Homage to Lino Cassar, a gentle thorn

It was only a few days ago that I went to visit him in hospital. The people at the reception desk informed me that he had been discharged. I felt pleased, knowing full well that those who are discharged from hospitals should, for all intents and purposes, be in good health.

But a day before I write this, I receive an email sadly informing me that Lino Cassar has passed away. I wasn't saddened - I was taken aback. Not having Lino in the Labour press is like having some of the colours fade from the political canvass.

Lino managed to carve a niche in the local press which was exclusively his: political satire of the sort that was not that sophisticated but yet very forceful. No wonder that his name had become synonymous with the defunct political satire weekly paper 'Ix-xewka'. Dom Mintoff had affectionately nicknamed him 'Lino Ix-Xewka' ('Lino the Thorn').

Very much in the style of Old Dom, Lino made a name for himself by infamously 'baptising' anyone who fell victim to his pen. Nicknames - which have survived their author - are still used in common political parlance within the Labour camp, and this notwithstanding that he has been absent from his 'Sunday sermon' on It-Torca for quite a long time.

Lou Bondi is still enigmatically known as 'Il-Bambin ta' Praga'. Pierre Portelli still referred to as Pierre Burdelli, reminiscent of some vaudeville character. But a favourite with Nationalists and Labourites alike is undoubtedly 'Is-Sahhara Tal-Bidnija', who along with other government sycophants, evokes Shakespeare's scene of a number of witches fumbling in a cauldron fuming with an accursed potion to be used against anyone in disagreement with government.

A Danny Long Legs, Lino always towered over everybody around him. In reality he was a gentle giant and meant no harm to anybody. There was something very child-like about him. In fact, he was an avid collector of comic magazines and was very proud of being the owner of the first issue of The Dandy. It was not a matter of monetary value but rather, a collector's pride.

Lino's attachment to rare copies of all kinds of comics, cinematographic reels and publications was not borne out of an instinct for financial investment, but out of a deep interest in the matter. Rarely did anyone visit him at his house in Sliema without having to suffer Lino's long and winding stories of how he managed to collect what he most treasured. He treated his collections in the same way he treated people: with great care and kindness.

Lino never hid his speech defect. Indeed, he was proud of it because it had become a distinctive mark of his character. He even unashamedly joked about it. Hearing Lino stammering to come to what he would like to say was not something that irked his audience, but it was expected of him. However, there was only one occasion when he spoke uninterruptedly: when he sang. I remember him singing O Sole Mio after an evening meal and those present were surprised that the stammering had disappeared. Jokingly, he said: " If only all politicians could sing!"

The last time I visited him, he was at the old people's home in Mosta. He was not in high spirits. The old typewriter with which he wrote thousands of articles was idly waiting in vain for him. I could feel it that he was nearing the end. Until I received that email.

Lino spent much of his life joking seriously about matters that counted. He may have been a thorn, but he was a gentle thorn. He paraphrased life with a Latin axiom which was the battle cry of another satirical paper by the name of Il-Hmar: 'Ludendo castigat mores'.

He lived his life making others laugh, and he was loved... right until the very end.