From Wartime Loot to Cruise-Ship Selfie: Senglea Basilica’s Silver Missal Covers Reclaim the Spotlight

Gilded Devotion: How a Pair of Silver Missal Covers Put Senglea Basilica Back on the World’s Cultural Map
By Hot Malta Correspondent

When the heavy brass doors of Senglea’s Basilica of the Nativity of Our Lady swung open at dawn last Saturday, the narrow streets of L-Isla smelled less of sea salt and more of incense and fresh coffee. Pensioners in felt berets, schoolchildren clutching tablets, and German cruise-ship passengers all shuffled inside to witness something that hadn’t been seen in almost 150 years: the basilica’s newly-restored silver missal covers gleaming under the restored Caravaggio-style chandeliers.

These two A4-sized plates—hand-beaten in 1658 by Palermo silversmith Giacomo Giambarresi and commissioned by the Confraternity of the Holy Rosary—were rescued from wartime looting, hidden in a Rabat farmhouse during World War II, and finally forgotten in the basilica’s dark crypt for decades. Their re-emergence is more than a conservation success story; it is a reclamation of identity for a city that has spent generations rebuilding after the 1941 blitz.

Local historian Dr. Marlene Briffa, who spent seven years researching the covers’ provenance, says the timing is no accident. “Senglea is having a moment,” she whispers, nodding towards the pews where 92-year-old Toni “il-Kap” Pace fingers the same missal he carried as an altar boy in 1940. “The marina extension, the new ferry routes, the boutique hotels—people are finally looking back at us. These covers remind everyone why we mattered in the first place.”

The restoration itself reads like a Maltese family tree. Funds came from a 2023 crowdfunding drive that hit €42,000 in 11 days, topped up by a discreet donation from a Senglea-born iGaming entrepreneur now living in Stockholm. The work was carried out by 27-year-old Gozitan silversmith Naomi Azzopardi, who learned repoussé techniques from her grandfather—once the go-to craftsman for Knights’ regalia. Even the velvet lining inside each cover was woven on a 19th-century loom in Qormi, using wool from sheep that graze the Dingli cliffs.

But why should a secular generation care about liturgical silver? Step outside the basilica and the answer is everywhere. The covers star in this year’s Valletta Cultural Agency summer programme, projected as holograms onto Fort St. Angelo during the Birgu Candlelight Festival. A limited-edition enamel pin—miniature replicas of the central Marian monogram—sold out at the Senglea waterfront kiosk in three hours. Secondary-school art students from St. Margaret College have already produced a TikTok stop-motion that racked up 350,000 views, overlaying the baroque motifs with modern Maltese trap beats.

Mayor Franco Vella is pragmatic about the hype. “Heritage is nice, but it has to pay for street lighting,” he says, gesturing to the freshly paved promenade where cruise visitors now queue for imqaret and selfies. Since the covers’ unveiling, Sunday mass attendance has risen 18 %, but more importantly, footfall in family-run pastizzerias has doubled. “My nanna finally stopped nagging me about moving to Australia,” laughs 19-year-old waiter Kurt Muscat, balancing trays of ftira on his forearm.

The ecclesiastical response is equally upbeat. Archpriest Fr. Anton Cassar insists the covers are not museum pieces. During the 11 a.m. solemn mass on the feast of Our Lady of Victories, the restored silver will once again protect the parish’s 1621 parchment missal—its edges still singed from 1941 shrapnel. “Faith isn’t nostalgia,” Fr. Cassar tells his congregation. “It’s continuity.”

Looking ahead, the parish plans to rotate the covers between liturgical use and a climate-controlled display case funded by Bank of Valletta’s cultural foundation. A QR code on the railing will let visitors hear audio memories from surviving eyewitnesses, recorded by NGO Spazju Kreattiv. Meanwhile, the European Heritage Hub has shortlisted Senglea for a 2025 micro-grant to create an augmented-reality trail linking the basilica, the covers, and the city’s maritime arsenal.

As the midday sun glints off the Grand Harbour, the covers—once symbols of baroque opulence—have become mirrors of a community that refuses to forget its scars or its sparkle. In L-Isla, silver is not just precious metal; it is the alloy of resilience, pride, and a very Maltese knack for turning survival into celebration.