and very well intentioned. I think her son was more afraid of these two well-built and thoroughly outraged middle-aged women than of the small policeman who eventually appeared to take down the details.

Winnie said her son was completely shocked by how they spoke to him and by their fearlessness. The small policeman gave him a warning not to behave in such a manner, but apparently the two middle-aged women needed to be restrained by the policeman from giving a more physical response to his misbehaviour.

The police had been called on many occasions to deal with her son, and he had no fear of them. But Winnie said that, over the policeman’s shoulder, one of the women pointed two fingers at her own eyes and then at her son—a warning that had him scared indeed. Who knew when he would encounter them again? And without police intervention, would he be safe?

I remember calling Winnie once and hearing her son shouting furiously at her in the background. I was so angry at his tone that I told Winnie to give him the phone so I could give him a piece of my mind. She told him I wanted to talk to him and offered him the phone. There was silence, and then she told me he’d run out of the door and onto the street rather than talk to me.

I visited Winnie several times and was so upset to see her in her big armchair, wrapped in blankets. She told me that was where she slept now. Apparently, the upper floor, where her bedroom was, was far too cold. It upset me to think of her life being restricted to this one tiny room and the armchair. I wish the world were more aware of what age and poverty do to so many people.

During one of my visits, her son was there. I was pretty annoyed with him but tried not to show it. I didn’t want to make things worse for Winnie, but I couldn’t stop myself glaring at him. He was in a placating mood, all smiles and very subservient in the way he greeted me. That made me want to slap him really hard.

Then my son suddenly appeared, helping to carry in some things from my car for Winnie. He is six foot two, and Paul, thought I’d come to get some justice and had brought a heavy along for that purpose. He practically fell to his knees before us. However, my son greeted him warmly and shook his hand, and I could see that Paul was beyond relieved.

I had to stop myself copying the middle-aged lady’s two-finger warning, pointing to my eyes and then at Paul over my son’s shoulder, just to freak him out.

Paul continued to plague Winnie’s life with his violence, his moods and his anger. It seemed so unfair. One of Winnie’s stories was about Paul’s neighbour down the street, who had attacked and frightened him. I enjoyed her story, but I’m afraid I knew exactly how that neighbour felt, as I’d really wanted to give him a good thrashing myself. Winnie was a lovely lady and didn’t deserve any of this.

Sometimes you have to ask what lessons are learned in life. I think Winnie had a wonderful married life with her husband, and when they decided to adopt two children, they did it for all the right reasons. It’s just a shame that some children are so scarred by what they’ve been through that they seem never to find their feet or make a better life, despite all the help and love they receive.

Addiction played a big role in much of the harm I saw in those lives. Alcoholism blights many Irish lives and causes so much distress and heartache. I wonder whether those who make so much money out of this dirty business ever think about the anguish and violence so often associated with their product.

Lessons learned by granny this month

2026-10-04T08:25:37.280-07:00

I told my grandson that he was so cute. "How did you get so cute?" I asked. Then I asked a harder question, "Do you think I could be as cute as you?" He did not hesitate, he said "No, you are too old!" Out of the mouth of babes!!!

He lost his first tooth and excitedly hid it under his pillow expecting the tooth Fairy to do her business. No money appeared and he was telling his younger cousin that he's waited days and the tooth was still there but no money. Although, only five his cousin broke the brutal news, "there's no such thing as a tooth fairy it is just parents who put the money under the pillow". My grandson digested this news with stoic resignation. The real world is a tough show.

This youngest grandchild is not really interested in computers but I found he had carefully constructed a cardboard version for himself and was happily playing on it!

Baxter is the family dog and his good nature is tangible. He approaches everything and everyone like gigantic puppy happy and really for fun. When he is greeted with a growl, snap or shout he quickly runs away to safety. He is not the sharpest pencil in the pack and is totally terrified by feathers, even the little tiny ones that come out of pillows. But all of it makes up a very loveable character to have around. I hope now like me you are happy to hear about all these cheery chappies and valuable lessons learned from them.

Magical Maltese Taxi Driver

2026-09-08T09:09:11.823-07:00

Our Maltese taxi driver was a large, middle-aged woman with a warm smile. While our cases were being loaded in her boot, another driver hooted impatiently. Her car was blocking his way through the narrow street. She responded with an open-handed gesture that seemed to say, “What do you expect me to do?” His irritation did nothing to disturb her good humour.

As we drove off, she explained that many taxi drivers were paid per ride and therefore rushed to get their customers to their destinations. With eCabs, she told us, she was paid by the hour.

“No need to race,” she said, smiling. “We can go at a reasonable pace.”

On the way to the airport, she told us about her life as a taxi driver, a mother of five and a grandmother of many more. Then she announced her household rule.

“No mobile phones in my house. They all have to put them in a box at the front door. That way, I get proper conversations with them all, instead of their heads in a screen all the time!”

I was impressed and asked how she kept her grandchildren amused without screens.

“We play the old games. I draw a line in the yard and we all throw coins to see who can get closest to it.”

I pictured them gathered in the yard, absorbed in this simple competition, with their grandmother joining in. What memories those children would carry with them: the games, the laughter and the conversations, all presided over by this good-natured matriarch. I wondered how those hours together would shape the people they became.

There was something worldly-wise about her, a weariness perhaps, but also a resolute good nature. She was not blind to the faults around her. She simply seemed determined to remain loving and cheerful despite them. Another driver could hoot, the world could hurry, and her grandchildren could arrive with phones in their hands. She would still set her own pace and insist on time together.

By the time we reached the airport, we felt heartened. An ordinary taxi journey had become a reminder of how much one person can bring to the lives of those around them.

We all have choices about the kind of world we create in our own homes. Hers began with a box by the front door.

“Every child is potentially the light of the world…”

‘Abdu’l-Bahá

When Continuing Becomes Dangerous: Lessons from Everest’s Death Zone

2026-09-03T11:12:27.193-07:00

Mount Everest rises 8,849 metres above sea level. Its uppermost slopes lie in a region mountaineers rightly call the death zone. At approximately 8,000 metres and above, atmospheric pressure is so low that the human body can no longer acclimatise sufficiently to survive for long.

Air pressure at this height is little more than one-third of that at sea level. Although oxygen still makes up approximately 21% of the atmosphere, each breath contains far fewer oxygen molecules, so much less oxygen passes from the lungs into the bloodstream. A climber may remain conscious, continue upwards and even reach the summit, but the body is steadily deteriorating. The longer someone remains there, the greater the danger.

There are times when emotional, physical or psychological stress can push us into a personal danger zone. The basic supports that maintain our well-being may begin to fail, and our condition can deteriorate surprisingly quickly. It is important to recognise the warning signals and respond promptly. The longer we remain in such a place, the more difficult recovery may become.

What the Death Zone Does to the Body

The shortage of oxygen places the body under extraordinary strain. Researchers who took arterial blood samples from four climbers breathing ambient air at 8,400 metres found an average arterial oxygen pressure of only 24.6 mmHg—an extraordinarily low value, close to the limits of human tolerance. To compensate, climbers breathe faster and more deeply, their heart rate rises and the circulation works harder to deliver the available oxygen to vital organs.

Even the ordinary tasks of life can sometimes demand almost superhuman effort. When we must operate at full capacity merely to stand still, strain accumulates. That is itself a warning sign worth recognising.

The Brain Becomes Slow and Unreliable

The brain is particularly sensitive to a lack of oxygen. Although it makes up only about 2% of body weight, it consumes approximately 20% of the body’s oxygen while we are resting. Weight for weight, brain tissue uses roughly ten times more oxygen than the average body tissue.

At extreme altitude, oxygen deprivation causes thinking to slow, memory and coordination to deteriorate and judgement to become dangerously poor. A climber may feel oddly confident while making irrational decisions. He or she may forget to attach to a safety line, misread the route, ignore a turnaround time or insist on continuing when descent is essential.

This is one of the cruellest features of the death zone: the very organ needed to recognise danger is itself being impaired. Exhaustion, sleep deprivation, cold and dehydration make the problem worse. In our own danger zones, our ability to assess the situation clearly may be among the first things affected. We can react impulsively or, while trying to improve matters, make them worse. That is why it is important to recognise our limits before judgement becomes clouded—and to listen to people we trust.

High-Altitude Cerebral Oedema: Swelling of the Brain

Altitude illness can progress to high-altitude cerebral oedema (HACE), a dangerous swelling of the brain. Early signs include confusion, unusual behaviour and loss of balance. A person who cannot walk heel-to-toe in a straight line may already be gravely ill. Without immediate descent and treatment, HACE can progress rapidly to coma and death.

Escaping a crisis requires thought and sensible decisions. If our ability to think clearly is itself impaired, however, we may no longer be able to find the way out without help.

The Lungs Begin to Fill with Fluid

When oxygen is already desperately scarce, low oxygen levels can cause the small arteries in the lungs to constrict. This narrowing is often uneven, forcing too much blood through the vessels that remain relatively open. The resulting pressure can damage their delicate walls, allowing fluid to leak from the capillaries into the surrounding tissue and eventually into the air sacs.

The fluid occupies space that should contain air and makes the lungs stiffer, so still less oxygen can cross into the blood. Falling oxygen levels produce further constriction and leakage, creating a dangerous vicious circle. This is high-altitude pulmonary oedema (HAPE).

A climber may become breathless even while resting, develop a cough, experience overwhelming weakness or become unable to keep pace. Breathing may become noisy, and crackling sounds can develop in the lungs. In advanced cases, the person may cough up pink or blood-tinged frothy sputum. The lungs that are desperately needed to collect oxygen are becoming progressively less able to do so. HAPE can worsen with frightening speed.

In severe HAPE, a person is effectively suffocating as fluid fills spaces that should contain air. In life, too, we can become so focused on external pressures that we fail to notice the internal damage they are causing. Trusted people around us may recognise the warning signs before we can and help us obtain the support we need.

The Body Consumes Itself

Appetite commonly fades at great altitude, while digestion becomes more difficult and the energy cost of climbing remains enormous. Climbers lose weight, fat and—particularly above approximately 5,000 metres—muscle. The body begins breaking down its own tissues at precisely the time when the climber needs exceptional strength to descend.

Dehydration is another constant danger. Cold, dry air increases water loss through rapid breathing, while exertion causes further losses. Yet melting snow and drinking require time and fuel. Dehydration reduces plasma volume, concentrates the blood and compounds fatigue and circulatory strain.

We can become so devoted to a goal or task that we remain blind to its consequences. Losing our appetite, motivation, sleep or ability to attend to basic needs can signal a serious imbalance. We need the essentials that sustain us: nourishment and rest, good friends, close family, a safe home and a path forward.

Cold Becomes Harder to Resist

The death zone combines oxygen starvation with extreme cold and fierce winds. As exhaustion and dehydration grow, the body becomes less capable of producing and preserving heat.

Blood vessels in the hands and feet constrict as the body tries to protect the heart and brain, greatly increasing the risk of frostbite. Low oxygen also impairs judgement, so a climber may fail to notice a freezing hand, a loose glove or the first signs of hypothermia.

We sometimes endure hardship while overlooking the damage it is doing. What is lost may not be a finger or toe, but our peace of mind, sense of self or ability to manage everyday life. We should regularly ask whether our body, mind and spirit are being sustained. Neglect is neither fair to ourselves nor to those around us.

Acclimatisation: Teaching the Body to Survive on Less

Acclimatisation is the gradual process by which the body adjusts to falling oxygen pressure. Within minutes of reaching altitude, breathing and heart rate increase. Over the following days, the kidneys excrete bicarbonate, allowing the body to sustain the rapid breathing needed to obtain more oxygen. The fluid portion of the blood also decreases, concentrating its haemoglobin. Over a longer period, increased erythropoietin stimulates the production of additional red blood cells, improving the blood’s oxygen-carrying capacity.

These changes help, but they do not restore sea-level performance. Physical fitness is essential for climbing, yet even an exceptionally fit athlete can develop altitude illness. Fitness and acclimatisation are not the same thing. The purpose of acclimatisation is not to make the death zone safe. It is to reach it in the strongest and best-acclimatised condition possible, spend as little time there as practicable and descend promptly.

Recovery from periods of intense stress also requires genuine breaks from the pressure—the equivalent of returning to base camp to recover. This may mean seeking the right company, de-escalating a situation, speaking to a professional or creating some distance from whatever is causing the strain. We may eventually have to re-enter the fray, but a period of recovery can rebuild surprising reserves of strength. On Everest, courage does not always mean continuing upwards. Sometimes it means possessing the wisdom to descend before conditions take away the ability to choose. The same can be true in life.

The Women Who Quietly Built the Peace

2026-08-28T05:51:58.374-07:00

The Voices We Rarely Heard

Years ago, in Northern Ireland, a friend and I asked about 25 women to write about their lives. We were conscious that it was usually the voices of male, well-known, influential or wealthy individuals that were being heard. So, tapping into these quiet women from all around the province, whose voices were seldom heard, seemed a no-brainer. This was 30 years ago and right in the midst of the Troubles.

Lives Tested to the Limit

As we collated their accounts, my friend and I noticed that all faced huge, huge personal challenges. In fact, these tests seemed almost personally designed to be particularly devastating for the individual involved, whether that was a parent with dementia, a partner with a severe illness, a marriage break-up, the death of a child, blindness or other mental and physical health problems. The list of problems was startling, and my colleague commented that it seemed the worst poison was being served up to those individuals with the deliberate intent to do maximum damage!

Shoulders to the Wheel of Peace

But despite that, their accounts also radiated hope and perseverance. Not only that, but they all had their shoulders to the wheel of peace in Northern Ireland, doing what they could in their own way to make that possible in homes and communities, both rural and urban.

The Unrecorded Foundations of Peace

So, in these times when the men of violence on both sides are loudly celebrated for having laid aside their weapons, I would just like to point out that the true foundations of peace were laid by women who reached out the hand of friendship across communities throughout the length and breadth of the province.

Keeping the Beacon Alight

Their heartfelt contributions should never be forgotten because, deep down, I am convinced they, and others like them, kept the beacon of light going in incredibly difficult days. They walked that path with a nobility and dignity that contrasted with the darkness and viciousness that surrounded them. They and those like them will never be given their due. Those who kill, those who have power and those who control the media will not speak of their goodness or celebrate their small, important victories.

Quietly Turning the Tide

But I’m convinced that, under all the noise and bluster we see around us these days too, there are so many women around the world who, in their own quiet, persistent ways, are turning the tide on hate and prejudice and building more united and peaceful communities.

We shouldn’t be surprised. Women have long played a decisive part, often under the radar, organising public pressure, crossing communal divisions, mediating between armed groups or negotiating the final settlement in conflicts around the world. It’s good to be reminded of their contributions.

Eight Times Women Helped Build Peace

1. Northern Ireland – Women Who Kept the Door Open

In 1996, Catholic and Protestant women, including Monica McWilliams, Pearl Sagar and May Blood, formed the Northern Ireland Women’s Coalition. It helped ensure that the 1998 Good Friday Agreement addressed victims, reconciliation, integrated education, mixed housing and the creation of a Civic Forum. The Coalition maintained dialogue when other parties even refused to speak to one another.

2. Liberia – Christian and Muslim Women United

During Liberia’s civil war, Leymah Gbowee brought Christian and Muslim women together in the Women of Liberia Mass Action for Peace. Wearing white, thousands prayed, demonstrated and demanded that President Charles Taylor and the rebel leaders negotiate. In 2003, women maintained their pressure on the peace talks in Ghana until an agreement was reached. Their campaign helped bring the country’s exceptionally brutal civil war to an end. Gbowee later received the Nobel Peace Prize.

3. Wajir, Kenya – When Women Stopped a Clan War

In 1993, women from opposing Somali clans in Wajir began meeting because violence had made the local market unsafe. Led by women including Dekha Ibrahim Abdi, they persuaded elders, religious leaders, businesspeople and government officials to participate. Their initiative developed into a wider peace process and contributed directly to the Al-Fatah Peace Declaration, which established a ceasefire and ended the fighting. The resulting peace committees became a model for other parts of Kenya.

4. The Philippines – A Woman at the Negotiating Table

Miriam Coronel-Ferrer headed the Philippine government’s negotiating team in talks with the Moro Islamic Liberation Front. In 2014, she became the first woman in the world, as chief negotiator, to sign a comprehensive peace agreement with a major rebel organisation. The agreement provided the foundations for the Bangsamoro autonomous region and helped end decades of large-scale conflict in Mindanao, although sporadic violence has continued.

5. Colombia – Changing the Terms of Peace

Colombian women’s organisations campaigned persistently to be heard during negotiations between the government and the FARC guerrillas. Women eventually participated on both negotiating teams. Their influence helped place victims, displaced women, land ownership, sexual violence and women’s political participation within the final 2016 agreement. The accord ended the main conflict with FARC after more than five decades, although implementation remains incomplete.

6. Bougainville – Crossing the Battle Lines

During Bougainville’s civil war, women used family, church and traditional networks to communicate across divisions that male fighters often could not cross. They carried messages, persuaded combatants to disarm, organised local reconciliation ceremonies and pressed the opposing sides to negotiate. Women, as usual, were not given as much authority in the formal talks as their work deserved, but their grassroots mediation helped create the conditions for the ceasefire and the 2001 Bougainville Peace Agreement.

7. Burundi – Refusing to Be Excluded

Women were not just ignored but initially largely excluded from negotiations to end Burundi’s civil war. Women from the country’s different ethnic and political communities nevertheless organised an All-Party Women’s Peace Conference and presented a joint programme to the negotiators. Their recommendations, which included protection for returning refugees, punishment of sexual violence, women’s inheritance rights and women’s participation in reconstruction, were incorporated to varying degrees into the 2000 Arusha Peace and Reconciliation Agreement.

8. Somalia – The Sixth Clan for Peace

At Somalia’s 2000 Arta peace conference, political representation was divided between five principal clan groupings. Women led by Asha Hagi Elmi organised across clan boundaries and declared themselves the “Sixth Clan”—representing peace rather than one lineage. They successfully secured women’s representation in the transitional parliament and inserted a cross-clan voice into the process. The settlement did not end Somalia’s conflict permanently, but it was a major peace-building achievement.

The Quiet Power Behind Peace

What is especially striking is that these women often succeeded because they could cross the very boundaries—religion, clan, ethnicity or political allegiance—that sustained the conflict. They usually did not possess armies or official power. Their influence came from persistence, moral authority, community connections and an ability to keep people talking.

“Strive that the ideal of international peace may become realized through the efforts of womankind.”

‘Abdu’l-Bahá

The Hand That Baptised Christ? The Mystery of Malta’s Missing Relic

2026-08-23T10:17:19.460-07:00

Before setting out to fight, the Knights Hospitaller in Malta are said to have knelt before a most unusual object: a fragment of human anatomy enclosed within a magnificent reliquary. This act of veneration they felt would give them both spiritual and physical strength as they prepared to face the dangers ahead.

The relic was a preserved right hand and forearm reputed to have belonged to St John the Baptist, the patron saint of their Order. John was remembered as an austere, courageous and uncompromising man. He lived largely in the wilderness of Judaea, wore clothing made from camel hair with a leather belt, and preached truths to power that eventually cost him his head.

According to Christian tradition, this was the very hand with which John baptised Jesus Christ in the River Jordan. Its presence must have given the Knights a powerful sense of divine protection as they embarked upon their hazardous missions.

Today, the magnificent gilded reliquary remains in St John’s Co-Cathedral in Valletta, displayed behind glass. The relic itself, however, is no longer there. The story of its extraordinary journey takes some telling.

Before Malta: Rhodes

Before coming to Malta, the Knights had been based on Rhodes. An inventory compiled there in 1483 records a relic described as the right arm of St John the Baptist.

When the Ottomans forced the Knights to surrender Rhodes in 1522, the relic they venerated as St John’s arm travelled with them during their years of wandering through the Mediterranean. When the Order finally settled in Malta in 1530, the relic was initially kept in the Church of St Lawrence in Birgu.

Thirty-five years later, Malta faced the Great Siege of 1565. The Knights, assisted by Maltese soldiers and civilians, successfully defended the island against a much larger Ottoman invasion force. The siege prompted them to construct the heavily fortified city of Valletta as their new capital.

Between 1573 and 1577, they built the Conventual Church of St John as the principal church of their Order. The relic was installed there and became one of their most sacred possessions. Today, the church is called St John’s Co-Cathedral because Malta has two churches sharing cathedral rank: St Paul’s Cathedral in Mdina, the ancient and principal cathedral, and St John’s Co-Cathedral in Valletta.

A magnificent reliquary

In 1689, Grand Master Gregorio Carafa commissioned an ornate ceremonial reliquary for St John’s hand. Designed and cast in Rome by the Baroque artist Ciro Ferri, it was made from bronze with gilded-silver ornamentation.

It originally occupied a prominent position upon the altar in the Oratory of St John—the same oratory that contains Caravaggio’s extraordinarily powerful painting, The Beheading of St John the Baptist.

When Napoleon captured Malta and expelled the Knights in 1798, Grand Master Ferdinand von Hompesch was permitted to take the sacred hand and several other important relics with him. Ferri’s large ceremonial reliquary, however, remained in Malta.

From Malta to Montenegro

In 1799, the hand was presented to Tsar Paul I of Russia, who had been elected Grand Master of the Order. It was placed in the imperial chapel at Gatchina and subsequently became part of the religious ceremonial life of the Russian court.

Following the Russian Revolution of 1917, the relic was removed from Russia. It passed through the care of the Dowager Empress Maria Feodorovna in Denmark and later through Berlin before being entrusted to King Alexander I of Yugoslavia. In 1932 it was taken to Belgrade and kept in the royal chapel at Dedinje.

During the Second World War, the relic was hidden at Ostrog Monastery in Montenegro. It was later recovered and eventually placed in Cetinje Monastery, where the claimed hand of St John the Baptist remains today.

From St John the Baptist's burial to Rhodes

But how did the relic supposedly travel from the grave of St John the Baptist to Rhodes in the first place?

After John was executed, his disciples reportedly buried his body at Sebaste in Samaria (now called Sebastia, near Nablus in the West Bank.

Christian tradition relates that St Luke the Evangelist later attempted to remove the body but was able to obtain only John’s right hand or arm—the limb believed to have baptised Jesus. Luke is said to have carried it to his native city of Antioch.

Antioch had been under Muslim rule for centuries when, in 956, the Byzantine emperor Constantine VII reportedly arranged for the relic to be removed secretly. A cleric named Job is said to have carried it first to Chalcedon and then to Constantinople, where it was preserved among the sacred treasures of the Byzantine imperial palace.

After Constantinople fell to the Ottomans in 1453, many of its Christian relics passed into the sultan’s treasury. In 1484, Sultan Bayezid II sent an arm identified as that of St John the Baptist to Grand Master Pierre d’Aubusson on Rhodes. An Ottoman ambassador formally presented it to the Knights.

A mystery remains – one arm or two?

There is, however, a problem with this apparently straightforward history. The Knights’ inventory of 1483 records an arm of St John on Rhodes one year before Bayezid presented them with another one. The Knights therefore appear to have possessed two claimed arms after 1484. This arm below, is reported to be from St John the Baptist is in Topkapi Palace treasury, Istanbul, Turkey.

Numerous other churches and monasteries have claimed to possess an arm, hand or finger of St John the Baptist. It is consequently impossible to establish with certainty whether the relic that travelled from Rhodes to Malta—and ultimately to Montenegro—was Bayezid’s gift or the arm already held by the Knights.

Some stages are supported by historical records; others belong principally to religious tradition. Together, however, they form the remarkable story of a sacred object carried across continents, empires, wars and revolutions for almost two thousand years.

When Bloodlines Become a Trap

2026-08-15T11:54:25.029-07:00

When the Gene Pool Shrinks: What DNA Reveals About Inbreeding

It is well known that prolonged inbreeding can have serious consequences for a population. The reason is relatively simple. All of us carry some harmful recessive genetic variants without knowing it. Usually this causes no problem because we possess another, functioning copy of the gene.

If two unrelated people have children, they are relatively unlikely to carry exactly the same rare harmful variant. Close relatives, however, have inherited much of their DNA from the same ancestors. They are therefore more likely to carry the same recessive variant and more likely to pass two copies of it to a child.

Perhaps the easiest way to understand this is through the inbreeding coefficient, usually written as F. This expresses the probability that the two copies of a genetic region inherited by a child are identical by descent from the same ancestor.

The Habsburg experiment

Perhaps the consequences of this process are seen most dramatically in some of the royal families of Europe, where marriage between close relatives was repeatedly used to preserve territory, wealth and dynastic power.

The Spanish Habsburgs provide an extraordinary example. Genealogical research has calculated an inbreeding coefficient of 21.8% for Philip III of Spain and 25.4% for Charles II of Spain. Charles II therefore reached approximately the theoretical inbreeding level expected in the child of a brother and sister, even though his own parents were actually uncle and niece. The explanation is that both of his parents were themselves descended from generations of interrelated Habsburg ancestors.

This distinction is important. Charles did not acquire his extraordinary inbreeding level from one close marriage alone. It was the accumulated effect of repeated marriages between relatives over many generations.

One outward characteristic associated with the dynasty was the famous “Habsburg jaw”, or mandibular prognathism, in which the lower jaw projects prominently forward. A modern study comparing Habsburg portraits with their pedigrees found a significant relationship between the degree of mandibular prognathism and the calculated level of inbreeding.

Charles II also suffered from an extraordinary collection of health problems. It is impossible centuries later to prove that every one of them was caused by inbreeding, but his extreme level of consanguinity almost certainly increased his genetic vulnerability.

Modern medical reviews of Charles II describe developmental delay, dysarthria, skeletal deformities, recurrent infections, epilepsy and infertility among his many problems.

Tutankhamun: another royal example

A similar story may be seen in ancient Egypt.

DNA analysis published in 2010 concluded that the two mummies identified as Tutankhamun's parents were brother and sister. If so, his theoretical pedigree inbreeding coefficient would have been approximately 25% — strikingly close to the calculated 25.4% of Charles II.

Tutankhamun certainly suffered from physical problems. CT and genetic investigations identified abnormalities including problems with his feet and avascular bone necrosis, and malaria DNA was also detected. However, we should be careful about saying that these disorders were caused by inbreeding. His sibling parentage would have increased the probability of harmful recessive variants becoming homozygous, but it is not possible to attribute each of his conditions directly to consanguinity.

There is also an important difference between Tutankhamun and the ancient individuals whose complete genomes can now be examined. The famous Egyptian mummy study used genetic markers to establish relationships; it did not provide the sort of modern high-coverage whole-genome measurement of runs of homozygosity that can now be obtained from some ancient remains.

Ancient DNA allows us to see the process directly

Modern ancient-DNA techniques have transformed this subject. Instead of relying only upon a known family tree and calculating what the level of inbreeding should have been, scientists can examine an individual's genome for runs of homozygosity, usually abbreviated to ROH.

These are long stretches of DNA where the copies inherited from the mother and father are unusually similar because both ultimately came from shared ancestors.

The length and number of these stretches are particularly informative. Very long runs tend to indicate recent close-relative mating, while large numbers of shorter runs can reveal something rather different: a population that remained small and isolated for many generations.

That distinction becomes particularly interesting here in Malta.

The extraordinary genomes from Xagħra Circle

On Gozo, Malta's neighbouring island, the Xagħra Circle contained the remains of hundreds of people who lived during Malta's remarkable Neolithic Temple Period.

Researchers attempted to recover ancient DNA from several individuals. Three — Xaghra5, Xaghra6 and Xaghra9 — produced sufficiently good genome-wide DNA for detailed analysis. The researchers found that all three genomes contained unusually high levels of runs of homozygosity, indicating substantial inbreeding in their ancestry.

Xaghra9 was exceptional.

The researchers estimated that 19.12% of Xaghra9's genome was contained within runs of homozygosity. At the time the study was published, his was the second most extreme level of long ROH reported from prehistoric human remains, exceeded by the extraordinary individual buried at Newgrange in Ireland.

But Xaghra9 presents an interesting puzzle.

He was not a Spanish Habsburg with a documented family tradition of marriages between uncles, nieces and cousins. Nor does his genome look exactly like that of the straightforward child of one brother–sister union.

Instead, researchers found a mixture of long and shorter ROH. Their interpretation was that his extraordinary genome probably resulted from a combination of recent marriages between relatives and a population that had already been very small and genetically isolated for generations. They specifically cautioned against assigning Xaghra9 one precise parental relationship.

The other two Xagħra genomes reinforce that interpretation because, although less extreme than Xaghra9, they also contain unusually elevated homozygosity. One predates him by roughly four centuries. This suggests that the problem was not confined to one unfortunate family.

Just how small was the population?

The genetics offer an extraordinary glimpse of the size of this prehistoric breeding community.

Using one method, researchers estimated an effective population size of approximately 515 individuals, with a 95% confidence interval of 397–633. Another analysis gave a 30-generation average effective population size of only 382.

“Effective population size” does not mean that precisely 382 or 515 people were living on Gozo. It is a genetic concept referring approximately to the number of individuals contributing genes to subsequent generations. The actual population could have been larger.

Nevertheless, the result is striking. The researchers concluded that mating networks appear largely to have remained within the island, producing a genomic signature of an unusually small and restricted population over at least 400 years.

This makes Xaghra9 particularly interesting when compared with Charles II.

Charles II's 25.4% is a pedigree prediction based upon his known ancestry. Xaghra9's 19.12% is a measurement derived from his actual ancient genome. The numbers are therefore not precisely equivalent measurements, but both point towards an extraordinary degree of shared ancestry.

A society approaching its end

The story becomes even more intriguing because Xaghra9 and Xaghra5 lived close to a turning point in Maltese prehistory.

For more than a thousand years the inhabitants of Malta and Gozo had created one of prehistoric Europe's most extraordinary cultures. They built the enormous megalithic complexes at Ġgantija, Ħaġar Qim, Mnajdra and Tarxien, along with elaborate underground burial places.

Yet during the later third millennium BC this distinctive Temple culture disappeared.

There is unlikely to have been one simple cause. Archaeological and environmental evidence points towards a combination of pressures:

The ancient-DNA researchers themselves noted that Xaghra5 and Xaghra9 date from a period associated with a declining density of radiocarbon dates, worsening diet and nutritional status, increasing aridity and thinning soils.

Inbreeding therefore need not have caused the collapse of Malta's Temple culture. It may instead reveal something equally important: a population becoming dangerously small and isolated at precisely the time when environmental and nutritional pressures were increasing.

And then there is Newgrange

Perhaps the most extraordinary comparison comes from Ireland.

DNA was recovered from an adult man whose remains had been placed in the most elaborate recess of the great Newgrange passage tomb, constructed around 3200 BC. His genome revealed something remarkable.

His parents were first-degree relatives. Genetically, that means the relationship was consistent with either: brother and sister, or parent and child. Both relationships would normally produce an expected inbreeding coefficient of approximately 25% in their offspring.

Unlike Xaghra9, whose unusual combination of ROH probably reflects both recent relatedness and generations of life within a small isolated population, the Newgrange man's genome showed the unmistakable signature of an extremely close, first-degree incestuous union. The researchers described him as the adult son of such a union.

His burial place makes the discovery even more intriguing. He was not deposited in an insignificant grave but in the most prestigious part of one of prehistoric Europe's greatest monuments. Researchers have therefore suggested that he belonged to a powerful politico-religious elite in which such otherwise strongly prohibited relationships may have been deliberately permitted to preserve a sacred or dynastic bloodline. That interpretation is fascinating, although it cannot be proved from one individual alone.

So across thousands of years we can see very different routes leading towards the same genetic danger.

With Charles II, repeated dynastic marriage gradually accumulated relatedness generation after generation.

With Tutankhamun, the evidence points towards sibling parents within an Egyptian royal dynasty.

With Xaghra9, the genome tells of life within a tiny, isolated island breeding population, probably combined with relatively close marriages.

And at Newgrange, DNA reveals something more immediate and extreme: a man whose mother and father were themselves first-degree relatives.

It is extraordinary that thousands of years after these people died, their DNA can reveal not merely where their ancestors came from, but something as intimate as how closely related their parents were and how isolated the communities in which they lived had become.

COVID: When the Dust Settled

2026-08-10T12:41:00.514-07:00

Having lived through the weirdness of Covid I kept thinking it was difficult to see the light clearly in the middle of a storm. However, I had hoped that when the dust settled there would be so many important lessons learned from this devastating outbreak. Some countries like Sweden avoided many of the compulsory restrictions imposed elsewhere, kept compulsory schools for younger pupils generally open and relied much more heavily on voluntary public-health recommendations. I wondered what was their experience in terms of excess deaths.

It is also clear that in 2021 wealthy countries had ordered billions more doses than they required for their own populations. Subsequently one wealthy country, the United States, ended up dumping more than 80 million doses. Although to be fair many of these wealthy countries were major donors of vaccines to other countries.

It’s difficult to have a fair scoring card after all it was not a level playing field. Italy had a first-class health system in its North when the outbreak hit them, but it was one of the first to face the dire consequences of epidemic attacking the health system. No wonder they were quickly overrun with a shortage of ventilators and no available treatments. Others had time to observe their suffering learn from it and take preventative action that helped them cope better.

Perhaps one of the best scores was attained by New Zealand to emerge remarkably unscathed. It did help it was an island, not densely populated and had a leader who acted quickly to defend the population. But despite her evident success, she later became increasingly unpopular and was strongly criticised by sections of a population who perhaps did not know what they had been spared.

But even populations that should have known better had large numbers dying of Covid, not only stubbornly resistant to taking available vaccines but also to using masks or obeying basic isolation instructions. Even when my friend phoned her relatives in the US and learned of more deaths in their ranks all around them, their views remained unchanged. Perhaps the biggest lesson is how misinformation, always disturbing at the best of times, became deadly in the middle of the worst of times. How ignorance became a rock to cling to not a stepping stone to learning more.

You can see I have my own misconceptions and slant on the whole business but surely in six years someone intelligent with insight has gathered together all the experience and facts and made some progress and understanding what worked and what didn’t. So, this was my goal. Step back from my own particular view and consult others whose field of expertise is exactly this!

The Score Card

Probably the best single measure in comparing countries is generally age-adjusted excess mortality, rather than the officially recorded number of COVID deaths. This excess mortality successfully captures deaths missed by testing/reporting and some indirect effects of the pandemic. The age adjustment is required because it was the older population who were hit hardest and if you have a country with a huge population of older people then you would inevitably have higher numbers of deaths whatever your response. By using age-adjusted excess mortality you greatly reduce that variable when comparing countries, although many other differences between countries remain. WHO estimated about 14.9 million excess deaths worldwide in 2020–21, far above the officially recorded COVID death count.

But how did individual countries fare?

1. New Zealand was one of the clearest successes. Its elimination strategy—tight border controls, quarantine, testing, tracing and rapid lockdowns—kept COVID at bay until vaccines were available. Their vaccine uptake was high and it experienced exceptionally low cumulative excess mortality over the pandemic, with mortality actually below expected levels in 2020–21. Mind you islands generally coped better. There is an advantage in having a sea border to protect you. In fact, one international study found that islands fared about 3 times better in terms of age-standardised excess deaths than non-island countries.

2. Norway and Denmark also performed very well. Among the European countries these two had very low pandemic mortality. They reacted while hospitalisation numbers were still comparatively low. This is evidence that one of the strongest lessons to learn in a pandemic is that speed matters. Even a modest intervention at an early stage is much better than a severe intervention when hospitals are rapidly filling.

3. Sweden avoided many of the compulsory restrictions imposed elsewhere and initially suffered considerably higher mortality than neighbouring Norway and Finland, particularly in vulnerable elderly populations in care homes. However, in the longer term its overall excess mortality compared surprisingly favourably with many European countries. One interesting lesson from Sweden is that voluntary behavioural change can accomplish more than was thought.

4. Britain performed badly during the crucial first wave. It entered the pandemic with good scientific expertise but delayed important early interventions due to slow political decision-making and so transmission grew rapidly. It experienced high early mortality however, Britain did considerably better in vaccine development and deployment.

Early in the vaccination programme vaccines showed very high protection against symptomatic disease and also reduced infection and transmission, but this protection against infection became much less reliable as immunity waned and new variants appeared. Public-health messaging did not always make this changing distinction sufficiently clear. A useful message as the evidence evolved would have been:

“The vaccine may not prevent you catching COVID, but it greatly reduces your probability of becoming seriously ill or dying from it.”

That distinction might have preserved more public trust.

In particular, school closures carried enormous costs. Children had a relatively low risk of severe COVID and the long school disruption had detrimental educational and social consequences. Future pandemic policies may require a much higher threshold for closing schools. COVID mortality was extraordinarily concentrated among older and medically vulnerable people and responses should therefore be more carefully targeted according to risk.

In many other countries, those in nursing and residential homes were extraordinarily vulnerable to this pandemic. Protecting them should have been among the highest priorities. Lessons learned were the necessity of rapid testing of staff, good ventilation, adequate PPE, sick-pay arrangements preventing infected staff from working and the residents having early vaccination. More careful hospital-to-care-home discharge policies could have reduced the disease being channelled from hospital wards to the most vulnerable in society. Perversely, some countries concentrated enormous resources on restrictions affecting millions of comparatively low-risk people while the virus was allowed into institutions containing the people most likely to die.

Mind you many of these are easy in hindsight and perhaps much harder when you dealing with something of the unexpected scale of the Covid pandemic.

Another lesson learned was that SARS-CoV-2 is predominantly transmitted through respiratory particles, especially indoors. As a result, improved ventilation, filtration and air-quality monitoring should therefore become routine. Much less was achieved by washing surfaces. I had elderly relatives who spent hours using acholic wipes to clean each piece of grocery delivered by van from the supermarket.

The pandemic revealed that resilience really matters. Countries need spare hospital capacity, trained staff, surveillance systems, testing capability, vaccine manufacturing, strategic supplies and public-health organisations before a crisis begins.

And governments need something much less tangible: trust. People will put up with extraordinary restrictions for a limited period if authorities explain what they know, what they don't know, why a decision is being taken and what evidence would cause that decision to change. A recent academic paper concluded that Countries where people had greater trust in their government tended to have lower infection rates. Even more importantly, countries where people had greater trust in one another also tended to have lower infection rates. Lower government corruption was associated with better outcomes too. High-trust countries also tended to achieve higher vaccination rates once vaccines became widely available.

My asthmatic mother was hospitalised with Covid in her late eighties in Northern Ireland but thankfully survived. One of the genuine surprises of COVID-19 was that ordinary asthma did not substantially increase COVID mortality. In fact, some research suggests that asthmatic airways may have presented the virus with fewer convenient doorways into the cells and that some inhaled corticosteroids, used by asthma patients, may have reduced aspects of SARS-CoV-2 replication or the inflammatory response to infection. These remain possible explanations rather than established reasons for the unexpectedly low mortality risk. But there are conditions that really made catching Covid deadlier. Age is definitely the biggest contributor in risk of Covid death but diabetes and obesity also played major roles, as did a number of other underlying medical conditions.

Perhaps the Lancet summed it up best: the countries that did best weren't necessarily those imposing the most restrictions. They tended to be those that acted early, protected vulnerable people, maintained public trust, had competent health systems and adapted policy as the evidence changed.

That are probably lessons we should all remember.

While Disasters Scream, Progress Whispers

2026-08-06T07:49:18.197-07:00

There is a saying that progress is silent while disasters scream. Every day we are bombarded with stories of wars, disasters, crime and political turmoil. The constant noise can make it seem as though the world is steadily unravelling. Yet news is designed to report what is unusual and alarming, not the quiet improvements that unfold over decades. To understand what is really happening, we need to step back from the daily fireworks filling our newsfeeds and look at the long view.

The evidence tells a remarkable story.

In 1830, around 80–90% of the world's population lived in extreme poverty. Today, despite recent setbacks caused by the COVID-19 pandemic and rising inflation, the figure is estimated to be under 10%—one of the greatest transformations in human history.

At the beginning of the twentieth century, safe piped drinking water was largely confined to the wealthiest cities. Today, more than 90% of the world's population has access to at least basic drinking water services, and the great majority also have basic sanitation. Hundreds of millions more people than ever before enjoy reliable food, shelter, electricity and essential services, although significant inequalities still remain.

In 1900, global life expectancy was about 32 years. Today it is around 73 years. We are living longer than any previous generation. Since 1990, the mortality rate for children under five has fallen by more than 60%, saving millions of young lives every year.

Two centuries ago, fewer than one adult in five could read or write. Today, around 87% of adults worldwide are literate. Education for girls, once a rare privilege, is now the norm across much of the world, although important gaps still exist in some regions.

Slavery is now illegal in every country, even though modern slavery and human trafficking continue to blight millions of lives. Women have gained the right to vote in virtually every sovereign state, while legal protections against racial discrimination and greater recognition of disability rights exist on a scale unknown to previous generations.

Violence, too, has declined over the long term. Research suggests that in many prehistoric and early agricultural societies, 10–20% of people—and sometimes even more—died through violence. Today, the global homicide rate has fallen to about 5.1 deaths per 100,000 people, one of the lowest levels ever recorded. Although violence remains tragically high in some parts of the world, humanity is far less likely to die by murder than our distant ancestors. Torture, public executions and cruel punishments, once accepted almost everywhere, are now widely condemned and prohibited under international law.

The Second World War claimed an estimated 70–85 million lives, around 3% of the world's population at the time. Since 1945, no conflict has approached that scale of destruction, and wars between states have become much less common, even though civil wars and regional conflicts continue to inflict terrible suffering.

Medicine has also transformed human life. Smallpox, a disease that killed hundreds of millions of people, was eradicated in 1980—the first human disease ever eliminated. Polio has been reduced by more than 99% since 1988. HIV, once almost invariably fatal, has become a manageable condition for many with access to modern treatment. Vaccination programmes now prevent an estimated four to five million deaths every year, and deaths from measles have fallen dramatically since 2000, despite recent outbreaks in places where vaccination rates have declined.

None of this means that the world is perfect. Poverty persists. Wars continue. Injustice, disease and suffering remain part of the human story. But neither should we overlook how far humanity has come. It is encouraging to know that the long-term direction has been one of progress.

Progress is rarely dramatic. It arrives quietly—in healthier children, longer lives, cleaner water, fuller classrooms, greater freedom and expanding opportunities. These victories will never make the headlines, yet they have transformed the lives of billions of people.

Recognising that progress does not breed complacency; it breeds hope. And hope, grounded in evidence rather than wishful thinking, gives us every reason to continue the work of making the world better than we found it.

A rare and precious manuscript

2026-08-03T02:57:30.169-07:00

A large bag sits at my feet, full of purchases. One is a plastic container for The Lady's Newspaper from the 1850s, bought to protect it from Malta's humidity. The journal itself was an unexpected gift from my great-grandmother to my father—her granddaughter's new husband. She had often clashed with neighbours and even members of her own family, but for some reason, when she met my parents on their first visit as a married couple, she disappeared into another room, returned carrying this priceless collection, and presented it to my father.

It is full of exquisite detailed plates, instructions on lacemaking, fashion advice of the day, serialised fiction, reports from abroad, accounts of accidents across Britain and—even more surprisingly—move-by-move analyses of chess games! Modern women's magazines, by comparison, seem more likely to be filled with cosmetic procedures, celebrity news, relationship advice, fitness, fashion and gossip. Indeed, many modern tabloids are written in language considered accessible to a ten- or twelve-year-old.

I sometimes wonder what future historians will conclude if they judge our aspirations by the reading material we consume, whether in print or, more often, online. What will our magazines, newspapers, websites and social media feeds tell them about us? Would they see a broadening of horizons, or a narrowing of them? Have we become more curious, or merely more distracted?

Mind you, The Lady's Newspaper can be mind-numbing in its own way. Its meticulous reports of life at the Royal Court include not only every event but lists of those who attended and even detailed descriptions of what they wore! Some things, it seems, never lose their fascination.

I also inherited my grandmother's letters to this same great-grandmother, written while she was studying at Stranmillis College after winning a King's Scholarship to train as a teacher. They are penned in magnificent copperplate handwriting rarely seen today. Through those letters her excitement shines: life in Belfast, the lectures, new friendships and the bustle of college life. Coming from an isolated rural community, the city must have seemed an exhilarating new world.

Perhaps that is what all this is really about. We become, to some extent, what we expose ourselves to and, more importantly, how we respond to it. Is that exposure a deliberate choice?

In my great-grandmother's day, people selected a periodical that suited their interests and often devoured it from cover to cover. The magazine was then passed around the family, becoming a shared experience and a starting point for conversations. Today we tend to drift alone through endless streams of information—Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, Netflix, Disney and countless websites—wandering wherever the next algorithm leads us, sometimes into surprisingly dark tunnels. We have access to more knowledge than any generation in history, yet it has become much harder to distinguish nourishment from noise. I am not entirely sure which age is better, but I do wonder whether our digital diet can sometimes be more toxic to our mental well-being than we realise.

Fortunately, we are often drawn back into the light by people of genuine worth.

Can I confess that I already miss David Attenborough? In a world where so many seem intent on deception, greed or division, his life and work feel like a golden thread of goodness. I know it is premature to miss someone who, at one hundred years of age, is still with us, but I already dread the day the world loses such a remarkable man. People like him are indeed precious like a rare manuscript.

Pigeon beyond caring

2026-07-31T07:10:15.649-07:00

I saw a pigeon today that looked exactly how I felt. I was struck by its utterly miserable expression and decided to take a photograph. Not wanting to frighten it, I edged slowly closer for a better shot. But this pigeon was beyond caring. It sat in a state of complete dejection, not even blinking. It reminded me of Michael McIntyre’s joke about suicidal city pigeons.

After taking the picture, I continued my walk, pondering the peculiar traits of modern life.

We had visitors staying with us last week, and on one of the buses back from Valletta there was an accident right in front of us. A middle-aged woman had been struck on the head, either by the bus itself or by its wing mirror. The driver immediately got out to call the police and an ambulance while we sat helplessly on the crowded bus.

What shocked me most was not the accident itself but the reaction of so many passengers. They instinctively reached for their mobile phones and hurried to the front window to photograph the injured woman. There was pushing and shoving as people jostled to get the best view. It made me wonder how many dying victims spend their last conscious moments staring into a forest of mobile phones pointed in their direction as they bleed on the pavement. Too often, onlookers seem more interested in capturing the drama than in staying out of the way of those trying to help.

I cannot pretend complete innocence. My own weakness is different. I sometimes watch those social experiment videos on YouTube where someone pretends to assault someone to see whether passers-by intervene. It is depressing to discover how few do. Of course, some of those videos may themselves be staged, with actors playing the roles of rescuers and bystanders. Yet not all are fake, and occasionally such experiments have gone badly wrong, with real injuries and genuine danger.

Perhaps the common thread is that we have become spectators and recorders rather than active participants. Often there are perfectly understandable reasons for hesitating. We ask ourselves: Have I misunderstood the situation? Is someone else already dealing with it? If nobody else is acting, perhaps I shouldn't either.

It reminds me of a famous psychology experiment. A waiting room is full of people while, in an adjoining office, a secretary is typing. Suddenly there is the sound of someone climbing a stepladder, followed by a loud crash and the cries of a woman calling for help.

When the waiting room is crowded, remarkably few people get up to investigate. Most look uncomfortable, glance nervously at one another, and wait to see how everyone else reacts.

Yet repeat exactly the same experiment with only one person in the waiting room, and that individual almost always rushes to the office door to offer assistance.

Our humanity is still there. Somehow, though, when responsibility is shared among many people, it seems to evaporate. Psychologists call it the bystander effect. Responsibility becomes diluted until, collectively, no one feels responsible at all.

No wonder that pigeon looked so miserable. It probably realised that if it collapsed on a crowded pavement, the one thing it could rely on was not compassion, but becoming another photo opportunity for some passing idiot.

Unexpected sweetness

2026-07-08T12:04:58.028-07:00

I sit in the glorious air-conditioning of the shopping mall here in Malta. It used to be that you had to buy a coffee to earn the right to sit down, but they have redesigned the place and provided plenty of free seating. It is a courtesy to the public that is greatly appreciated. Mind you, the refurbishment must have cost a pretty penny, and you get the impression that all the shops are trying to recoup the expense by doubling the price of their goods. They have 50% sales on, but to be fair, a shirt priced at €162 after being reduced from its original eye-watering price is hardly an irresistible bargain. However, I did see a man emerge from an Armani shop carrying almost ten shirts in his arms, so clearly the strategy works for some!

As I watch the people around me, most seem, like me, to be browsing, examining the merchandise with interest, then moving on without buying anything. The air-conditioning, however, works its magic, and almost everyone looks remarkably relaxed as they wander around.

It is a far cry from the experience at the airport on my last Ryanair flight from Belfast to Malta. It is amazing how long passengers have to wait before the departure gate finally appears on the overhead screens. Then, with barely five minutes to spare before boarding, the gate number flashes up. Everyone rushes to get where they need to be, and it seems particularly unfair on the older passengers among us, who suddenly find themselves in a stressful race down long corridors, burdened with heavy bags. Then they are made to stand in steep stairwells, knees aching and backs protesting, crushed together like tomatoes in a tube of paste before being squeezed onto packed shuttle buses. Finally, one boards the aircraft only to discover, with dismay, that a large drunken stag party is already on board, shouting insults and swearing loudly at one another.

The cabin crew urged everyone to take their seats for take-off, but there was already a queue of at least six young men waiting to use the toilet. As the queue grew to a dozen, a flight attendant repeatedly asked them to return to their seats. Eventually, the captain announced—quite reasonably—that he wished to depart and everyone had to sit down immediately. They obeyed reluctantly, but the man in the seat in front of me took it as a personal affront that others had managed to use the toilet while he had not. He loudly informed his two friends that he was bursting to go and that the whole situation was grossly unfair. Later he complained to a passing flight attendant that the crew had been "f***ing rude" to him. I really do feel sorry for those who have to deal with drunken passengers on flights. It cannot be an easy job.

When the plane landed in Malta, several passengers immediately leapt to their feet and began pulling suitcases from the overhead lockers while the aircraft was still taxiing. Once again, the captain had to order everyone back into their seats until the plane had come to a complete stop. One wonders what dealing with such behaviour, day after day, does to airline staff.

This week, however, I was pleasantly surprised by an altogether different experience. My teenage grandson came to visit us and accidentally left his phone on the aircraft after disembarking. Three days later I took him to the airport's Lost and Found office, and, to our delight, his phone had been handed in. When he switched it on, he discovered that someone had taken a photograph with it. There, smiling back from the screen, were two flight attendants in uniform, waving cheerfully and giving enthusiastic thumbs-up signs. They had obviously found the phone and decided to leave him a little surprise.

Such unexpected sweetness amidst the challenges of their working day. It never ceases to amaze me when I encounter good humour and kindness in people whose jobs expose them to so much impatience, abuse and discourtesy. I like to think of it as a quiet form of excellence—the conscious decision to remain gracious despite being surrounded by rudeness. Those two young women will probably never know how much their small act of kindness restored my faith in human nature.

... observe courtesy, for above all else it is the prince of virtues.

Baha’u’llah

My Dear Cousin

2026-07-05T09:10:46.653-07:00

We seemed to meet only at funerals in recent years. What a contrast to the joyous childhood gatherings in Dungiven, Newcastle and Bundoran. I remember sitting opposite you and your younger brother, all of us stiff with unfamiliarity because we met so infrequently. Yet within half an hour we would get over the awkwardness and simply enjoy each other's company. Every long gap between our meetings meant that same period of sizing one another up had to be repeated—especially during adolescence, when embarrassment and hormones build such difficult hedges between people. But the warmth of you and your brother always worked its magic, and before long we were kith and kin again, laughing together and relishing each other's company.

Then I moved away, and you moved first to the Scottish islands and later abroad. I recently found some of your letters from Malawi where, true to yourself, you were quietly doing good, as always.

The years passed, and we met mostly at funerals. I always chose to sit beside you because your heart was always open and unguarded, never shielded or veiled. How many times I saw a sheen of tears in your eyes as you spoke so honestly, laying your heart bare. Thank you for all those heart-to-heart conversations. I shall treasure them always.

At my mum's funeral this February, you were there in the undertaker's parlour and joined the family in our personal farewell to her. I asked you to say a few words, and you recited a beautiful psalm from memory, every sentence filled with heartfelt emotion. Thank you for the tenderness of that moment.

I cannot help but resent the years we might have shared ahead but now never will. Yet no one could have loved more generously than you loved all around you. For that, I can only be grateful.

During our last meetings, you seemed almost radiant, as though you had one foot in this world and one in the next—full of love, gentleness and spirit. These days your face often comes to my mind, and whenever it does it is filled with the same kindness and compassion I always saw in you.

People like you are a privilege to know. I am profoundly grateful that you have been, and always will be, such a special part of our family.

Much love

Villa Frere Gardens in Malta, as they were in 1930s

2026-06-14T09:33:30.819-07:00

John Hookham Frere (1769–1846) was an English diplomat, writer, scholar, and translator. He served as Britain's envoy to Spain and Portugal in the early 1800’s and became well known for his work in both diplomacy and literature.

John Frere

He studied English, Greek and Latin literature at Eton and Cambridge and was also fluent in Italian, French and Spanish. As Britain's ambassador to Spain during the Napoleonic Wars he became well known for his work in both diplomacy and literature. On 12 September 1816, John Hookham Frere married Elizabeth Jemima Blake aged 46, the former Dowager Countess of Erroll. For a time they lived in Frere’s home, Roylands in England but her tuberculous necessitated a warmer climate so Frere moved with his wife to Malta in 1821.

Elizabeth Jemima Blake had married George Hay, in 1790 aged 20, 16th Earl of Erroll becoming Countess of Erroll but by the age of 28 she was widowed with no children. However, in Malta, John and Elizabeth adopted a four-year-old girl called Statyra, a Greek child orphaned during the Greek War of Independence (1821–1829), and raised her as their daughter at Villa Frère.

Statyra

Typical of Frere’s linguistic ability during his stay in Malta he would go on to learn Maltese and Hebrew! He created Villa Frere in Pietà and designed extensive gardens in the English landscape style but adapted to Malta's climate and terrain. Elizabeth died in Malta on 17 January 1831 after ten years of happy life on the island. One reason Villa Frère is such a poignant place is, following her death, Frere ensured the garden became a memorial landscape dedicated to his beloved wife. Indeed, he deliberately carefully planned clear views from the garden towards the spot where Elizabeth was buried in Msida Bastion Cemetery. In the following fifteen years of his life, he never remarried and instead worked on improving the garden in an act of devotion to his wife.

They became one of the most celebrated gardens on the island appearing in the Magazine Country life in 5th July 1930. The following photos are AI colour generated from the original black and white photos in that issue) and give a glimpse of the beauty of the garden.

The villa attracted many distinguished visitors, including the novelist Benjamin Disraeli. Frere also had strong links with leading literary figures such as Lord Byron and Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Mikiel Anton Vassalli (often called The Father of Maltese language) was one of the most significant friendships in John Hookham Frere's Maltese life. Frere actively helped Vassalli secure a position at the University of Malta as the first Professor of Maltese and Vassali would go on to publish important works on Maltese grammar, proverbs and language studies.

While creating the upper gardens in 1839, workers employed by John Hookham Frere uncovered a natural sinkhole hidden beneath the rocky ground. It was about 19 metres (70 feet) deep, reaching almost to sea level.

It had become filled with clay and debris over many centuries but Frere had it excavated and cleared. Instead of simply leaving the sinkhole exposed, Frere did something extraordinary: he cut through the rock, which allowed visitors to walk into and view the sinkhole from inside. The tunnel had cleverly turned the geological feature into a romantic garden attraction.

There were also several Queens who were known to have visited the Villa Frere gardens in Malta. It is possible that Queen Adelaide (1838–1839) visited in Frere’s time at the villa. Queen Mary (1912) and Queen Marie of Romania (1924) were later visitors.

Queen Marie would, after her visit, design her own gardens around Balchik Palace in Bulgaria obviously inspired by what she saw in these gardens.

The gardens are maze like with corners with benches and chairs to sit in the shade and wonderful vistas everywhere.

Part of the beauty of the garden is its many levels that have been cut into the slope and the myriad of paths that allow you wander into each corner.

The charming spontaneity of the place constantly surprises and the range of plants, trees and flowers constantly stimulates.

The many stone staircases beckon you forward to another level to explore.

During World War II the estate suffered minor bomb damage, and later much of the garden was lost due to the expansion of St Luke's Hospital, helicopter landing site and nearby school buildings. As a result, the gardens are one third of the size they used to be and Frere Villa itself in a state of decay. Fortunately, thoughtful restoration work is now being carried out by Heritage Malta and the Friends of Villa Frère and its beauty is even now quite stunning. The photos below are from an outing today Sun 14th June 2026 and indicate what still remains of this garden.

The little summer house has already been repaired and has an audio visual presentation on the history of the Villa Frere and its gardens.

This video shows the summer house and the courtyard.

The gardens are open one day a month usually the first Sunday of each month and the guides are abundant, polite and friendly. It costs 5 Euros to enter they provide lovely live harp music as you wander around. I highly recommend it. Please don't expect the Country Life version as you will be disappointed. But if you come to explore and enjoy thoughtful restoration by a great team you will gain insights on a place and person that should be celebrated.

PS Frere seems to have fallen out with very few people and, by all accounts, was remarkably good-natured towards almost everyone he encountered, regardless of their religion, nationality, or social background. Such a quality is rare in any age. Yet I did discover one individual with whom he most certainly did not get along. The rarity of such a conflict in Frere's life made me look more closely at the man in question.

While serving as British envoy in Madrid from 1802 to 1804, Frere clashed with Manuel Godoy, the powerful favourite of King Charles IV of Spain. The disagreement became so severe that Frere was recalled to Britain and lost his diplomatic post. Yet history was not kind to Godoy. By March 1808, he had become perhaps the most hated man in Spain. An enraged mob attacked his residence, forcing him to hide in an attic for two days before he was captured and eventually driven into permanent exile.

Frere, meanwhile, was honoured by Spain with the Grand Cross of the Royal and Distinguished Order of Charles III, one of the highest civil distinctions the Spanish Crown can bestow.

Perhaps the true measure of a person lies not in the applause or condemnation of the moment, but in what remains after they are gone. At Villa Frère, the Malta Horticultural Society was founded, and Frere gave support to the great Maltese scholar Mikiel Anton Vassalli in his efforts to secure recognition for the Maltese language. Although the magnificent views towards Valletta have long since been obscured by the construction of a school and a hospital on parts of the former gardens, Frere himself might well have approved. He was a man of learning, public service, and practical benevolence, and would perhaps have been pleased that these buildings contributed to the education, health, and well-being of future generations.

Beautiful gardens in Malta have suffered

2026-06-12T08:23:39.168-07:00

Over ten years ago, I visited San Anton Palace in Malta and wrote a piece about its connection with Queen Marie of Romania and how she spent her happy teenage years there. Her father was Prince Alfred, Duke of Edinburgh (son of Queen Victoria), and her mother was Grand Duchess Maria Alexandrovna of Russia (daughter of Tsar Alexander II). (See link: san-anton-palace-and-romanov-connection

I thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful gardens surrounding the palace. You might also recognise the gardens from Game of Thrones, in the memorable scene where the despicable Joffrey took Sansa Stark to see her father's head on a spike. That scene was filmed in San Anton Gardens.

In those days, visitors could not only enjoy the gardens but also walk through parts of the palace and visit the kitchen gardens behind it. There was a petting zoo, an immense children's playground, and a huge café that was very reasonably priced, with lovely seating both indoors and outdoors.

This month I returned to enjoy the gardens' quiet beauty and perhaps a coffee, only to find that they had been allowed to deteriorate. Stone paths were breaking up beneath my feet, all the turtles had disappeared from the lovely pond, and signs of neglect were evident everywhere.

The palace was closed to the public, as were the kitchen gardens, their grounds, and the café. It has remained closed since August 2024 for extensive refurbishment and restoration works, with no confirmed reopening date.

Today I revisited another old favourite of mine, Sa Maison Gardens on the Floriana Bastions. (See my blog post: sa-maison-gardens-remembering-lady.html) Sadly, this beautiful garden was also in disarray. It has been fenced off since last year because of structural restoration works on the eighteenth-century bastion walls and the conversion of the grounds into new shaded and coastal botanical zones.

It saddens me to think of the loss of all those lovely trees and plants that had a history stretching back to Lady Lockwood's time in the 1840s. For some reason, the lemons from the main trees had an extraordinary fragrance; when scratched, they released a scent reminiscent of the most expensive men's cologne.

I know that Malta faces a constant challenge in maintaining and repairing its vast stock of historic buildings and landscapes. There is so much beauty and history that requires care, nurturing, and investment. However, sometimes when we fix things, we do not preserve them—we destroy them. Clearly, investment continues to be made. It is also clear where the priorities lie, and sadly, historic gardens seem to rank rather low on the list.

City Gate / Parliament / Opera House €100 million

Fort St Elmo €15.5 million

Fort St Angelo €13.4 million

Marina di Valletta €7.5 million

St Elmo Breakwater Bridge €2.8 million

One can only hope that when both these gardens eventually reopen, they will still retain some of the character, charm, and living history that made them such special places in the first place.

Consider the flowers of a garden: though differing in kind, colour, form and shape,.. this diversity increaseth their charm, and addeth unto their beauty.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá

Who was this intruder on my boat?

2026-05-26T12:58:26.834-07:00

I was wandering along the sea front in Sliema when I spotted my boat in the marina with all it hatches open! Obviously some rogue was on board! I was furious who was on my yacht Lotus eater? It suddenly became apparent to me that all the years of walking through this marina admiring this particular yacht, had gradually created a false sense of ownership in me. I laughed but have to admit a lingering resentment.

Isn’t it strange how the brain can play tricks on you. There was me thinking I was merely admiring the beauty and her lines but slowly a very odd sense of ownership had obviously developed. I do admire boats especially beautiful ones like this. But I am no fool, I had a landlord in The Isle of Wight who owned three 10-20m long wooden yachts and I knew that their upkeep relied on him being a full time shipwright working non-stop to maintain them. If you don’t have those skills you would soon become bankrupt trying to maintain even one of these beauties.

I tried to find out who the owner was, but with little success. Apparently it used to belong to John Paul a rather shady millionaire businessman who originally had property in Soho and links with criminals. In the 1970s, he was one of the first developers on Camino. His ex-wife had been shot in Essex and although two thugs were found guilty of her murder they refused to say who had paid them for the killing. The British government wanted him extradited but the Maltese authorities refused.

The strange thing is whenever I tried to find out who owns it now I came up with a blank. Probably some corporation or other. There are some strange names to boats along the marina. For example one is called Lucky Guy. Given that the owner is involved in betting companies it probably vaguely appropriate but really annoying. Even more irritating is a huge motor cruiser called Loose Change. Now that is just too smug!

Further along the coast towards Valetta there is another ship. It was originally called Black Opal and later renamed The Black Pearl in Malta. The ship was built in Pukavik, Sweden, in 1909 as a wooden trading schooner designed for Baltic cargo work and harsh northern waters. It had a double-layered oak hull to survive Baltic ice conditions and was about 150 feet long with three tall masts. Originally it carried cargoes like: timber, coal, and grain around Scandinavia.

What happened afterward is almost implausible: The Black Pearl sailed toward Australia as a luxury vessel, but suffered hull problems, and caught fire near the Suez Canal. Following that it sank in Malta and was salvaged from 70ft deep water and went on to appear in the Popeye movie starring Robin Williams. Weirdly, it sank again then was permanently restored ashore at Ta’ Xbiex as a restaurant. For years the schooner has sat perched beside the marina at Ta’ Xbiex and has become a landmark restaurant/pub/event venue with views over Valletta harbour.

There is rumoured to be a connection between the Black Pearl and the famous actor Erol Flynn however these are not substantiated by solid facts. After all he owned his own schooner the Zaca shown below, another beautiful ship.

"Strong ships are not conquered by the sea; they ride the waves! Now be a strong ship, not a battered one."

'Abdu'l-Bahá

My Precious!

2026-05-14T10:11:56.887-07:00

Shall I confess my weaknesses? How often they lie hidden, even from ourselves — especially from ourselves. Then, at certain moments, they reveal themselves with startling clarity. Moving house is one such moment, particularly when the move is abroad. Suddenly, painful decisions must be made. Do you pack this? Give it to a charity shop? Pass it on to a friend? Or simply throw it away? The pressure of time only sharpens the difficulty of every choice.

At such moments, we are forced to confront our own peculiar attachments — our little fetishes. Mine are notebooks, pens, and anything remotely connected to calligraphy. Even when my drawers and suitcases are already overflowing, I still linger longingly in stationery shops, tempted to buy more. Pens and pencils seem to call out to me irresistibly. Never mind that I already own a vast collection of fountain pens, complete with cartridges in every imaginable colour, alongside pencils ranging from soft 2B to velvety 6B. I buy ballpoint pens too, usually with an ultra-fine 0.35 mm tip. Once, I even bought a heavy rotary pencil simply because I loved its look and weight, only to spend weeks scouring the internet for the rare oversized 2B lead it required.

Another, perhaps more alarming, obsession is toiletries — anything connected with showering, shampooing, lotions, or potions. Every house I have ever left has contained at least three large crates filled with such things. I seem to accumulate them with effortless speed. Still, on the bright side, I have little interest in clothes, shoes, or handbags, so perhaps some restraint remains.

By now, you are probably thinking of your own particular guilty obsession. You know exactly where to buy it, which make you prefer, and how oddly reassuring it feels simply to have it close at hand. Like the wheels on a suitcase, these obsessions keep us moving forward. They comfort us in ways only we fully understand. When preparing for a major move, we mentally clear space so that the things that truly ring our bells can be given pride of place.

Letting go of possessions is painful, though often necessary. Yet certain objects cling stubbornly to our fingers, transforming us momentarily into Gollum — that wretched creature from The Lord of the Rings — clutching our treasures and hissing defensively, “My precious, my precious!”

Birdsong, seedlings, hammered into something by life

2026-05-07T06:23:00.000-07:00

When did I begin to notice birdsong?

Or pause in quiet wonder as a tender seedling lifts itself from the dark earth into the light?

Now the beauty of nature can suddenly bring tears to my eyes.

Perhaps it is because, with age, one has witnessed so much sorrow and heartache that the spirit itself becomes softened and worn thin by life.

Beaten and hammered on both sides until it grows almost translucent.

So delicate that even the song of a bird can pass straight through it and touch the very core of the soul.

The Dangers of Laughing gas

2026-04-30T10:17:00.000-07:00

I used to work in a highly specialised, controlled environment designed to manufacture semiconductor devices and integrated circuits on the tenth floor of the Ashby Building at Queen’s University Belfast. It was a clean laboratory where continuous filtration achieved 99.99% efficiency in removing even the smallest particles.

The air we breathe is a precise mixture of gases:

Nitrogen 78%, Oxygen 21%, Argon and trace gases 1%, and Carbon dioxide 0.04%.

On one occasion, an alarm sounded to warn that oxygen levels in the lab had risen too high, and we were instructed to evacuate until they returned to normal. It served as a powerful reminder of how vital—and how finely balanced—this mixture is for life. Disturbing it, even slightly, can have serious consequences. So imagine my surprise when, this morning, I found something quite different on the doorstep of my apartment block, left out with the usual rubbish for collection.

There were around six blue canisters labelled Miami Magic—nitrous oxide. While commonly used for whipping cream, it is increasingly misused by young people for recreational purposes. I doubted anyone needed to whip that much cream and wondered who was using this substance here in Malta.

Nitrous oxide is now considered the third most commonly used drug among 16–24-year-olds in the UK, after cannabis and cocaine. Other surveys suggest that between 10% and 20% of teenagers and young adults in some European regions have tried it at least once. A global survey in 2021 estimated that nearly 24% of people aged 16–24 had used it. In the United States, poison centres recorded a 1,332% increase in annual cases of nitrous oxide poisoning over a 20-year period, with a particularly sharp rise from around 2023.

How it is used recreationally

Typically, the gas is released from the canister into a balloon—direct inhalation from the canister is dangerous due to the pressure and extreme cold. The user then inhales the gas from the balloon to experience its effects. In some places, young people pay around five euros for two balloons. As always, where there is demand, there are those willing to profit from it. Recent local reports have highlighted the growing use of this gas among young people in Gozo.

The Effects

Often called “laughing gas,” the effects are almost immediate but short-lived, lasting only a minute or two. They include light-headedness, euphoria, giggling, and altered perception. Because the effect is so brief, users often repeat the process multiple times in a session, increasing the risks. The name itself tends to downplay the seriousness of the substance.

Immediate risks

Nitrous oxide reduces oxygen availability in the body, which can lead to fainting, loss of consciousness, or, in extreme cases, death. The gas is stored under pressure and expands rapidly, which can cause cold burns—freezing the skin, lips, or throat if inhaled improperly. It can also affect heart and breathing function, particularly when combined with alcohol or other drugs.

With repeated or heavy use

Nitrous oxide interferes with vitamin B12, leading to deficiency. This can cause nerve damage, resulting in numbness, tingling, weakness, and difficulty walking. In severe cases, it may lead to long-term damage to the spinal cord or brain. Mental health may also be affected, with symptoms such as mood changes, confusion, and cognitive impairment. Some studies indicate that damage can develop within weeks or months of repeated use.

In response to these risks, governments are increasingly taking action. Malta has now officially banned the recreational use of nitrous oxide as of Wednesday, 29 April 2026. It is hoped that this measure will help reduce its use and prevent the harm it can cause—particularly among the young.

Chinese Empress Wu Zeitian's lost gold plea for forgiveness in 700AD found after 1300 years

2026-04-25T11:42:00.000-07:00

There was only ever one woman who ruled in her own right as a Chinese empress in the entire history of that land. Her name was Wu Zetian, and her reign lasted from 690 to 705 AD.

She entered the imperial palace as a relatively unimportant fifth-rank concubine, but over time she rose in influence until she came to govern the entire empire. She did much to promote Buddhism in China; for example, the famous Longmen Grottoes bear witness to this patronage.

To reach such heights of power, she had to eliminate many rivals. She was known to be ruthless, even toward family, friends, and foes alike. According to one account, she smothered her newborn daughter and accused Empress Wang and Consort Xiao of the crime; both women were subsequently executed. With these key figures removed, her ascent to supreme power was swift.

In her seventy-seventh year, seeking forgiveness for the wrongs she believed she had committed, she had a golden tablet made—36.2 cm long and composed of 96% gold—inscribed with words including:

"I ask that my sins be forgiven and beg that my wrongs be erased."

This tablet was cast into a crevice on Mount Song in Henan Province around the year 700 AD. It remained hidden and lost for some 1,300 years until it was discovered by a farmer gathering herbs in 1997.

"With fire We test the gold, and with gold We test Our servants"

Bahá’í writings

Murdered in Malta

2026-04-02T11:32:00.000-07:00

On 2 January 2022, Paulina Dembska, a 29-year-old Polish student, was found dead in Independence Gardens in Sliema, Malta. Investigations revealed that she had been raped and murdered—an act that profoundly shocked the nation. Paulina was known to visit the gardens in the early morning to feed and care for the cats there, a quiet reflection of the kindness and compassion that defined her life. Those who knew her remember her as a deeply loving and gentle person.

She had done nothing to deserve such violence. She did not know her attacker, who had reportedly assaulted two other individuals near the gardens shortly before the crime. In the days and weeks that followed her death, vigils and memorials were held across Malta, as people came together in grief and in a shared call for justice. Today, benches and walls in and around Independence Gardens bear her name and image, a lasting tribute to her memory.

The suspect was arrested soon after the murder and has remained in custody awaiting trial ever since. At the time of the offence, he was already on probation and had a history of criminal behaviour dating back to his youth. In 2025, while in custody, he reportedly carried out another violent attack, stabbing a fellow inmate in the eye with a pen. Yet, more than four years later, no trial has taken place. For Paulina’s parents and her five siblings in Poland, the wait for justice—and for some measure of closure—continues. It is difficult to understand how such delays can persist in a case of this gravity.

“The structure of world stability and order hath been reared upon, and will continue to be sustained by, the twin pillars of reward and punishment.”

— Bahá’í Writings

Each day, as I pass the memorials dedicated to Paulina, I find myself asking why justice moves so slowly. What message does this send to victims of violence, past and present? What does it signal to those who might commit such acts? Justice delayed risks becoming justice denied—not only for Paulina, but for all who look to the system for protection and accountability.

At one of the vigils in 2022, Paulina’s family shared a poem she had written. It remains a powerful reminder of her voice, her humanity, and the values she held:

“You came naked, you’ll go naked away.

You came defenceless and weak,

you’ll be so weak and vulnerable again when you leave.

You came without money or material things.

You will also leave without money.

Your first shower was when someone washed you.

In your last one, some person will wash you.

That is what being a human being is like.

So why so much pride?

Why so much malice?

Why so much jealousy, so much hatred,

resentment and selfishness?

We have limited time on earth so why do we waste it so senselessly?”

— Paulina Dembska

Please remember Paulina, and keep her family and loved ones in your thoughts and prayers.

Cell Death: Not All “Zombies” Are the Same

2026-03-30T10:28:00.000-07:00

Apoptosis – “Planned self-destruction” Cells don’t always die in chaos—sometimes, they exit quietly and efficiently. Apoptosis is a controlled, orderly process where a cell essentially decides it’s time to go—usually because it’s damaged or no longer needed. The cell shrinks, breaks itself into small, tidy fragments, and these are quickly cleaned up and recycled by the body.

One cool example of apoptosis occurs in the formation of fingers. Early in development, your hands actually start as paddle-like structures—with no separate fingers. The tissue between the future fingers is removed through apoptosis. Cells in the “webbing” receive signals telling them to self-destruct. They shrink, fragment, and are neatly cleared away. This creates the spaces between the fingers.

There’s no inflammation, no mess—just a smooth, silent removal. Like a building being carefully demolished and its materials reused.

Autophagy – “Self-cleaning / recycling” Autophagy isn’t really about dying—it's about survival.

In this process, the cell breaks down and recycles its own worn-out parts, especially during stress (like a lack of nutrients). It’s a way of conserving resources and staying alive. However, if stress is too severe or lasts too long, this self-recycling can eventually lead to cell death.

Like cleaning your house, repurposing old materials to keep things running.

Necrosis – “Accidental cell death”. Necrosis is the opposite of tidy. It happens when cells are suddenly damaged—by injury, toxins, or lack of oxygen. The cell swells and bursts, spilling its contents into the surrounding area. This triggers inflammation and can damage nearby cells. Gangrene is an example of necrosis. The blood supply gets cut off, so cells don’t get oxygen and the tissue dies. The affected area can turn: dark purple → brown → black.

Like a building exploding—causing chaos and collateral damage.

Pyroptosis – “Fiery, alarm-raising death”. Pyroptosis is dramatic and purposeful. When a cell detects infection, it sacrifices itself in a loud, inflammatory way to alert the immune system. The cell swells, bursts, and releases signals that call in immune defences.

An example of this is infection with Salmonella (food poisoning bacteria). Here Salmonella infects macrophages (a type of immune cell). The infected cell detects danger using inflammasomes (like a built-in alarm system). Then pyroptosis happens and creates a strong immune response to fight the infection.

This isn’t quiet or neat—it’s a deliberate alarm system.

Like pulling a fire alarm to warn everyone that danger is near.

Not all cell death is the same:

Apoptosis = clean and controlled

Autophagy = survival through recycling

Necrosis = accidental and messy

Pyroptosis = loud and defensive

Together, these processes keep the body balanced—removing damaged cells, fighting infection, and adapting to stress. It strikes me that such cell deaths has parallels in our own lives. We too have to decide to get rid of stuff in our lives, we have to decide what we can reuse or recycle, sometimes we get badly injured which can be messy to ourselves and those around us and finally sometimes we need to pull the alarm loudly on abuse to defend the whole community.

Big Rollers, Who knew?

2026-03-21T10:16:00.000-07:00

A week ago I was visiting relatives in Manchester, and they very kindly took me on a day trip to Liverpool. The last time I had been there was fifty years ago, when I was a sulky teenager on a family car trip to Blackpool.

It was one of our last holidays all together, and we were at that awkward age when we felt far too grown up to still be travelling with our parents. I remember deliberately walking a good distance behind them, as though that might somehow disguise the fact that I belonged to them. Then I noticed that even further back, my two older brothers were doing exactly the same—each of us pretending we were not with the others at all.

Now, having lost both my parents, the memory makes me wince. I could almost cry at the selfishness of it. At that age I truly believed myself to be the centre of the universe, and the constant battle with facial spots felt like a tragedy beyond endurance. As someone once put it so well: “Youth is wasted on the young—because they are too busy thinking of themselves to notice it.”

Returning now as a pensioner, I found Liverpool vibrant, energetic, and full of life. The crowded streets, the noise, the sheer abundance of things to see and absorb—it was all quietly exhilarating.

One thing, in particular, caught my eye: the curious and wonderfully unapologetic habit of women wearing large hair rollers in public. From restaurants to buses, from shops to the airport—you could see them everywhere. I had no idea this was even a thing.

What struck me most was the confidence of it. In many places, people—especially women—feel an unspoken pressure to appear “finished” before stepping outside. Here, that expectation seemed to be gently mocked. The rollers were worn openly, almost cheerfully, as part of the process rather than something to be hidden.

I later learned that this is part practicality, part tradition, and part identity. The rollers are setting the hair in readiness for the evening ahead producing a big hair look for a night out—while they tackle daily tasks as usual. But more than that, it feels like a small, defiant celebration of self: a distinctly local style, worn with humour and pride.

And perhaps that was what I enjoyed most—the sense of ease in it. A kind of confidence that I suspect my younger self, so busy worrying about appearances, would never have understood.

Rhodes Memories, from decades ago

2026-03-10T15:28:00.000-07:00

No Arms

Six year old Daniel had a bad dream last night and came in to check if I still had both my arms. In his dream I had lost one, and he was very anxious to make sure they were both still there!

A few weeks ago in the market there was a man begging for money. He had only one arm and a terrible hole in his head with awful scarring. That must have been where Daniel’s dream came from.

Braless

We went down to the beach and had a swim. Nason’s ball drifted out to sea, blown along by the wind. I stopped him from going after it and quickly changed into my bathing suit and swam out myself.

My stroke has improved and I’m becoming quite a fast swimmer. However, after about five minutes I realised there was no chance I would catch the ball, so I let it go. Within minutes it had drifted far out to sea.

When I swam back to shore I realised that, in my hurry to get in the water, I had forgotten to take off my bra. Not only that, but I had somehow put the bottom of my bikini on with the leg hole around my waist! I had to laugh at the sight I must have made.

Puppet Show

At a summer school Lewis performed in a puppet show and was very good. At the very end, however, a bigger boy—about fourteen—snatched his puppet monkey away and finished the performance himself, completely spoiling Lewis’s final moment. Lewis was very upset and burst into tears.

I was furious and asked the children’s teacher for the boy’s name. She was a very sweet, polite seventy-year-old English lady and at first said she didn’t know for sure.

“Bollocks,” I said.

She got the message and admitted that she did know the boy and would speak to him.

The next morning she came to tell me there had been a misunderstanding and that the boy hadn’t meant to snatch the monkey or take over the ending.

“Bollocks,” I said again—this time a little louder. A very useful word bollocks!

After an awkward silence she tentatively suggested that perhaps I might like to speak to the boy myself. That was exactly what I wanted.

At break time she brought him to me: a tall, gangly fourteen-year-old wearing a peaked cap, smirking as if he couldn’t care less what anyone thought.

I explained that sometimes we do things that cause offence to others, and it is important that we understand the consequences of our actions.

“For instance,” I said, “if I knocked your hat off—”

At that point I gave his cap a sharp smack and sent it flying off his head.

“You might find that offensive,” I continued, “and if you did, I hope you or someone else would tell me.”

The smug expression disappeared from his face and he backed up against the wall. By the end of our conversation I think he took the matter a little more seriously.

Sometimes you need a little shock to get someone’s attention.

To be honest, I was so angry that if he had kept up his ‘couldn’t-care-less’ attitude I was within inches of head-butting him. Perhaps children sense these things.

What happens if we die?

A couple of days ago Daniel asked me again what would happen if Vessal and I both died. I reassured him that his Granny and Granda from Northern Ireland would fly out and take him back to Portrush to live with them.

He looked much happier and, when he remembered how close he would be to all his cousins, he positively beamed his happiness.

Then, he added apologetically, “But I shall miss you!”

I had to laugh—the rascal.

Tenderness

It may seem crazy to some people what we are doing here on this Greek island, but I wouldn’t exchange my life for anyone else’s.

Since we came here, when I pray I sometimes feel an indescribable tenderness welling up inside me that brings tears to my eyes and makes me feel very close to God. It was never like this before, and I am deeply grateful for such sweet moments.

Failing Greek Lessons

Greek class was tough. I had asked one of my Greek friends to do my homework so all I had to do was read it out.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t read her handwriting. It was dreadful. Talk about bad luck.

The teacher had been away on holiday the previous week, so I told her it was an Irish tradition for teachers who go on holiday to bring back a sweet cake for their students. I only said it in mischief—but blow me down, she brought a cake to class that evening!

It obviously pays to be bad sometimes.

Flying Persian Carpets

I spent two hours today hunting for our Persian carpet in the neighbours’ gardens. I clean the carpets with soapy water and a brush, then hang them over the balcony railings to dry. Sometimes they blow off into the gardens below.

Vessal hates this, as the local dogs immediately pee on them.

Anyway, while secretly searching the gardens for this carpet—which had been missing for days—I enlisted Nason to help. After looking around for a while he came upstairs to inform me that the carpet had been in our back corridor the entire time.

I had spent days hunting for a carpet that wasn’t missing.

I’m definitely cracking up.

Squashed insects

The other day I drove all the way to school on my scooter, taught for four hours, and returned home to find an insect squashed flat on my forehead.

My only concern was whether I had collided with it on the way to school or on the way back.

The thought that I might have taught four hours of classes with a large insect plastered across my forehead is quite amusing.

Faxs of Earthquakes, big birds, rough classes, death and big birthday parties

2026-03-04T09:31:00.000-08:00

I have been reading old faxes I sent home from the island of Rhodes to my parents. Certain memories leap off the page. I have tried to place each one in context. Together, they feel like snapshots from our ten years there.

We experienced a 5.7 magnitude earthquake on Rhodes, and it truly shook me. I had never known anything so powerful. In the UK one feels blissfully distant from such events. However, even there, shale gas hydraulic fracturing — fracking — has triggered small earthquakes. Fluid injections into fault zones at Lancashire sites in 2011, 2018 and 2019 caused several minor seismic events, including a 2.9 magnitude tremor in 2019, which ultimately led to a moratorium on fracking in England. To put it in perspective: a 5.7 magnitude quake produces roughly 630 times more shaking than a 2.9. No wonder I was rattled.

One of my faxes reads:

“I am eating like there’s no tomorrow. I suppose if there is another earthquake tomorrow, at least I’ll have no regrets that I didn’t have that last packet of crisps or bar of chocolate!”

Humour, even slightly hysterical humour, was clearly my coping mechanism.

An unexpected gift arrived one day.

“Our friends from the village arrived today with a gift — a live chicken in a box. We are meant to kill it, but at present this ridiculously large, healthy brown hen is on our flat’s balcony, clucking happily! What on earth shall we do with it? I think we will find it hard to do away with this beautiful bird.”

We kept her on the balcony and fed her until we could find someone with land where she could roam freely. In the meantime, I constructed elaborate, almost Fort Knox–like enclosures to protect her from the neighbourhood cats.

Years later, I confessed this to the villagers. They laughed and told me no cat would dare tackle one of their birds. Village hens roam wild and would be more than a match for any feline. Who knew?

Birthday parties provided their own cultural education.

“I took Lewis to another birthday party yesterday. This little boy was the one who once got Lewis a sandwich and, after placing it in front of him, told him not to eat it. Talk about torture — obviously a real bad egg! Lewis wasn’t keen on going but didn’t want to miss out on any goodies. I told him to make sure he ate more than the price of the present we’d bought. I meant it as a joke, but when he returned he proudly informed me he’d eaten at least 3,000 drachmas’ worth — and the present had only cost 1,000! I didn’t think he’d take me quite so seriously.”

Another memorable party took place in a vast mansion where the eight-year-old birthday boy had an enormous suite to himself. The food was exquisite, but my Greek friend Mary complained bitterly that the child’s suite was larger than her entire home.

Not all memories are light-hearted.

“One of my students — he’s nineteen — lost his father to a heart attack a year ago. But no one has told his grandmother, who lives in northern Greece. So this poor woman carries on unaware that her son is dead. They think the news would kill her. Imagine the effort required to sustain that illusion, and the strain it must place on every relationship involved. What people will do in the name of love, they would never contemplate doing to their worst enemies.”

That story stayed with me for a long time.

Our children entered Greek primary school without a single word of the language, straight from a village school in Northern Ireland. The adjustment was difficult. One child took two years to feel truly fluent. Yet they all eventually mastered the language and were blessed with many excellent teachers and loyal friends.

Though not all teachers were quite so admirable.

“Daniel’s class was so naughty today that the teacher declared she would have nothing more to do with them! She refused to speak to or teach any of them. Daniel says Spiros, one of the cleverest boys, proceeded to teach the lesson himself, covering both language and mathematics. My friend’s son Niko was almost in tears when he left, as the teacher had been so very angry. But Daniel reported that Spiros had done an excellent job — and assigned far less homework than the teacher would have. Certainly not the worrier our Daniel!”

Looking back, these faxes capture the texture of those years: fear and resilience, generosity and misunderstanding, humour and cultural surprises. They are small windows into a decade that shaped us all.