1954 marked a turning point for shoemaking in Malta. It was the year when a legislation regulating and protecting apprenticeship schemes in the shoemaking trade was formally published and made accessible to the Maltese public. This legal framework established clear entry requirements: only those who had completed the fourth year of secondary school or a full year at a trade school were eligible to apprentice.
Under this scheme, employers were obliged to deliver a structured training programme, beginning with four weeks of general knowledge covering the overall production process across departments. After this initial period, apprentices were assigned to one of three specialised training pathways: Shoemaking Operative, Shoe Uppers Maker, or Shoemaker.
Shoemaking Operatives were taught to identify types of leather and fabric, and to cut uppers and linings using a clicker’s knife or clicking press in the clicking department. If they were assigned to the bottom stock and preparation section, they learned to cut soles and heels, round, mould, groove, and channel leather. Whilst in the making department, they learnt how to last uppers and attach soles and heels. In the finishing Department, they specialised in trimming, scouring, setting edges, and painting and polishing shoe bottoms.
Shoemaking operatives had to be extremely precise. For example, those tasked with stitching had to maintain consistent spacing, offsets, and stitch counts, often inspected at random against the shoe’s matching pair. These workers held specialised roles in the shoe factories that once populated Malta. In fact, in the 1980s and 90s, I remember visiting factory outlets to buy shoes that lasted through many occasions. One particular pair remains forever imprinted in my memory and, aesthetically was likely a strong influence on my own design choices. Just like the cowboy boots men wore back then, with denim jeans and white vest tops. I realise now that my aesthetic preferences in shoemaking were already taking shape.
The second type of training path was that of the Shoe Uppers Maker, who was expected to identify leathers and fabrics, cut uppers using a clicker’s knife, perform edge thinning, cementing, folding, and perforating, stitch uppers and linings, flatten seams, create eyelets and buttonholes, and attach buttons, all under strict safety procedures. This specialisation required not only technical precision but also artistic finesse and a feel for the material. If I had lived in 1954, during my grandparents’ time, this would have been my path. My own practice today aligns closely with this role: I specialise in making uppers, focusing on creative patternmaking rather than the distinct and specialised art of soling. In some literature I’ve recently come across, I find that the word Cordwainer aligns well with this description.
The third scheme of training was the Shoemaker, the most technically complete of the three, though arguably the least creatively expressive. Shoemakers were trained to identify and cut bottom leather, soles, and heels; prepare stock; make heels; perform lasting; attach soles; and carry out finishing tasks like trimming, edge setting, polishing, and safety maintenance.
All apprentices under this legislation lasted four years, unless the apprentice attended a Minister-approved trade school, even overseas, in which case the training could be reduced to one year or even six months. Apprentices could begin as young as twelve years old. This speaks to how deeply shoemaking was embedded in Malta’s vocational structure at the time, people were directed into the trade at an early age and often for life.
This segmented learning model explains why many of the Maltese shoemakers I’ve interviewed over the years told me they had mastered only one stage of the process. Most had gained their experience in factories, trained within just one department. I can imagine it must have felt like a safe bet at the time, these were stable jobs with ample demand, but who knew how short-lived that stability would be?
What I find most remarkable about the 1954 legislation is how thoroughly it outlined the three career paths. This was the first time I encountered an official Maltese document that described shoemaking in such detail. It reads with optimism, structured, hopeful, and forward-thinking in a post-war context when Malta was undergoing political transformation. It feels like a decision made with foresight, care, and belief in the value of skilled craft.
Fast forward to 2007, and apprentices in Malta’s shoemaking trade were earning between €24 and €43 per week over four years. This modest wage reflected the survival of formalised training, but also the trade’s slow economic decline. By then, the optimism of 1954 had dissolved. The real story behind the decline of Maltese shoemaking wasn’t government negligence or EU policy, it was something more complex, and in many ways, more personal. It was Us, the consumer and our demands.
I strongly believe that as Maltese consumers, we shifted our values. We wanted more. More choice, more trends, more affordability. We began to see ourselves as cosmopolitan, on par with our wealthier European neighbours. That desire wasn’t inherently wrong, our elders had lived through scarcity, and the sudden ability to access abundance was understandably appealing. I was in my early 20s at the time so I would have been supporting all these decisions which have led us to the now.
From my perspective, this was a cultural turning point, when we began to see ourselves as progressive and deserving of abundance, perhaps without fully weighing the cost. In that enthusiasm, we overlooked the slow death of our craft industries and of shoemaking.
Our demand for lower prices and variety pushed businesses to abandon local production and import cheaper shoes, especially from China and Vietnam. Even those manufacturers who once crafted shoes themselves in-house, became importers to survive as a business. By the time the EU introduced anti-dumping tariffs in 2006, to protect artisanal industries, it was already too late for Malta. There was nothing left to protect. The tariffs excluded children’s and sports shoes, making it clear the EU wasn’t trying to shield mass production but rather traditional artisan practices.
Every cheap pair sold replaced a skill, emptied a bench, and erased a tradition. What are we going to do? I confess I am far from an extremist in my values, but I believe the future of anything stable lies in conscious, ethical decisions, paired with strategic and value-driven business planning. This is what will protect what is Maltese and help us expand and elevate Malta’s cultural treasures.
“Culture is what makes us rich. That is our primary resource. Let’s protect it” BX
Sources: (Malta independent, 2009), (Farrugia, 2006) (Camilleri, 2009) (Government of Malta, 2007)
