A protagonist's view of Strait Street

When The Times ran a three-part series about Strait Street, in Valletta, last October, the reaction from readers was overwhelming.

Some remember Strait Street in its heyday as Malta's top entertainment spot, not to mention the girls of easy virtue who used to earn a living there. Younger readers felt that the series answered a number of questions they had about this notorious street in the country's capital.

Every evening, the street used to awaken, like a roaring lion coming alive, with some of the country's top musicians, elegant waiters and dolled up women who entertained clients and pushed the tills to work overtime.

The first series (October 7,8 and 9, 2004) included reminiscences from a woman who spent most of her adult life entertaining men down the Gut, as the street was dubbed by the British servicemen, notably the sailors; from a businessman who used to run a number of bars and music halls; from a punter and from one of the top musicians.

In this four-part series, GEORGE CINI views Strait Street from another angle - from the eyes of two persons who spent their childhood and teenage years living nearby.

Today's and tomorrow's story will be that told by Giovanna Schembri, the granddaughter of Pawlu Fiteni who used to run The Morning Star music hall and a crop of other bars.

The last two parts of this series will deal with the recollections of graphic designer and illustrator Paul Caruana, who was not only most colourful in his description of the motley crew of characters who infused life and vigour in the area but managed to recapture that lost world through his seminal watercolours.

Since childhood, Giovanna Schembri lived in the mezzanine at The Morning Star, situated in St Nicholas Street, Valletta. The place was so big it used to accommodate a shipful of sailors.

This is her story:

The Morning Star music hall formed part of a block, which is no longer standing, that used to separate Strada Stretta from Strada San Giuseppe. All one sees today is a straight alley connecting Strada Stretta with Strada San Giuseppe.

My maternal grandfather Pawlu Fiteni used to live in a mezzanine inside The Morning Star, a sort of casa bottega.

That's where my mother Marie was born. Pawlu had four children: Ganni, Guzè, known as il-Gugè, Marie and Carmela. One of the chucker-outs, today known as bouncers, was called Manwel.

Ganni had apartments in Floriana where the show girls who performed at The Morning Star used to live.

I love Strait Street. That's where I was brought up and lived for about 22 years.

The building housed a small restaurant, also called Morning Star, which served sailors who preferred to sleep it off on land rather that go back to the ship at night.

The Morning Star was established by Francesco Fiteni, Pawlu's father, who was born in 1852 and died in 1913.

Pawlu had a lodging house also at the top in Strada San Giuseppe, number 62. The whole block was rented out to him.

Pawlu used to also run the Regal bar, the Windsor restaurant, not the current Windsor restaurant, the mezzanine next to the Regal, the Cotton Club and the Roxy which was connected to the Metro, next to the then Government Bank in Archbishop Street.

He had another lodging place facing these bars which was run by my maternal uncle Ganni.

Pawlu died aged 64 and his son Ganni took over the running of The Morning Star and wanted to open a bar each for his brother and sister.

Ganni, who had also set up Las Vegas in Old Theatre Street, died of a heart attack.

I loved Nannu Pawlu. He used to rattle coins in his pocket whenever he saw me and my brother and sister and our eyes used to brighten, heartened as we were in the great expectation of being given a penny or a half penny as a reward.

He called me Mariucca after my mother who was called Marie. He used to say I was a perfect copy of my mother.

Deep down I never felt any shame because of my family having such a close connection with Strada Stretta. But when I started courting Carmelo, my future husband, and somebody told his parents he was going out with a girl from Strait Street, his father came to check out who I was.

At that time, Carmelo played in the Oscar Lucas band at the Premier bar and cafeteria in Queen's Square, Valletta. Carmelo's father one day came to enquire about me when Duminku t-Tikka, whose bar was close to the Premier, came to know about his wanting to find out who I was.

Duminku told Carmelo's father: "Kelinu go back home because that girl is the daughter of Marie tal-Morning Star and her father is Guzeppi Borg Bonaci and you should put your mind at rest". At that time the Borg Bonacis used to run the Premier.

When Nannu Pawlu died, my mother had to run The Morning Star herself in order to earn a living. During the black out in World War II the bars had to close.

Nannu Pawlu died during an air raid. He lost his balance and fell down the stairs leading to the main door of The Morning Star. Somebody outside heard him crying in pain and called on him to open the door.

He was rushed to hospital where the doctors declared that the bolt (stanga) he had lifted to open the door had slipped from his upraised hands and fell on his head.

At the time, we were seeking refuge at the shelter cut in the rock face under the church of St Paul's Shipwreck. The shelter was connected to a tunnel extending underground to St John's Co-Cathedral.

Nannu never allowed us children to go into The Morning Star, maybe because the performing artistes were scantily dressed. There were times when we went up the stairs on our knees in order to steal a peep at the dancing and singing artistes but kept a "low profile", so to speak.

My uncle Ganni's job included the contracting of artistes whom he used to describe as the most beautiful of all the artistes in Valletta.

There was no way they used to entertain men in the bar but apart from that I don't know. My mother used to warn us not to stay in the balcony watching people go by but she never told us why. However, one day I told myself this restriction was meant to bar from our eyes the women who used to go with different men.

There were instances when upright women asked Nannu Pawlu to allow their daughters to go do a "couple of landi", the tokens women got for enticing men to drink inside the bars, "instead of going to wash the floors", pleading: "I will be waiting for her outside The Morning Star when she's through".

These girls could not work in the bars unless they had a police licence but Pawlu and his daughter Marie used to turn a blind eye feeling pity for these women.

"Even women whose husbands were laid off used to come to the bar to do landi".

The women were told, however, that if they wanted to entertain men they could not do so at The Morning Star nor at the Cotton Club.

There were gays in Strait Street. I remembers Kazan, Ocello who was Spanish, and Bobby tal-pjanu whom people called sinjorina. There was also a transvestite who was a dancer. "He was a most handsome man who used to say he would have been better off had he been born a woman. He often asked my mother: "Marie, can you tell I'm not a woman?" Several of the girls fancied him and eventually he got married and fathered children.

To be continued tomorrow

Readers of The Times who would like to add to this series by providing photographs and/or reminiscences about Strait Street may contact George Cini at The Times newsroom or at gcini@timesofmalta.com