Tribute to a friend of Malta

I felt intensely distressed when I received a note from Margot Hitch informing me that her dear husband, Brian, passed away on August 3 after a short illness.

Brian Hitch was a sincere friend of Malta and the Maltese. It was he who, when serving as British High Commissioner in Malta, had introduced the fashion (now almost an entrenched rule) that incumbents of the office should include the Maltese tongue in some of their official speeches. Brian was a linguist; he mastered several languages with high proficiency, including Japanese, of which he was an established don. His command of Maltese was also scholarly; I remember him actively assisting Professor Guzè Aquilina in some areas of his magnum opus, the Maltese Dictionary.

Brian was an artist at heart; he loved art in its many forms and he played piano with great charm but what I can never forget is his noble and gentle character. It is that which defies time. It is that which overcomes death.

I remember him sharing a piano stool with my daughter, Philipa, then very young, patiently assisting her in her piano exercises and even donating to her a few librettos with inscribed dedications. He would smile in his usual open fashion, baring his white teeth to the limit and then speak words of encouragement in his typically soft, gentle and distinct manner.

He was humble; I mean, really humble. Not falsely modest but most sincerely unassuming and unpretentious. Many a time I saw him refrain from correcting others who were perhaps too eager to boast some intellectual ware they did not possess. Many a time I edged him to admit that he mastered a subject; he would only concede he knew "some important details".

I recall visiting him with my wife and daughter in Oxford some years ago. He toured us around for a whole day. It was a continuation of a conversation which seemed never to have been interrupted. We enjoyed every second of that meeting which happened to be the last time we saw each other face to face. Later, we did exchange erratic notes wherein he never failed to 'show off' his mastery of the Maltese gh and silent h.

In retrospect, I could kick myself hard for not keeping up regular contact with a man I admired and loved. I did not know what he already knew, namely that he was close to his gran finale.

I ask his dearest wife and friend Margot, an artist with whom I shared several artistic dreams, to sculpt Brian's image in a corner of her heart where no other being can reach. That corner should be reserved for a special man who deserves a perpetual, sacred silence.

On my part, I can only hug his memory and speak well of a man who lived well.