The study of the history of photography in Malta has, in the past few years, made gigantic strides. We now know a lot about the pioneers, the glam camera artists, the dominant studios, their product. But we have bypassed those more lowly in the pecking order – the itinerant photographer who daily set up his bulky camera in well-frequented public spaces, waiting for passing trade. They didn’t advertise, they did not sign or stamp their handiwork. It was cash and carry business. I believe the first to find them worthy of some mention was Kevin Casha in his milestone Photography in Malta.

Original pre-war street camera mostly used in the Upper Barrakka, Valletta. Photo: Courtesy of Peter Bartolo Parnis

They may have first appeared on the scene in World War I; not that I have documentary evidence to support this. But some surviving photos of servicemen during that war rather suggest it. They look like they were taken in open-air natural light, against a very obviously makeshift backdrop that no professional studio would have used. The thousands of French sailors based in Malta throughout the first part of the hostilities prove to have been heavy consumers of their services.

Some files at the National Archives come to the rescue, and we have to thank the intricacies of bureaucracy for throwing a glimmer of light on those practising the trade of itinerant photographer just before WWII.

On September 12, 1939, days after war had broken out with Germany, while Italy was still sitting on the fence, three street photographers jointly petitioned the governor with a sad story. They informed Sir Charles Bonham-Carter that “for years they had been earning their living by trading as ambulant photographers in the public streets of Malta”. Their main business targeted photos for passports, workmen compensation books, certificates of conduct, military passes and driving licences. They added, wistfully, that they only charged three pence per copy – I believe roughly one euro cent!

Street photographer at Upper Barrakka. Photo: Courtesy of Kevin Casha picture archive/Dr Loius Camilleri Preziosi

Then disaster struck. The police had rounded them up and informed them their licences had been cancelled. They respectfully begged the governor to reinstate their licences “under all those conditions the police may impose”.

The three photographers were Joseph Simler of 46, Qrejten Street, Msida, Espedito Attard of 200, Sliema Wharf, Gżira, and Stephen Kapadakis of 25, Strada Conservatorio, Floriana.

The following day, two other photographers “in possession of a police permit to take instantaneous photos on the public streets” joined the first three in begging the governor. These were Joseph Borg of 116, Strada Reale, Valletta, and Joseph Caruana, of 177, Strada Reale, Valletta. Five in all.

The internal exchanges in the lieutenant-governor’s file add some interesting insights. The revocation of the licence had become necessary by operation of Article 15 of the new Malta Defence Regulations, which laid down that no person “shall have a camera with him in any place in Malta to which the public have access” without written permission from the governor or other competent authority. There would be no objection for the applicants to take “develop-while-you-wait” photos in places and during hours specified by the police. The second condition obliged the applicants “to hand over their cameras to the police after the day’s work is over”.

The file only reveals one of the places where the street photographers could set up their camera – “behind the 1565 monument in front of the law courts”. But we know that the four others were the three popular gardens: the Upper Barrakka, il-Biskuttin near the Christ the King monument and the Argotti Gardens, both in Floriana, together with a fifth one near the Customs House on the waterfront of Grand Harbour.

They didn’t advertise, they did not sign or stamp their handiwork. It was cash and carry business

The government took its time, while the file hopped around the various departments and authorities. The police finally issued the five permits on October 11, a month later. They broke the good news to the – no doubt relieved – photographers in person the same day.

Positive print of street photograph. Photo: Courtesy of Kevin Casha picture archive/Josette Caruana

A legal procurator, Albert Bonello, drew up and signed the two petitions. Though much older than me, I remember him well. Tall, pleasant, handsome, with abundant white hair, the precursor of the numerous Bonello Ghio clan, he had a large part of the St Elmo end of lower Republic Street under his spell. Is-sur Bert represented one of the more suave fixtures of the inferior courts.

Time for a brief incursion into the old occupation of legal procurators, often unsung contributors to the justice system. Today the scene has changed, and drastically – all perfectly standard professionals. Not so in my time. Many of them stood out as highly colourful, idiosyncratic characters you couldn’t overlook if you tried hard, with not one woman among them. Some became giants in their fields – impossible to beat Robbie Dingli in the rent laws, or Ġuże Pace Bonello in legal procedure. Most of them had homely, harmless Maltese names, like Manwel Quattromani, Ġuże Mangion, Daddu Frendo, Bertu Bunell, Ġuże Navarro, Turu Agius, Ġuże Borg Pantalleresco, Pawlu Izzo Clarke, Ġuże Galdes and Bertu Mizzi, a crafty criminal defender. All now morph into faded nostalgia.

Negative print of same street photo. Photo: Courtesy of Kevin Casha picture archive/Josette Caruana

Others, but few, preferred English names, like Hamilton Navarro, often humming audibly Italian opera, Joe M. Galea l-Maġġur, Robbie Dingli, Joseph D’Amato, Joe ‘Micky’ Micallef, who enjoyed throwing at you volleys of Trilussa poems he knew by heart in broad Roman dialect, Edwin Engerer and Charlie Vassallo. Two of their close relatives had faced the death penalty when accused of treason just after the war, but the jury acquitted them. Whether they preferred English or Maltese first names, we never ran out of anecdotes, picaresque, picturesque or just plain bawdy, about many of them.

The little we know about some of these five late 1930s photographers is mostly due to the inquisitiveness and perseverance of Kevin Casha. Giuseppe Caruana (1928-2010), called Ġużi tal-itratti, himself the son of an itinerant photographer, went on using the camera hand-built by his father. He was in partnership with another street photographer, only remembered as Neriku. A young daughter, Josette, helped by washing the prints in a pail of water and by playing the cashier to the customers. A capable draughts player, he challenged passers-by to games to while away the time when business slackened.

Street photography. Photo: Courtesy Of Kevin Casha picture archive/Patricia Borg Carbott

Of Joseph Simler, we know nothing so far. At the turn of the century, a John Simler ran a photographic studio from 84, Prince of Wales Road, Sliema, called The Economical. Similarly, no record survives of Joseph Borg, whose signature on a later petition seems identical to that of Joseph Caruana, or of Espedito Attard from Gżira, or of Stephen Kapadakis, obviously of Greek descent.

All these street photographers used old rectangular wooden cameras on tripods – sturdy, heavy and basic. They usually home-built the camera box and acquired a lens and a shutter from abroad. Cameras had not changed much since Fox Talbot first used something similar in 1840, and seem to have been kept alive till the 60s or later, when the last itinerant finally called it a day.

The dark belly of the large camera served also as a portable lab, where the negative and the positive images were developed and fixed. Only the limited rinsing could be carried out in a pail of water outside the lightproof optical box. The cameraman first shot the subject on sensitised paper – not on glass or transparent celluloid film – and developed it, producing a negative image. Then he photographed the negative, this second time round obtaining a positive print. The whole process is said to have taken about 10 minutes.

The ban on street photography came as a natural result of British security precautions in wartime. The Defence Regulations made it a serious criminal offence to photograph anything related to the war effort without previous official permission. This resulted in some very obvious discrepancies between the Allies in WWI, as the French naval officers in Malta seem to have been far less paranoid than their British partners. Both massive fleets were based in Malta. But while it is almost impossible to find a photo of a British warship in Maltese harbours taken during the war – because of the stringent censorship – photos of French warships in Malta prove relatively far easier to come across.

An early Malta street photograph dated 1919. Photo: Giovanni Bonello collection

Hardly six months elapse from the first petitions than four of the five original street photographers have to resort to the governor again. Espedito Attard, for some unknown reason, this time fails to team up with the other four. The others do not, for this petition, employ the services of a legal procurator. Stephen Kapadakis drafts and types it. They lament to the governor that their living depends entirely on their work and that they only use photographic postcard paper manufactured in Belgium by the firm ‘Gevaert’, imported by Messrs Attard & Co of Strada Vescovo, Valletta. And the government has not renewed Attard’s import licence! They petitioned for a reconsideration of this drastic decision.

This time round, the internal government file shows little sympathy for the photographers. Indeed, they are almost treated with cynicism. “We are not allowing imports of unessential goods from countries with a different exchange, of which Belgium is one. Photographic materials are available (probably at a much higher price) in England.” It would be unwise to make an exception for the street photographers and refuse importation to others. One of the paper shufflers asks to commissioner of police: “I take it that these street photographers find it difficult to make a living?”. The commissioner replies with a monosyllable: “Yes”. The import permit is refused anyway.

This was, however, consistent with a previous refusal of a request for exemption from import duty on blank ‘postcard’ photographic paper made by Alfred Vella Gera shortly earlier. Vella Gera, a bank manager with a passion for photography and a prolific, highly competent postcard publisher under the trade name Vela, imported in bulk from England this sensitised paper through A.C. Aquilina & Co. He found it difficult, he confessed, to compete with imported postcards, mass produced abroad, and he expected the government to encourage local industries by exempting him from import duty. The file minuted tersely “It is not possible to differentiate” between importers.

In 1944, after the war, Borg and Caruana, now from 122, Kingsway, Valletta, again petitioned the governor: “It has become very hard for us to make a living for our families”. The police had refused them a permit to work in Old Treasury Square. They asked the governor to overrule this ban or to allow them to set up their camera in front of the law courts.

The police commissioner noted that “I consider it most undesirable that these street photographers should be allowed to practise their trade within the walls of the city of Valletta, wherefrom all street vendors are gradually being eliminated”. He added that some years previously, itinerants had asked to be allowed to work at the Upper Barrakka, the Floriana Biskuttin and San Anton. After a while, they were thrown out of San Anton too. The governor denied the photographers’ request.

A selection of pre- and post-war street photographs, including one taken in Howard Gardens, Rabat. All from the Giovanni Bonello collection

A selection of pre- and post-war street photographs, including one taken in Howard Gardens, Rabat. All from the Giovanni Bonello collection

A selection of pre- and post-war street photographs, including one taken in Howard Gardens, Rabat. All from the Giovanni Bonello collection

A selection of pre- and post-war street photographs, including one taken in Howard Gardens, Rabat. All from the Giovanni Bonello collection

A selection of pre- and post-war street photographs, including one taken in Howard Gardens, Rabat. All from the Giovanni Bonello collection

A selection of pre- and post-war street photographs, including one taken in Howard Gardens, Rabat. All from the Giovanni Bonello collection

A selection of pre- and post-war street photographs, including one taken in Howard Gardens, Rabat. All from the Giovanni Bonello collection

A selection of pre- and post-war street photographs, including one taken in Howard Gardens, Rabat. All from the Giovanni Bonello collection

A selection of pre- and post-war street photographs, including one taken in Howard Gardens, Rabat. All from the Giovanni Bonello collection

Acknowledgements

My gratitude for assistance received from Louis Agius, Leonard Callus, Kevin Casha, George Cini and Anthony Mifsud. It made all the difference.