Page 33 of The Cruise Club
‘Everyone! The walking tour of the city is this way!’
Peter clutched his clipboard and glanced down at a list of names.
Thirty passengers were booked on the tour and, with any luck, he hoped to keep everyone together.
Thankfully, a local guide accompanied them and Peter would only have to ensure that stragglers kept up, ideally ensuring that no one went missing.
‘Listen, please,’ he called out, ‘we have six hours to discover the mysteries and delights of Valletta, but if you stray away from our party for any reason, make sure that you are back at the ship on time.’ Pointing with his pen, Peter carried out a head count, and with everyone at the ready, they set off.
As the guide took control of the group, Peter thought of his conversation with Dicky Delaney the previous evening when the comedian told him that he’d mislaid a gold chain. Dicky hoped that it had been handed into guest services, but with no such luck, his concern caused him to inform Peter.
‘It’s a bit embarrassing to be honest,’ Dicky explained, ‘it was a gift.’
‘Presumably not for your services to comedy?’ Peter was cynical. He knew of Dicky’s exploits with the ladies and, as long as they didn’t get out of hand, chose to ignore them.
But what worried Peter that morning was that this was the third incident of missing jewellery.
Debbie had mislaid a diamond drop necklace, Theo a gold cuff bracelet, and now Dicky was without a hefty gold chain.
Passengers often mislaid items during a cruise, but to have three items of jewellery lost halfway through the holiday seemed less like a coincidence and more like a pattern forming.
Misplaced items were generally found within a day or two, often in a cabin or left in the spa.
Peter sensed mischief, and as he walked ahead of the group, he wondered if a thief was onboard.
He decided to speak to the cabin stewards again, then initiate another sweep of all the public rooms with staff checking all areas including the spa and pool, and finally if theft was suspected, ask the passengers to file a formal report.
It would be useful to have security review CCTV too.
If he wasn’t careful, the passengers’ whispers might turn into a full-blown scandal on the Diamond Star , which would never do!
‘This is exciting, isn’t it?’ Fran said to Sid as she held his hand, and they began to stroll at the front of the walking party. ‘What a lovely old town, I can’t wait to have a look around.’
The charm of Valletta was evident, and it filled them both with a sense of anticipation.
‘Aye, there’s lots of things to see,’ Sid agreed, ‘and I’m sure we’ll stop at some of the shops and pavement cafés.’
Sid wore his Opa T-shirt, with shorts and sandals, while Fran felt comfortable in a cotton playsuit and wide-brimmed hat. Her gold-coloured trainers glinted as she walked.
After passing the Grand Harbour waterfront, which was crowded with bars and restaurants, Peter halted the group when they arrived at the Barrakka Lift.
‘We’re going to take the lift to the upper gardens,’ Peter said, ‘it’s an ascent of almost two hundred feet, which will save you the steep climb to the city’s fortifications.’
The guide split the group into two, and Fran and Sid were first in the lift alongside Don, Debbie, Colin and Neeta. As the glass and steel structure began to rise, everyone gazed at the magnificent sight of the Grand Harbour.
Sid stood beside Don. ‘I thought you might be jogging up to the top?’ he said and gave Don a nudge.
‘Bread don’t rise without resting, and neither do I,’ Don replied.
‘These excursions are great, aren’t they?’ Sid remarked.
‘They’re great because they’re free,’ Don replied with a grin. ‘That’s why Debbie and I stick with the Diamond Star Line. You get your money’s worth as members of The Cruise Club.’
Sid smiled. Don’s Yorkshire thrift was alive and well, ensuring he squeezed every drop of value from his holiday.
The guide led the party to a prime spot and pointed out the panoramic view. ‘You can see the Three Cities,’ he explained. ‘These are Birgu, Senglea, and Cospicua, and if we walk further, you will find statues of prominent figures.’
‘Look, there’s Winston Churchill,’ Fran said as they wandered amongst shady tree-lined pathways, lush with plants and fountains.
Sculpted in bronze and dressed in his trademark suit and bow tie, Churchill struck a characteristic pose, and the guide explained that Churchill inspired King George VI to award the island of Malta the George Cross in 1942 in recognition of the Maltese people’s bravery.
‘The island played a vital role in the Allied efforts during the Second World War,’ he said, ‘and endured heavy bombing due to its strategic location in the Mediterranean.’
‘Just think of all the money spent on that statue,’ Don commented and gazed at Churchill’s contemplative expression.
Sid folded his arms. ‘I don’t think the cost would have mattered,’ he said to Don, ‘considering the gratitude and respect the people had for Churchill’s efforts during the war.’
In the gardens, the guide told them that the area and nearby building of Auberge de Castille were built as a private retreat in the sixteenth century for the Knights of St John and opened to the public in the nineteenth century.
He added that the Auberge de Castille was now the prime minister’s office.
‘Those knights got everywhere,’ Sid mused as they walked to the lower gardens.
‘You have time to visit the museum here,’ Peter informed the group, ‘and those of you who wish to browse shops can head to Castille Place. We’ll meet here again in one hour.’
Dressed in matching polo shirts, caps and khaki shorts, Don led Debbie to the museum.
‘Shall we have a look at the shops?’ Sid asked Fran. Taking her hand, they wandered along narrow cobbled streets and admired the beautiful baroque buildings.
‘Look at these balconies,’ Sid said as he stared at the overhanging box-shaped, carved wooden structures painted in bright colours.
Fran nodded and admired vibrant greens, reds and shades of blue. ‘I’d love to sit up there on a hot day, enjoying shelter from the sun, while I take in the view of everyone bustling by below.’
‘You’d spend all day chatting non-stop to the neighbours.’ Sid grinned, noting the balconies’ proximity in the row of stone-built houses.
‘Look, there’s a red post box, just like home,’ Fran said as they entered a steep walkway where street stalls displayed fruit and vegetables piled high alongside herbs of every description.
‘A legacy of British colonial rule,’ Sid informed her.
As they rounded a corner, they saw Colin and Neeta sitting beneath a colourful umbrella at a café, enjoying a cooling drink. As they passed, they waved.
‘That’s a good idea,’ Sid said and guided Fran to a shady spot at a café where tables lined the cobblestone street. The café played traditional Maltese folk music, and Fran swayed in time as they ordered a carafe of sangria spiked with fresh fruit.
‘What’s Carmen up to today?’ Sid asked. He enjoyed people-watching as locals and tourists wandered by and servers, balancing laden trays, glided effortlessly between tables.
Fran bit into a slice of orange. ‘She mentioned visiting the cathedral, I think she was going to take Betty to see it.’
‘I heard our guide say that it was well worth a visit,’ Sid said as he topped up their drinks.
Fran reached out and squeezed Sid’s hand. ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ She smiled. ‘Every port we visit feels like a new adventure.’
‘Aye.’ Sid returned the squeeze, a grin spreading across his face. ‘We’re a long way from Blackpool and the world is opening up to us, one port at a time.’
Carmen stood in a line that formed a queue slowly entering St John’s Cathedral and studied two bell towers on either side of the doorway.
She thought that they gave a fortress-like appearance to the entrance and was curious to see what the architecture was like inside.
Her fingers tapped nervously on the handles of Betty’s chair.
She hoped they’d soon be through the large wooden doors as Betty’s cane was poised and hovering dangerously close to the track-suited behind of a man ahead of them.
‘Why can’t we get a move on!’ Betty moaned. ‘I’ll get heat-stroke if I sit here any longer.’ Betty raised the cane and was about to poke the man to one side when the queue suddenly began to move forward.
To Carmen’s relief, moments later, they stepped into the interior. ‘Wow,’ she breathed, ‘Mum, just look at this amazing place.’
‘Too many people, and I can’t see anything from this chair.’
‘Perhaps you could try having a walk around?’
‘What with my poor old bones?’ Betty grimaced. ‘You know I struggle; how can you be so heartless?’
Carmen remembered Betty waltzing around the dance floor with Holden and thought that her mother’s poor old bones were leading them all in a dance of their own. But it was useless to argue and far simpler to give in to Betty’s commands.
Pushing the chair along an aisle, Carmen stared at the marble tombstones underfoot, noting that each marked a burial site of knights and notable figures.
She was fascinated by the coats of arms decorated with intricate designs.
As she stared up at the vaulted ceiling, breathtaking frescoes came into view and every surface boasted complex detail.
The whole building seemed to be covered in gold and vibrant artwork.
‘Isn’t it incredible?’ Carmen said. ‘I’ve never seen such a lavish cathedral. It’s quite breathtaking.’
She turned to study a balcony and, to her delight, saw that Theo was poised in the middle, waving his hand. He pointed to a small spiral staircase tucked away in a corner and signalled that she could come up, but Carmen indicated that she couldn’t leave Betty. Moments later, Theo was by her side.
‘Some place, isn’t it?’ he said, kissing Carmen on her cheek. ‘And you’re looking especially lovely today.’