Christopher Schembri is a paraffin hawker, not a “fuel distributor”
Nowadays, fuel distributors are big in the news, so suddenly everyone and everything remotely connected with any form of fuel is a “fuel distributor”.
That would make the man who, every November, drives a lorry-load of firewood to our house and stacks it neatly a “fuel distributor”. But he isn’t one, is he. ‘Fuel distributor’ implies something quite other than that.
Christopher Schembri, the 33-year-old man being held on remand after a shooting incident outside a lawyer’s office, is not a fuel distributor as widely and routinely reported in all the news media. He is a paraffin hawker.
His family, the Schembris of the Nappa Bar/Nazarene Street neighbourhood in Sliema (this is just up the street from Cara’s at the Fresco’s restaurant end of Tower Road – they are neighbours of Silvio Zammit tal-Mqaret, not that this is relevant), have been Sliema’s paraffin hawkers since before World War II. In the long decades when everyone used paraffin for heating if not for cooking, the Schembri brothers divided up Sliema’s territory between them.
When I was a child in the late 1960s and early 1970s, Christopher’s great-uncle – his paternal grandfather Tony’s brother, Giljan, famous for his film-star looks in his youth, apparently, and always known only by his Christian name – used to stop his lorry outside our house every afternoon and the entire street would emerge with jerry-cans. Giljan tal-pitrolju was as much part of the daily routine as Freddie tal-halib and his wife Annie, who also stopped their milk-float right outside our house, rattling with milk bottles. Stella Maris parish was Giljan’s sales territory; his brother Tony sold in San Girgor.
Giljan eventually died, fewer and fewer people bought paraffin, and the paraffin lorry began to come round less and less frequently, driven by Christopher’s father who had taken over his uncle Giljan’s territory (Giljan had just the one daughter). People began going straight to the Schembris’ garages to buy their paraffin: to Christopher’s father in St Helen Street and to his grandfather Tony in Nazarene Street, who until very recently continued to take up his position on a stool by his stationary lorry in his garage, waiting for customers.
Until a couple of years ago, I used to drive down from Bidnija to Tony Schembri once a week with a boot full of jerry-cans. He was one of the nicest, most polite, considerate and civilised people, and I would make that trip rather than buy from the brusque, uncouth and “Look here, I’m doing you a favour by selling you paraffin when and how I wish” couple closer to home. Then Tony was no longer able to work.
Christopher Schembri’s uncle (his father’s brother; Tony’s son), David Norbert Schembri, was imprisoned for life six years ago for stabbing his estranged girlfriend 47 times in front of their daughter, in a cocaine-fuelled frenzy after breaking down the door to her flat. The child was rescued by a neighbour. The woman died. David Norbert is only a few years older than Christopher, despite being his uncle – I suppose he would be about 40 now. They look very much alike – both blue-eyed blonds of heavy-set build, with similar faces.
When Christopher Schembri was arraigned in court a couple of days ago after that shooting incident, one of the charges was of relapsing. That’s correct, because several years ago when he was quite young he was involved in some cocaine-related trouble that wound up in court.
Christopher’s father has been seriously unwell for a while now, and Christopher has been operating the paraffin-sales business in Sliema in his stead.
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http://www.timesofmalta.com/articles/view/20150208/local/fuel-distributor-arraigned-over-iklin-shooting.555310
http://www.independent.com.mt/articles/2009-01-23/news/trial-by-jury-life-behind-bars-for-cruel-murder-219247/
Good morning, Daphne. Not relevant to this story but have you ever considered writing a book with your memoirs as a girl growing up in Sliema? I’m sure a modern “Fuq il-Ghajn ta’ San Bastjan” would make interesting reading.
One slight correction Giljan did have a daughter in his old age.
She’d be around 36 today.
[Daphne – Yes, I remembered that and amended it.]
GIljan was a lovely character. One day he stopped for a short chat. I happened to be in the garage beneath our house in Qui Si Sana, fiddling with my Vespa.
He was proudly showing off his black Mercedes – all glittering. I was quick to comment, ‘Hekk ahjar, Giljan’ – to which he immediately replied, ‘Inhossni hafna ahjar fuq it-truck’.
“Until a couple of years ago, I used to drive down from Bidnija to Tony Schembri once a week with a boot full of jerry-cans. He was one of the nicest, most polite, considerate and civilised people.”
I agree with you completely about that. Tony Schembri was always extremely nice, polite and considerate, to the point of almost making me feel uncomfortable with his lovely manners, whenever I passed by Nazarene Street to buy paraffin.
Despite already being in his seventies, he spent most of the cold winter months waiting on a stool or in the paraffin truck in his garage, ironically wearing only sandals on his feet, while clients would stop by to purchase paraffin to warm up their homes. Life is cruel at times.
Tony’s daughter-in-law (Christopher’s mother) is also to be admired for holding the fort through the many troubles life has thrown at them. While holding it all together, she still manages to keep a smile on her face, and also has a kind word for everyone who stops by their home in St Helen Street to buy paraffin, in pretty much the same way her father-in-law used to.
Thank you for this fascinating piece, Daphne.
It’s always fun to read about times and practices which are quickly fading away.
Malta has changed so much that many young people wouldn’t recognise it if they went back in time to just before they were born.
I don’t know how old Matthew Xuereb is, but his mistake might be due to his age. Young people today can barely imagine a world populated with paraffin hawkers, milkmen, candle-makers, cobblers, tobacconists, lumberjacks, shopkeepers and the like.
[Daphne – I don’t think Matthew Xuereb made a mistake. That is how Christopher Schembri’s trade was given officially. It is just a coincidence that I happen to know who the Schembris are because we’ve bought paraffin from them for around four generations (my mother grew up in Old College Street, just a corner away).]
Everybody is a businessman, distributor, assistant, salesman, consultant or what have you. Humble titles for humble jobs are a thing of the past. Shops which sell just one type of product are fast disappearing and everything is done electronically.
Most of it is for the better, of course, but fancy titles have also contributed to people having more inflated egos.
I hardly think that the Schembri themselves have inflated egos – quite the opposite, in fact.
As far as I know the Nappa Bar you mention does not belong to the Schembris, but to someone Paul Cardona and run by his brother-in-law Vince.
They are definitely not involved in this pantomime.
[Daphne – I never said it belongs to the Schembris, because I know it does not. Please reread what I wrote.]
I remember the Sliema milk float lady pulling the rattling crates as Marija tal-halib.
[Daphne – Freddy and Annie.]
Yes, Freddie and Annie. They were from Msida. I remember Freddie always having a pen behind one ear. You hardly see that sort of thing anymore.
Daphne, you have an extraordinary memory and reminded me so much of the days when I lived in Graham Street.
I remember Giljan tal-pitrolju and my father having to pay for the paraffin that I let out when I opened the tap of his tank and it flowed down Graham Street.
I agree with Giljaniz that you should write a book about your memoirs of growing up in Sliema.
That would have to include queuing up for NAAFI bread at Muse’ in Amery Street during the 1970’s bakers’ strike, or going to buy the ‘ration’ from the same grocer.
And then there was Kalanc tal-karawet who used to sell peanuts out of a large basket on the Front, and the man who sold ice-cream out of a cooler box at Ferro Bay, and whose chant was “Choke ice-cream! Cornet ice-cream!”
As young devils we used to love to tease Kalanc by asking the embarrassing question ‘Kalanc biex tajtha …bil-ganc?’
He used to get infuriated and step forward swinging one of his two baskets in the hope of hitting one of us.
We loved Kalanc, and we only did it all for a laugh. After his temperature came down we would go and buy ‘sold karawett u sitta cicri’.
Yes, Tony Schembri is a very nice man indeed.
By the way, once you mentioned Silvio Zammit, the wannabe San Girgor sacristan, remember when he bought about Lm18,000 worth of paraffin for the Tal-Qroqq swimming pool where he had some position? Neighbours, eh!
Wow…is it an implicit assumption of mine that his uncle sort of led him into this mess?
Remember Nenu tal-hobz?
[Daphne – Yes, but here’s the thing. For some reason our household was never big on bread. It wasn’t a ‘bread with meals’ operation or anything like that, so buying the bread wasn’t an issue. Buying the milk was.]