The recent episode of brutal tree ‘pruning’ at the University brought to mind another even more destructive tree slaying, which seems to have been passed over in silence.

Many years go, when Juanito Camilleri was head of IT at the University, he was looking for a site for a new, larger IT building. The one that caught his eye was a square space between the physics/maths and biology departments, then occupied by a grove of mature oleander trees. People in physics and biology objected to the use of the site for the IT building, with its increased crowding and the inevitable complete destruction of the trees. The project was put on hold.

Camilleri, then still in his (botanically) callow youth, accused the objectors of putting a disgustingly high value on “cockroach” trees from New Zealand (locally oleanders, a Mediterranean species, are called siġar tal-wirdien). Eventually, the new IT building went up on another site.

But, late last year, during an attempt to get into the engineering building through a maze of narrow corridors lined with bricks, I was tempted to look over one such wall: the oleander grove had disappeared, replaced by a deep excavation of uncertain purpose. Was it a dungeon for recalcitrant staff and students, a water cistern, an underground car park?

Whatever the case, Camilleri had not forgiven is-siġar tal-wirdien, even if, by now, he must have realised that they are as ‘maori’ as the University of Malta’s running track olive trees.