Richard ‘Dickie’ Toledo, active during the 1945 plague epidemic. Photo courtesy of the National ArchivesRichard ‘Dickie’ Toledo, active during the 1945 plague epidemic. Photo courtesy of the National Archives

The scary outbreak of bubonic plague in Malta in June 1945 hardly hit the islands like the traditional bolt from the blue. After the devastating pestilence of 1813, which killed over 4,500 victims, Malta had remained relatively plague-free, except for small outbreaks in 1917 and 1936.

After the end of World War II, plague epidemics had been reported in North Africa, particularly in Egypt, Tunisia and Algiers. Malta traded extensively with these countries, so infested rats, carriers of the deadly germ, could easily chaperone merchandise loaded there and landed in Marsa or Pietà. Already in 1944, the official files record confidential apprehension of the threat.

Fleas that have ingested the blood of infected rodents and later bite humans carry and spread bubonic plague. Throughout history, plague epidemics have been responsible for some of the most catastrophic disasters for humanity, wiping out millions upon millions.

A medieval representation of two patients infected with the bubonic plague.A medieval representation of two patients infected with the bubonic plague.

Up to 1894, when Alexandre Yersin identified the causative germ, no effective defence protected humanity against the scourge. According to some historians, the Black Plague of 1347, the greatest pandemic in recorded history, reputedly killed up to 200 million victims. No wonder the very name inspired dread and uncontainable terror.

I am writing this in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic and the temptation to draw parallels with the last recorded epidemic proves irresistible. Going through some 36 plague-related files at the National Archives in Santu Spirtu, Rabat, some slim and some obese, I could not help being struck by what they deal with: a genuine, even compelling, concern by the authorities to contain the damage to the minimum, an equal concern by the greedy that the bothersome microbe was interfering with money-making, wealth before health, a touching belief in the wonders of science and a corresponding blindness to its unknowns.

Allegations of incompetence by the presumptuous, ignorant of the true facts; the notion that it is unobjectionable to profiteer from a national calamity; accusations of discrimination. Heard it before? Our forefathers had a foretaste of them all.

The majority of the Santu Spirtu files deal with pedestrian money matters – overtime, allowances, price of coffins, tenders for protective gear, compensation for articles destroyed for disinfection purposes. Admittedly, not the most exciting of records. But, then, there are also files with a human content, glimpses of life in St Luke’s, then the official isolation hospital, its workings, its problems, its policies.

HMS Gallant, whose wreck in Grand Harbour was infested with rats.HMS Gallant, whose wreck in Grand Harbour was infested with rats.

At the same time that the plague hit Malta, another less lethal but equally  contagious disease distressed the residents: scarlet fever. I was quarantined in St Luke’s for about four interminable weeks when I was nine years old. The nursing staff of the plague patients could not cross over to other wards. I recall being aware of the plague some corridors away and being spoilt and cuddled by the sisters and nurses because I was the ‘orphan’ of a political exile. The food, compared to mother’s Tuscan recipes, was anything but memorable, but the kindness was.

Throughout history, plague epidemics have been responsible for some the of the most catastrophic disasters for humanity, wiping out millions upon millions

Turning St Luke’s into an entirely fool-proof isolation hospital became one of the concerns of the chief government medical officer. All the correspondence in the files on behalf of the Medical and Health Department is signed by Josie Manché, who I remember well as the urbane and kindly rector of the university in my student days. Later in the year, Alexander Carmel Briffa took over. His is not a name familiar to me, though he ended his career as CGMO and also acted as provisional member of the Council of Government in the war years and after. I must admit I was impressed by how seriously they both took their responsibilities, by their honesty, their dedication and their zeal.

Manché insisted that a police constable be placed on guard round the clock at the entrance of St Luke’s to prevent unauthorised entries and exits. Shortly later, the authorities decided to make St Luke’s more impregnable still. They discussed whether to build a high wall around the whole perimeter of the hospital but then discarded the option as the work would take too long to complete. They opted instead in favour of surrounding the entire building with barbed wire. The military authorities were asked to assist and they complied, invoicing the civil government for the miles of razor wire and the labour of setting it up: the sum of six pounds.

The household rat, deadly carrier of the plague bacillus.The household rat, deadly carrier of the plague bacillus.

These measures were not considered sufficient. The authorities wanted a large supply of wire netting, which they proposed to acquire by requisition from local agents. The plan was aborted and, on September 5, the government repealed the requisition order and allowed importers to dispose of the netting.

The epidemic put a strain on the hospital’s ambulance service. It relied on six ancient vehicles, mostly unreliable and overworked. Four were Fiat models, the first dating from 1926. The fleet had been augmented by two Ford V8 ambulances in 1931. The department needed newer ambulances desperately. Richard ‘Dickie’ Toledo thought the civil government could ask to make use of mili­tary ambulances for the emergency but came up against a brick wall. The mili­tary ones were too large, they carried six patients and could not manoeuvre through narrow village streets. And, anyway, they too needed repair and maintenance work. The government reached for its wallet to buy four new ones.

Personally, I have lovely memories of Dickie Toledo. During the war, he lived exactly two doors away from us in St Augustine’s Avenue, Rabat. He had a good tenor opera voice which he flaunted in amateur recitals and, best of all, ran the only motor car in the whole street as his job entitled him to a small weekly petrol ration. Once in a rare while, he gave us children a delightful treat ­− a joy ride in his car. He specialised in the treatment of leprosy and,  for some time, worked in Ceylon. Some dark mystery surrounded the avenue. It was whispered that the Toledos (or neighbours?) were harbouring a fugitive (from conscription?) who only came out surreptitiously at night but no one snitched on him. Toledo died, I believe, in 1978.

A 1920s Fiat ambulance, like the ones used in Malta in the 1945 plague epidemic.A 1920s Fiat ambulance, like the ones used in Malta in the 1945 plague epidemic.

Manché insisted that the ambulance service should be on call 24/7. Two drivers had to spend the night at St Luke’s and alternate duties every week.

Many of the preventive measures taken seem reasonable enough, like banning rabbits and rodents from the annual Mnarja fair, the free distribution of AL63 Mark III powder to dust underwear and socks and of cresol to add to kerosene for washing floors, or the disinfestation of the wreck of HMS Gallant in Grand Harbour, then crawling with rats. But what about the ban by the Monte di Pietà against accepting any cloth or drapery pledges to guarantee the repayment of soft loans?

Josie Manché, rector of the university, conferring a doctorate honoris causa on Robert Menzies, Prime Minister of Australia, in June 1956. Photo courtesy of the National ArchivesJosie Manché, rector of the university, conferring a doctorate honoris causa on Robert Menzies, Prime Minister of Australia, in June 1956. Photo courtesy of the National Archives

Some files deal with complaints from the media – mostly anonymous. The Maltese won the George Cross for passive stoi­cism under enemy fire, not for standing up to voice dissent against the powerful. The Lieutenant-Governor opened a file about a feature published in The Torch on November 7, slamming the authorities for not issuing protective clothing to refuse collectors during the epidemic, putting their lives at risk. ‘Cadmus’ finished with a flourish: “This shortcoming is deplorable and the government is solely responsible for any consequences arising from it.” Annoyingly, another complaint from another loudmouth ignorant of the facts.

The government had actually issued scavengers with full protective clothing  but all the workmen had refused to wear it. A second try was made to make them wear rubber boots, dust their underwear and sleeves with insecticide and receive the anti-plague jab.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Anthony Mifsud and Leonard Callus whose help proved  invaluable.

Part two is to be published next week.

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