Killed by the 1913 floods
The summer of 1913 had been particularly punishing. For five long and uninterrupted months, not a drop of rain, not the distant expectation of a cloud. Crops and trees wilted in parched fields, as did the last hopes of farmers.
Then with a loud sigh of national relief, some rain timidly licked the islands. The Daily Malta Chronicle exulted editorially: “At last the blessed rain has come. The hot and thirsty earth is now refreshed, the oppressive air is cooled, the shrunken, shrivelled and dust-covered leaves of still green trees and shrubs are revivified. Children clap their hands and shout a welcome to the long-absent and long-wished-for downpour.” The editor waxed poetic, unable to muffle the muse. Not Shakespeare poetic, more romantic lyrical weary.
No wonder the rain was welcome, the editorial added. Malta’s only hope lay in copious waters from the sky. May the rainy season make amends for the grimly arid summer. At that moment, no one could predict how lavish the torrents would be, almost before the ink of the Chronicle had a chance to dry.
What followed was to be a deluge never seen before in living memory. In the shortest span of time, tropical rain flooded parts of the...