Very few oldies survive who remember the nightmares of World War II and the mixed blessings of Victory Kitchens. Voltaire once remarked that nothing is as well-known as the 1565 Great Siege of Malta. The armed hostilities of 1940-1943 can almost make the same claim.

Innumerable books have been written about them, mostly about the dogged British military defence, but quite a few also about how civilians fared in those ruthless, dreadful days. Stewart Perowne, in my view author of the most sympathetic analysis, dismissed the other Malta war memoirs: “The best of them were good journalism, but constrained still by the trammels of security. The worst of them were English sentiment at its most emetic.”

Quite understandably, most British authors – not all – focus on the resilient, cheerful, often heroic, fighting spirit of the imperial armed forces. Maltese written sources generally give a richer, more agreeable version of the stoicism generally displayed by the inhabitants in those apocalyptic days.

One of the strategic objectives of the Axis forces, once the invasion options became less attractive, remained that of starving Malta into submission. The islands had never been self-sufficient – no fuel, grossly inadequate food supply and almost total reliance on imported commodities. Cut off the sea and air lifelines, and inevitably the island would be coerced into surrendering.

In 1942, at the height of the siege, supplies had so thinned out that a crippling famine loomed inevitable. The imperial authorities had already introduced rationing of food and essential consumables but, by mid-1942, there remained almost no more food to ration.

Just before Victory Kitchens started in March 1942, a British observer living in Malta described the tragically dire situation: “Bread, of an extremely poor quality and very dark in colour, was strictly rationed, each person receiving less than one pound per day; it was an offence to buy or sell flour,  except under government permit, or to use it for pastry, and the manufacture, and consequently  the sale of  buns, cakes or pastries of any description was strictly forbidden.

Queuing for a meal at a Victory Kitchen.

“Butter was almost unobtainable; the sugar ration was reduced to an extremely low level; and tea and coffee – the Maltese, like the Italians, are great coffee drinkers – were also rationed very stringently, each person receiving only two ounces of each per week.”

The British diarist added: “Vegetable produce and fruit were being sold at excessive prices, or, at least, at prices well above the means of the average Maltese worker; eggs were extremely scarce and rose gradually in price, until at the end of September 1942, they sold – and sold readily – at 1s. 8d. each.

“Until the arrival of a special consignment of powdered milk, this most valuable liquid food was available only to infants and expectant mothers. Cooking fats and edible oils were almost unobtainable, as such luxuries as jam, marmalade, syrup and other sweets were not to be found on the island.

One of the preliminary studies by Leslie Cole for a large oil painting, Victory Kitchen in Malta. Photo: Imperial War Museum, London

On the fuel front: “The allowance of paraffin or kerosene was reduced to one quarter of a gallon per week for families of two persons. In this respect it must be pointed out that kerosene was the only recognised fuel available for cooking purposes and domestic lighting, and the short ration was acutely felt by the whole of the population.

“Petrol for motor transport was also in short supply, and no public bus services were permitted to operate on Saturdays and Sundays.

“To meet this position, the normal industrial week of 47 hours had to be reorganised so that the workers could spend the usual 47 hours at the workbenches from Monday to Friday inclusive.

“An acute shortage of diesel oil also added to the island’s difficulties, and it was found necessary to suspend almost entirely the island’s electrical services including household lighting and power circuits.

Another preliminary study by Leslie Cole for Victory Kitchen in Malta. Photo: Imperial War Museum, London

“Finally, there was an acute shortage of coal – a shortage which had such far-reaching effect that even the steam trawlers, purchased by the Admiralty at the beginning of the war and subsequently converted into mine sweepers, were restricted in the quantities they were permitted to use.

“No coal was available for domestic purposes. The wood from blitzed premises – doors, window frames and demolished furniture – was carefully collected and used for fuel for cooking purposes in the public kitchens and in the open ‘camp’ fires which were built up and used by almost every Maltese household.”

A British eyewitness recorded this heart-wrenching scene: “A bread seller who reached Valletta was ordered by a special constable not to sell bread except to his registered customers. He was besieged by screaming, shouting women and weeping children.”

Hunger had become so endemic that famished law-abiding men, women and even 10-year-old children risked prison and heavy fines to steal a bar of chocolate, or a bottle of milk, a tin of canned pears, a packet of butter, tins of beans and other minimal edibles.

Another preliminary study by Leslie Cole. Photo: Imperial War Museum, London

In hell, the starved Count Ugolino, asked by Dante how he had come to devour his children, replied: “More powerful than anguish there is famine.”

The first Victory Kitchen opened its doors in College Street, Rabat, on March 12, 1942. By May 15, already 23 other kitchens were serving the people, with 19 more in June. Each kitchen supplied around 200 people. To participate in the scheme, beneficiaries had to register and renounce half their rations. Persons from all callings, mostly females – housewives, young women, even nuns from various religious orders, manned the kitchens. The number of people fed by these emergency war providers proved impressive indeed: over 100,000 in October, and 175,136 by early January 1943.

They served one warm meal a day, at noon or at 5pm. “It was an amusing sight to see a long line of saucepans and pots outside the kitchen by nine in the morning. These pots formed the queue and no one disputed their position.”

Another Leslie Cole preliminary study for the painting Victory Kitchen in Malta. Photo: Imperial War Museum, London

The first time Perowne sent his maid with a large basin to collect the food, “she returned with three thin sausages and 15 peas for three persons. A half potato came twice a week.”

Even splintered wood after air raids had become so scarce that only Victory Kitchens could use it legally. A friend of Perowne purchased a precious rabbit for 17s. 6d., only to convince himself later that the shopkeeper had sold him his skinned cat.

Eyewitnesses’ accounts of the food served by the Kitchens generally prove entirely unimpressive. An August 10 letter in the Times of Malta complained that “the portions of three persons offered in one plate consisted of a piece of skin and a good layer of fat and a shadow of meat on top, six tablespoonfuls of sauce and five peas”. Others were equally scathing.

An amusing sight to see a long line of saucepans and pots outside the kitchen by nine in the morning. These pots formed the queue and no one disputed their position

Of course, the Black Market flourished: “I remember a woman who told me she had given a suite of furniture for some potatoes.”

Leslie Oliver observes: apart from small quantities of goats’ meat issued through the Victory Kitchens, “the Maltese had no legitimate supplies of meat for nearly a year, and it was only at risk of heavy fines and not inconsiderable terms of imprisonment that they were able to purchase limited quantities of pork and beef, at fabulous prices, from the Black Market”.

And under such conditions, the demand for poultry, rabbits, fish and even eggs resulted in the raising of prices to unprecedented levels. Chickens for example, were sold quite openly in the Valletta Market at £1.15s. to £2 each. Rabbits found ready purchasers at £1.6s. to £1.16s. and fish was obtainable in small quantities at rather more than 5s. a lb. Eggs reached the peak price of 3s.6d. each and later fell back to 1s.6d. each.

The authorities supplied the kitchens with what food they could lay hands on. They encouraged farmers to kill off their livestock because of the acute scarcity of fodder. This measure yielded over 10,000 sheep and goats from July to September 1942. Government, in July, offered to buy grain at reasonably generous prices, but farmers staged angry demonstrations as they could obtain even higher prices on the Black Market – they responded openly that they would rather fall under Fascist rule than give away their grain at controlled prices. The authorities had to resort to compulsory requisition.

Waiting at the Victory Kitchen; possibly the war icon Christina Ratcliffe.

As November approached, the colonial authorities started seriously factoring in the real fear of large-scale insurrections among the population. “If rioting does occur, it will not be like that of 1919 (the Sette Giugno) as there are now four or five thousand Maltese conscripted into the Army, and an equal number of volunteers, who have arms and ammunition in their own homes.”

Unrest “in almost every Victory Kitchen” had to be quelled when these served extremely bitter frozen liver, instead of the usual goat’s meat gruel. Those with paranoid tendencies believed it to be laced with poison. The more rational surmised the liver had been frozen or cooked before the gall had been removed. The demonstrators received a piece of corned beef as consolation prize and the governor apologised publicly, guaranteeing the liver, though unpleasant, to be “wholly fit for human consumption”.

A marked love-hate relationship characterised the inhabitants and Victory Kitchens. Some showed grudging gratefulness for small mercies, others damned the set-up under hails of scorn and suspicion – those who ran the kitchens misappropriated the scarce resources to favour themselves, their families and friends. In fact, suspicions proved not totally unfounded. The police actually arrested and jailed for  20 months some persons running the kitchens for having taken advantage of their privileged position.

A favourite jingle on everyone’s lips, with scores of improvised, mocking variants, was sung to the music of Ċetta tad-Dudu, another traditional tune.

The lyrics sometimes flirted with borderline vulgarity: Saqajhom ħoxnin / għax jieklu l-għaġin / tal-Victory Kitchen.  Xagħrhom bil-kolla / sidirhom jimmolla / tal-Victory Kitchen. Id waħda fil-borma / bl-oħra tħokk s*rm* / tal-Victory Kitchen. Klieb jinbħu fil-għodu / imsajra fil-brodu / tal-Victory Kitchen. Ittini tadama / intiha l-banana / tal-Victory Kitchen. Minestra u għaġin / fażola u sardin / tal-Victory Kitchen. Bil-borma nkallata / idduqli l-patata / tal-Victory Kitchen. Bl-imgħarfa f’idejhom / bil-Cutex f’difrejhom / tal-Victory Kitchen. And many, many others.

It is quite disappointing that Victory Kitchens, so central to the survival of the island during the second siege, and so visually picturesque, did not attract more interest from the artists who recorded graphic memories of the war.

A watercolour painting by Alfred Gerada depicting the Victory Kitchen in Malta. Photo: Albert Ganado courtesy of Midsea Books and Heritage Malta

Leslie Cole (1910-1976) stationed in Malta in 1943, among his other stunning Malta oil paintings illustrated in Caroline Miggiani’s invaluable book, had planned a large-scale Victory Kitchen composition, for which some preliminary studies of Maltese women queuing with their pots and containers survive.  Unfortunately, he never got round to putting the whole canvas together as other supervening commitments took precedence.

Jack Whitehouse, a gifted amateur quartermaster sergeant with the Ardwick Battalion, Manchester Regiment, left over 70 competent line drawings of Malta during WWII. Very little is known about him. None of his meticulous, engaging work has Victory Kitchen connections. He mainly recorded military life.

A cartoonist firmly embedded in the colonialist ethos, Alfred Gerada (1895 – 1968), also left some fresh, unsophisticated watercolours of the Victory Kitchens, published by Albert Ganado and now with Heritage Malta.

Acknowledgements

My thanks to Simon Ellul Sullivan, Heritage Malta, the Imperial War Museum, Midsea Books, Caroline Miggiani and Joseph Schirò for their help in illustrating this feature.