As I was thinking along these lines, I got news that my father was being admitted to hospital. I decided to once again head back to Malta and both visit my father and consider what future I could carve out there.
I returned to Malta but with a totally different attitude. My mind was clear and set on building a reliable future. My spiritual life was now part and parcel of my day and gave me a new strength which was obvious to others. They no longer questioned my every move, or if they did, they noticed it made less of an impression.
I stayed at home with dad till he was admitted to hospital where he was to stay for the next six months. My sister, Irene invited me to stay with her and her family and I did so, leaving our house empty.
I still wanted to settle down, to be normal and have a steady relationship in my life. That year, I met someone with whom I thought this would be possible. We seemed to get on well together. Perhaps this was the one. We started dating seriously.
One of my first presents during my school days, was Sir William Orpen’s ‘Outline of Art’. Even before returning to Malta this time, I had re-kindled my interest in art. My mother, father and eldest sister, were all creative but I had always told people I could not draw for toffees. Now, surprisingly, I found that I could draw and had been doing so prodigiously for some months. I became friendly with a local artist, Raymond Pitre, and started using our empty house in Victoria Avenue, to display his works in a way that both he and I could appreciate them.
Friends started visiting and coming to see what was going on. Raymond’s way of painting was bold and innovative and they liked what they saw. He would work with ordinary household paint on canvas and end up with stunningly realistic pieces. As more and more were completed, people liked what they saw and started commissioning him to paint for their hotels or for special places in their homes.
One thing led to another and, before long, I partnered with my friend, Brian Mizzi in opening Malta’s very first contemporary art gallery. It was called the ‘MAZARON’ and was in a two storey building in St. Julians, opposite the Hilton Hotel.
Other local artists, such as Mary DePiro, Chircop and Beryl Diamantino started exhibiting their work with us and our client list was growing. To help things along, we decided to hold a weekly event at the Gallery. We offered Champagne and canapés on the gallery roof every Tuesday. This was a great hit. Everybody who was anybody seemed to hear about it and before long, we were hosting visiting ambassadors, actors, musicians, diplomats and selling well.
On one particular occasion, I nearly lost everything.
I had decided to put on a special exhibition which consisted of 22 paintings by ’Gianni’, an Italian artist who lived and worked in Malta in the 19th century. These were high value paintings so I decided the event needed to be insured.
I phoned my brother-in-law who owned an insurance agency.
“Can you do it immediately,” I asked him, “We have already started moving the pieces into the building.”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will make sure I do it straight away.”
A day or two later, when all the paintings had arrived and were hung in the gallery, I was woken at 2 am by the loud ringing of the telephone.
It was my partner on the phone. He was at the gallery.
“Get over here quickly,” he practically shouted down the phone. I could hear the panic in his voice and I sat up abruptly, jumping out of bed. I could hear the rain thundering down outside the window and feared the worst. The flat roofs in Malta occasionally fill up like a swimming pool and if there is any blockage in the drains, the water starts seeping through every crack the summer sun has created. This is what had happened and some water was trickeling down the inside of the gallery.
I rushed over there and found the situation was critical. The roof could have caved in at any minute and many thousands of pounds worth of paintings were in jeopardy.
Colonel Strickland lived only two doors away and we woke him up, asking him if we could bring the paintings to the safety of his house till the danger had passed. He readily agreed and the three of us carried out a desperate rescue, dashing back and forth with covered paintings till they were all secure.
The next morning, when calm had returned, I phoned my brother-in-law to let him know what had happened and to tell him that there was no damage to the ‘Gianni’ paintings but some minor damage on some of the other paintings from local artists which I had also included in the exhibition.
“I’m sorry, David. I forgot all about it. I never insured you.” There was a few seconds of silence. “Don’t worry, he said eventually, “It is my fault. I will personally pay for any damage.”
I got off the phone and went back to see the situation. There was no structural damage. We started the clean up in the gallery and got the roof seen to, cleaning drains etc to ensure no repeat performance, then inspected each painting thoroughly. A few hours later, with the help of a little ’touch up’ and a quick lick of wall paint, everything was back to normal and the exhibition opened as planned. It was a great success.
The good reputation of the gallery got around. One Sunday, I received a phone call from the ADC to the Governor of Malta, asking me to open the gallery that day for a special visit by Prince Charles and his sister, Princess Anne.
“What today! On Sunday?” I replied “I’m not asking,” he said, “I’m telling.” I of course agreed. “Keep it private,” he said, “this is an unofficial visit.” He hung up and I immediately phoned Brian and then Captain Ball of Malta public relations. He, in turn contacted the BBC representatives in Malta.
When I arrived at the gallery, George Borg Olivier, the Prime Minister, was waiting there. My father and George were great friends and met regularly for drinks. “May I come in David?” he said. I was taken aback at his question. “Of course Prime Minister, why would you even need to ask. I’d be honoured!”
He smiled. “Well,” he replied, “its not official!”
The TV crew arrived, the Prince and Princess arrived and, all in all, it was a great visit. Nobody mentioned the cameras! We presented them with three of Mary De Piro’s paintings, one of them was of the dancer Nureyev.
This event did wonders for the gallery’s reputation and things just kept going from strength to strength.
Of course it also helped my own self image but it was not one I was particularly interested in.
I had told Brian that I would run the art gallery for one year only and that time was fast approaching. I could also not shake off the feeling that the gallery was not where the Lord wanted me to be and that thought, quite frankly, had more sway with me now than all the success that was falling into my lap. I had now completely lost interest in it and the calling to do something else was becoming more apparent. I felt that this experience, whilst good, was just a preparation for what was to come in my life. I closed the business while it was still viable and took a job in accounts at the office of a horticultural company while resuming my accountancy studies.
Some time after that, my girlfriend who was working as secretary to Lady Watson, the wife of the High commissioner in Malta asked me to come with her to have tea at the Commissioner’s villa in Naxxar. Prince William of Gloucester was the only other guest as well as his equerry who had been at Sandhurst about the same time as I.
It was early afternoon and we sat around the pool talking about the changes in the island and how his cousin, the Queen, had enjoyed living here.
The prince asked me what I was doing and why I was living in Malta. He was intrigued when I told him I was working in the accounts department of the Mediterranean Flower Products. He asked me if I would be kind enough to do him a favour as he wanted to send a gift to a good friend in the Costa Esmeralda. I assured him I knew nothing very much about bushes but, if he so wanted, I could find out what the most appropriate and beautiful one would be. I noticed Lady Watson was getting very upset as she had been left out of the conversation. She instantly remarked that she would see to it herself. For my part, I was very relieved especially since I realised the Prince’s good friend in the Costa Esmeralda was none other than the Karim Khan, then one of the wealthiest men in the world.
This meeting was to stay on my mind for life because of later events in London.
Meanwhile nothing was making much sense to me now in Malta. Pat and I had broken up for one reason or another, a few weeks after becoming engaged. Our relationship was just not meant to be. She moved off to France and met her future husband there and she is now, thank God, happily married.
Life went on, I continued working and studied hard for my next exam but I now planned to return to London as soon as this was completed.
On the day before one of my main exam paper, at about 10.30 in the evening, they brought my father into the house as he had fallen into a ditch. I helped to carry him upstairs, not realising that he had broken his leg. The following morning, the day of my exam, I called for an ambulance which took him into hospital again. Fortunately, I managed to concentrate enough to pass the exam but my father remained in hospital for another long stay.
I stayed in Malta till he had recovered, then I returned to London to see if I could make more sense of it now.
It was several months later, when I was still in London that I sat watching the news. My interest was peaked as they were covering an air-show where Prince William was taking part, flying his own plane which he often did.
As usual, together with him in the plane was his black Labrador which I had seen in Malta. The plane took off and I watched intently. Having met him personally, I felt drawn into the action, feeling a part of it.
Minutes later, everyone gasped as the plane suddenly nose-dived and came crashing to the ground, killing all its occupants instantly. I was stunned. There he was, a healthy, handsome young man and suddenly, he was no more, his life suddenly ended, snuffed out like a candle.
This incident impacted me at a deep level. It showed me, in a very graphic way, how short and fragile all our lives are and how dependent we are on God. I saw how each moment should be looked on as though it could be our last.
At that moment, something was loosed within me. Another tether had snapped which bound me to my old style of life and to the priority I gave to it.
Like a bird leaving a perch, I took off and flew with even more determination into the unknown. It gave me fresh impetus to ‘seek first, the Kingdom of God’. All else seemed irrelevant.