Goodbye, Dr Refalo
How sad to see him go. I never thought of Michael Refalo as a politician, a cabinet minister or a member of parliament.
To me he was always “Edward’s father”, one of the neighbourhood parents, the ‘Michael’ in “Michael u Blanche”, or more specifically, one of the neighbourhood fathers, who weren’t much in evidence but on whose account we were occasionally asked not to make such a racket and who would emerge from time to time, generally on Saturdays, to give us a bollocking for bad behaviour.
Those were the days before blocks of flats, when all the streets of Stella Maris parish, Sliema, were made up of houses and almost all those houses were occupied by young couples with children. So there were lots of rackets and plenty of bad behaviour, as groups of under-10s roamed through the streets – an alien concept now, I realise – and wound up at the houses of whoever’s mother was less likely to throw a fit and turf us back out again.
Growing up, I never even knew “Edward’s father” was a politician. The entire neighbourhood was filled with people – well, men – who did this or that (it was that kind of neighbourhood) and nobody mentioned it. The grown-ups got on with their grown-up lives and we shrieked through the streets and along the beach until our mothers began looking for us or we got hungry and went back for supper.
Of course, in my grown-up life as a journalist I met him many times in a work-related context. He would call me Daphne and I would call him Dr Refalo right up until the end. Children did not call their friends’ parents by their first names when I was growing up; it was totally inconceivable, and the habit stuck.
Those who occasionally overheard him giving me a ticking off for something I’d said or written would be astonished at how I took it without any backchat. They had no idea that the first time he’d ticked me off I was around nine years old and contributing to the general ruckus of around 10 children in the downstairs room of the Refalo house next door to Frankie (one of the Stella Maris parish grocers, the others being Muse, Kekkina, Toni, Navarino and Majsi) by trying to ride an old trike along the furniture while wearing some discarded 1960s fluffy black hat from the dress-up box.
Dr Refalo had been trying to rest, unusually, but the noise was terrible. He came flying down the stairs in annoyance, and I remember thinking briefly that how were we supposed to know there was a father resting upstairs. It was a school-day afternoon, and fathers didn’t rest in the afternoon. But that’s because I didn’t know about parliament, or what a politician was, or just how bad things were in 1974 – not until later. It can’t have been much fun, with children yelling all afternoon and then a long night in parliament doing battle with Mintoff and his horrid men.
Edward’s father – Dr Refalo – maintained his ‘for heaven’s sake, behave yourself/you shouldn’t have said that’ attitude towards me practically until the last, the privilege of first having met me, as he once told a small gathering of politicians at yet another of those tedious receptions – I was in my 20s and feeling all grown up – when I was wearing frilly nappy-pants and confined to a playpen at his son’s first birthday party. But it was obvious that he found a lot of it very amusing. He was the sort of person who laughed a lot, and it wasn’t empty social laughter, either. He jollied up a room.
I last saw him some months ago, at a restaurant, as always with his Sliema gang of men friends, including Tony Mizzi, another of the ‘neighbourhood fathers’. For some reason, I was overcome by a strange wave of nostalgia and sentimentality. It’s the age for it, I hear some of you say. On their way out, they stopped at our table to chat and so that Dr Refalo could ask with much laughter whether I’d been getting into any good trouble recently. He was his usual self, but he looked very ill and could only walk with great difficulty, struggling with a cane. I knew, somehow – as one sometimes does – that I would never see Edward’s father again.
He will be much missed by many.
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Dr Michael Refalo was a true gentleman. In the days I knew him, the antagonism between PN and MLP was at its peak, and I must admit that, being a state factotum at the time, I formed part of that chasm and treated most PN politicians with deep suspicion, if not utter contempt.
But with Dr Refalo it was different. You just couldn’t see him through the same lens – so amiable and jovial, even when he had reason to complain on behalf of a client.
Was it those times when you ran Maltafly?
I remember the reports of him telling a warden, who was ticketing a friend of his, to go and buy an ice cream instead.
He will be sorely missed. He was a true gentleman: kind-hearted, emphatic yet firm. A no-nonsense man, who believed in free speech and enjoyed a good debate.
Very cultured and a visionary when it came to tourism and culture.
A true gentleman of the old school, of whom very few are left.
Even more sadly, these are traits that have rarely been passed on to the next generation and far less further on.
This is not about nostalgia for a time that will never return, but about basic decency and fair play.
I felt today that the sad moment was also similar to that marking the passing of an age.
Of decency, fair play yes, and with an underlying mirth that always found a way of making its presence felt.
Where any moment was a good time to celebrate life.
It is a nostalgia, but we can all decide to retain or adopt the wonderful spirit that Dr Refalo had.
Michael and Blanche. What a lovely couple.
Totally in agreement here .
Although I’m relatively young, I still agree completely with the notion of calling one’s parents Mr/Mrs [surname] instead of by their first name. It shows them the respect that they deserve.
Indeed, I generally stick to that principle to this very day, unless, of course, they insist on being called by their first name. In which case, then it’s more than fine.
As for Dr. Refalo, while I of course don’t know him personally, I do remember him serving under the Fenech Adami administration. He struck me as a prim and proper gentleman, who truly worked for the country.
As you said, I’m sure he will be sorely missed by many. May he rest in peace.
Wonderful appreciation for a wonderful man.
This reminded me of when I would ask my grandmother, who did not know how to read, who she was voting for way back in 1971 and she would say “dak li dejjem jidhaq”. She would show me a picture of him: Michael Refalo.
The last time I met him was at the pharmacy and even though, like you said, he looked very frail, he was keeping all the people at the pharmacy entertained. Yes, he will definitely be missed.
Reading that piece brought back many happy memories of my childhood and teenage years.
We lived in Swieqi, when it was still an isolated and truly peaceful residential area, but I spent virtually all my childhood and teenage years in Sliema, as all my Mum’s family and friends lived there, and still do to this day.
I recall the pranks, the mischief, the laughter, the innocent banter. I recall skateboarding down Stella Maris Street and Dingli Street on our stomachs – just imagine doing that now. I remember the St. Patrick’s gang, the dreamy days of Exiles, Ferro Bay and Tigne Beach. Lyons ice lollies and granitas from the Cabbana at Fond Ghadir, the egg wars in the rough area that is now Independence Gardens.
Christ, I once got slaughtered and tied up against the large tree that dominated the area in those days.
Then there was our obsession with Packman (there was a machine a bit further up the street from Cafe Roma, and later, when we were older, hanging about at Barana and Barrels, and roaming the deserted vastness of Tigne barracks after the British forces left, and the grounds of the Union Club. I remember playing in the gardens of the gorgeous house that is now Eaton Place, the white villa that is now Gelateria Lungomare, just a few doors down from our grandmother’s house in Stella Maris Street, and the huge gardens (or so they seemed to us back then) of Villa Bianchi on the corner of Amery Street and High Street, long since replaced by a large supermarket and a vast block of flats.
I recall the never-ending games on the front, the Mr. Softy van and its hideous jingle. And yes, the many sermons and tellins-off we endured (and possibly deserved).
I cannot but admire the incredible courage, determination and foresight that Michael Refalo and his colleagues George Bonello du Puis and Censu Tabone had. They put up with so much and risked their livelihood to secure a better future for Malta during the darkest of dark years. They are all gone now, but their memory, example and courage will live on and will be passed on.
We’ve lost another gentleman. Rest in peace, Dr Refalo.
Daphne, you are a romantic at heart and that is one of the reasons I admire you so much.
I cannot help but notice that you give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s.
I don’t understand those who abhor you and your genuine lines of thought.
May Dr. Refalo rest in peace.
Such a lovely obituary, Daphne.
I had the honour and pleasure to work with Dr Refalo for many years when I worked at the Malta Tourism Authority.
A true gentleman, hard working and honest.
He was a fantastic gentleman.
May God bless the soul of this gentleman. Malta needs many politicians like him, but sadly does not have them.
wow – excellent writing
May you rest in PEACE, Dr Refalo.
You where always there to serve YOUR COUNTRY and not your personal interests and ambition. Proof of that is the Institute of Tourism Studies set up under your watch. Thank you for the real roadmap for today’s generation.
You will never be forgotten.
Couldn’t have put it better myself, having been one of those noisy kids too. Lovely words. Yes, he will be missed.
I have known Dr Refalo since 1964 when we were members of the Gzira Mount Carmel Band Club Committee. He was a fine and capable gentleman. Rest in peace dear friend.
Dear Michael, this is not a goodbye but an ‘au revoir’. Until we meet again, your jolliness and friendliness will be missed.
Very nice.
A touching eulogy as only Daphne can write, to a genuinely nice family man. a good friend and yes, an excellent and most loyal politician.
Dr. Refalo was the very epitome of gentlemanliness. May he rest in peace which he richly deserves.
Daphne, a beautiful send-off for a true gentleman and politician. Well done. I am sure that it was no effort on your part to write such nice things about Michael.
In those dark days of the 70s and 80s he always had a positive approach to politics and his sense of humour was so encouraging for those who worked with him in the districts that he represented in Parliament with such dedication.
Michael, we all shall miss you.
What lovely piece, Daphne! What a perfect description of our beautiful childhood memories.
I feel so nostalgic and went back in time for a moment.
I too was a childhood friend, of one of his daughters, and remember vividly going to their house to play after school.
All I knew at the time was that he was an “important person”. What a successful and full life he had and how proud his family must be of this loyal gentleman.
What an excellent read. He was a wonderful person, genuinely loved by all who worked with him. May he rest in eternal peace.
Condolences to the family he loved so much.
Tough times characterised by loyalty and gentlemen then; ‘modern’ times characterised by wimps, opportunists and turncoats now.
Lovely piece.
I can still remember him laughing, after a very heavy hailstorm in the 1970s, at how his children tried to sledge down Victoria Avenue on Blanche’s kitchen trays.
Daphne you have hit the nail on the head. You gave the perfect description of Dr. Refalo.
I always remember when he used to come to our house or to the PN club in Gzira and used to tease me no end.
Have such wonderful memories of that time. He and Mrs Refalo were such a lovely couple.
A perfect gentleman in every sense of the word. May he rest in peace.
The fact that this post has been shared over 1500 times so far just shows how well-loved Michael Refalo was.
It is very sad to read a veritable account of when sliema was a real town. Today it has become something very different.
The dwindling Sliema community, or what is left of it, is finding it hard to cope with the destruction of what was previously one of the most beautiful towns in Malta.