Pomegranate is a seasonal fruit in Malta very much associated with autumn. It used to be one of the fruits parents put in a home-made small cloth bag commemorating St Martin of Tours. This tradition is being kept alive by schools and community centres although the contents inside the bag have varied slightly and most of the bags are bought ready made. Our parish centre had the child's name printed on the bag.
I remember my father skillfully breaking open the fruit over a sheet of old newspaper to collect the skin and any arils that fell out (very few did). Then he would remove the white pith and give the first cluster of pomegranate to my mum.
Eventually I learnt how to open the fruit and prided myself on acquiring my father's skill. I used to arrive first from work as government schools finished at four well before my father and brother got home. My mother would have prepared our supper and there stood the pomegranate next to the plate. The first cleaned cluster would be for her.
Then there is one of my favourite poems by Dr Anton Buttigieg (a politician, a poet and served as the second President of Malta from 1976 until 1981).
Ir-rummiena>
Kieku kelli l-premju nagħti,
naħseb naqta' bla ma nbati,
lil min l-aktar jaf isorr,
u bla ngombru jaf iġorr;
l-ewwel premju lir-rummiena
bla tlaqlieqa nagħti jiena;
elf rubin ġo kaxxa żgħira
taf tippakkja, ġġiblek l-għira.
Freely translated it reads:
If I had to give a prize,
to who knows best how to pack,
and carry without clutter;
I think I'd guess without difficulty,
first prize goes to the pomegranate;
it knows how to pack a thousand rubies in a small box, it makes you jealous.
Nice picture