As a child, John Grech was impressed whenever he saw dermatologist Rużar Briffa treat lepers held in isolation and then dip his bread in their plate.

Back then, lepers were cast aside by society and not allowed to leave the Leprosy Department located in an isolated building on the grounds of St Vincent de Paul, known then as St Bartholomew’s Hospital.

That was the place that John called home.

He was born at St Vincent de Paul Hospital in 1932, lived there with his parents, since his father was the head nurse of the leprosy hospital, and eventually died there in 2022 when he retired with his wife to what is now a care home. His wife passed away soon after.

John’s story has been captured in a new book called Memorji Minn San Vincenz de Paul (Memories from St Vincent de Paul) penned by Raymond Mangion.

“Hospitals are more than just places for patients. They are places filled with people who gave a great contribution to Malta and their stories risk being forgotten,” said Mangion, head of the Legal History and Methodology Department at the University of Malta.

He has long been calling for the introduction of a Collective Memory Act. Such a law, he said, would provide a legal framework for the collection of all these memories.

Mangion has been working on doing so for 50 years by collecting stories, with his most recent effort targeting those of residents at the state-run elderly care home. In the past, part of the hospital (now the Rużar Briffa wards) were used as the lepers’ department.

The state-run elderly care home St Vincent de Paul. Photo: Chris Sant Fournier

Brought up around lepers

Grech, one of the people featured in the book, has clear memories of those days.

Son of Ċensinu and Mary Grech, John was born at St Vincent de Paul Hospital on June 23, 1932. His link to the hospital goes back to his grandfather.

Salvatore Mifsud Bonnici, his maternal grandfather, was ward master and chief nurse at St Bartholomew’s Hospital.

Back then, families of some hospital workers were supplied lodging on the hospital grounds.

One day, Salvatore got a stroke while at work, resulting in there being no one to head the lepers’ department. Meanwhile, Salvatore’s eldest daughter, Mary, got to know Ċensinu – a young man who would play the violin during festivities held at the hospital.

Word got around about the budding love between Ċensinu and Mary, the daughter of the lepers’ department head, and, in order to fill the gap in the role of ward master in the department, Ċensinu was trained for the job and ended up moving to the hospital grounds where he and Mary raised their family of four children.

John has many recollections of the lepers. He recalls how dermatologist Rużar Briffa – who became a major figure in Maltese literature – would travel from Manoel Island to see them and call his father to ask about the number of patients there were.

Hospitals are more than just places for patients

Briffa would treat the lepers and join them in the cafeteria of the hospital grounds they were not allowed to leave. He would sit at their table and dip his bread in their plate – an image that remained etched in John’s memory.

Leprosy was feared at the time and was misunderstood by the public, who thought it incurable. Briffa knew that leprosy was a mildly infectious disease that was, in fact, curable.

But things were different then. The lepers in Malta were kept under lock and key and some were banished to St Bartholomew’s Hospital.

“The lepers had all they needed, they raised chickens, invited bands and organised fireworks during feasts… but they were locked in and completely isolated,” John recalls in the book.

He also remembered the day they protested and went to the Public Health building in Valletta where they spoke to Prime Minister Paul Boffa. It was 1953 and the law that forced them to remain locked up was consequently repealed.

After that, John’s father and his colleagues embarked on an education campaign to help people understand that leprosy was not contagious. They travelled the island with a mobile cinema to spread the word.

John grew up to be an assistant accountant and married Elfrida from whom he had four children and several grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

He passed away at the age of 90 on September 22, 2022, and his wife passed away some time later.

Thanks to Mangion, his story – and snapshots of Malta’s history – has been preserved.