Id-Djarju tan-Nannu Ċikk u n-Nażisti jieħdu Malta 

by Toni Abela

published by Kite Group

Alternative or ‘what if’ history explores scenarios where key historical events occur differently, leading to varied outcomes. These imagined scenarios have inspired both historians and fiction writers.

In The Year of Rice and Salt, Kim Stanley Robinson imagines how world history might have been different if the Black Death plague of the mid-1300s had killed 99 per cent of Europe’s population instead of a third, as it did in reality. In Fatherland, Robert Harris weaves a story against a background where Hitler won World War II. It’s a very fertile exercise.

Recently, Kite Group published a small 115-page book in Maltese ably penned by Judge Toni Abela titled Id-Djarju Tan-Nannu Ċikk u n-Nażisti jieħdu Malta. Abela imagines what might have happened had the Nazis and Fascists occupied Malta.

This scenario is not far-fetched; there really was a very detailed invasion plan codenamed Operation Hercules. The concept of an invasion was approved at a meeting between Adolf Hitler and Benito Mussolini at the end of April 1942. A date near mid-July 1942 was set for the invasion but was postponed and ultimately cancelled in November 1942 due to various successes of the Axis operations.

Abela’s grandfather, a civil servant from Valletta, was killed by bombing during the war. The grandmother, Nanna Konsolata, raised a family with sweat and perseverance. When, after her death, the family dwelling was about to be sold by the heirs, the writer visited the house to see if anything worth keeping had remained. By chance, he stumbled upon his grandfather’s diary, which detailed his experiences during the Nazi occupation of Malta.

The narrative is unpretentious; it does not delve into macro politics but instead focuses on everyday occurrences and daily hardships, which lends it considerable credibility.

Yet, true to his nature, Abela does not miss an opportunity to inject some humour to lighten the dark side. Ċikku notes that Christmas Day arrived with a heavy heart. The crib did not lack the traditional vetch (ġulbiena); he added, however, that due to a lack of food, it would have been better if he had eaten it. The compulsory Nazi salute, Sieg Heil, quickly became ‘Maltesefied’ into ‘Iż-Żigg ħej’, with many hidden sneers.

Abela’s down-to-earth approach made me forget the fictional nature of the book. It seems authentic – similar to what one might have written about daily happenings during that period. The fear of being occupied is palpable. When that happened, the whole perspective changed.

The enemy was no longer at sea or in the air but mingled in the very streets. The vast majority could not voice their thoughts for fear of being dragged to the concentration camp at Ta’ Qali.

The stench in the shelter, the pervasive fear and the dreaded sight of dead bodies upon emerging from days of forced hiding underground serve as poignant reminders.

The Bibliotheca was destroyed; Governor Gort was arrested and his whereabouts became unknown; the commissioner of police was swiftly replaced by a Nazi sympathiser, Zanzu Debono. Rediffusion, renamed Folksempfänger, began broadcasting German music, shouts of Sieg Heil and addresses by General Joseph Kesserling promising that the Germans and Italians had occupied Malta to free the Maltese from British imperialism.

A puppet National Council was established, and portraits of Hitler became mandatory in every department and public place. Movement was strictly curtailed and Jews were forced to wear armbands marked with yellow stars.

The Maltese Catholic Church was warned not to speak ill of the Germans. To convey a different narrative, a photograph was published showing the archbishop shaking hands with the commandant.

That sudden ending shocks us and we breathe a heavy sigh of relief when we realise the horror from which Malta was spared

However, the Church soon raised its voice when a priest, Dun Alwiġ Caruana, was arrested and imprisoned for daring to publicly criticise the numerous unjustified arrests. Before long, hidden hands painted words on the walls in Strada Reale: “Hitler is a murderer; Mussolini is a comedian; Viva Dun Alwiġ.”

In order to instil fear, the Germans held regular parades. Ċikku notes in his diary, “I had then convinced myself that Hitler was unbeatable. With what could we resist them? With prickly pears?”

Meanwhile, Malta was being heavily bombed by the Americans. “At least they have not forgotten us,” quipped Ċikku.

In this fictional account, Piazza Regina was renamed Führerplatz, and Queen Victoria’s statue was quickly replaced by that of the Führer. Photo: Shutterstock.com

Food was scarce. One day, when Ċikku managed to meet some friends and stealthily eat rabbit and garlic, he confessed that before returning home, he carefully washed his mouth to avoid being caught by his wife. He once exchanged his treasured golden polka, which he had inherited from his father, for a few bars of chocolate to delight his children.

Piazza Regina was renamed Führerplatz, and naturally, Queen Victoria’s statue was quickly replaced by that of the Führer. Churches were closed and when the archbishop authorised the ringing of bells one day, he was strictly warned but quickly retorted that only the opening of churches was prohibited, not the ringing of church bells.

Our beloved St John’s church was in disarray. The Caravaggio painting Beheading of the Baptist and the Perellos Tapestries were transferred to Germany “for safekeeping”.

Almost all the Maltese judges resigned from office. At one point, Rommel visited Malta, though he was certainly not amused by the many writings on the walls proclaiming “Scheisse!”

I smiled when I read about an episode where some Maltese were playing football outside, against some Germans, close to the Auberge de Baviere. The Germans were aiming at the ball but the Maltese were aiming at the Germans’ feet.

Several innocent people lost their lives at the hands of a firing squad; one of them was Ċikku’s much-beloved nephew and godson. Abela artfully inserts a short poignant sentence in the midst of such profound sorrow. “Today is the first time I cried.” No wrenching of hands, no screaming… just tears!

Weddings were not the order of the day. Dresses were not easy to make, nor was food easy to cater. Ċikku recalls a neighbour’s wedding where the white dress was evidently made from parachute material.

Cholera struck and the Germans were terrified. Tragedy approached close to home when Ċikku’s young daughter unexpectedly died of typhoid. By a miracle, they managed to procure penicillin but it was too late. “Maria died, and part of me died with her,” Ċikku jots down, undoubtedly with flowing tears.

The winds of war changed and an offensive attack by the Allied Forces was widely rumoured to happen soon.

The diary ends abruptly. Ċikku died under heavy Allied bombing. That sudden ending shocks us and we breathe a heavy sigh of relief when we realise the horror from which Malta was spared.

This book is a gem.