Illustration by The Art Of Xmun
One day- and rather by chance – I found out that my friend’s grandfather was a retired shoemaker. At first, I assumed he was someone who mended shoes, performing repairs on worn-out soles or stitching up broken straps. My friend quickly corrected me. Her grandfather was not just a skilled cobbler, even though he could also perform those tasks, but a master craftsman who made shoes from scratch. The idea fascinated me, particularly because I’m always eager to learn and document the artisanal process of shoemaking—a craft on the brink of disappearing—from every possible source I can find. My friend is an academic, an artisan, and a designer, and like me, she shares a deep respect for craftsmanship and academic research, both of us hoping that we do not just leave a legacy of products but also a myriad of qualitative data in relation to our specialization that might help preserve the Maltese cultural legacy. She soon extended an invitation to meet her grandfather, Karmenu—or as he’s fondly called himself, Nenu.
We met in his beautiful, charming home in Żebbuġ, a space filled with art, memories, and the unmistakable warmth of a life meaningfully lived. Prior to our encounter, I started to think that he probably might not remember much of the processes he followed, especially since my friend explained that her grandfather was over the age of 90. Yet there in his kitchen, filled with the scent of a delicious warm brewing pot of soup despite the hot August weather, and amidst his sketches, sketchbooks, and easel with a fresh new painting, I encountered one of the most lucid, inspirational, and humble gentlemen I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. He spoke so eloquently and passionately that I was left mesmerized and in awe of his detailed explanation. He remembered every technicality and word and relived every gesture—his hands mimicking the movements of shoemaking as if he were dancing through the motions of the trade, like a carefully choreographed ballet.
Sitting there, surrounded by Karmenu’s vivid stories, I felt transported back to a time when shoemaking was more than just a job — it was an art, where every thread and every stitch embodied a personal expression. Karmenu Chircop grew up in a world where shoes were not just accessories, but a reflection of the person who wore them, a product of the shoemaker’s dedication. His father, Leone – or as he was known at the time – “the bully” of shoemaking, was a legend in the industry. His expertise was in high demand and people from all over Malta travelled to Żebbuġ to commission shoes because they knew they would be perfectly tailored to their needs.
When Karmenu was just nine years old, he had already immersed himself in the craft. He watched his father at work and learned by observing the flow of his hands as they transformed leather into a beautiful finished product. This skill was passed down from generation to generation and taught not by word but by deed — a kind of apprenticeship rooted in family and tradition. Karmenu soon began making shoes himself, working alongside his siblings in their father’s busy workshop. The constant rhythm of cutting, sewing and shaping filled the air, each pair of shoes was a masterpiece made with precision and care.
Their workshop was not a factory where mass-produced goods were made, but a place where every shoe had a soul and was made by hand for the customer. Their work was in high demand, not only from private individuals but also from renowned Maltese companies such as Louis Camilleri, Tiger Brand, John Muscat and Pizzardi. These companies supplied the Chircops with ready-made uppers, which the “taljatur” (pattern maker) had already prepared. The Chircops completed the shoes by carefully fitting the soles and finishing the work with the craftsmanship that had become their trademark.
A proud moment in the Chircop family history came when a pair of sandals, crafted by Karmenu’s father for Louis Camilleri, was showcased in an exhibition in England. Although it bore Camilleri’s name, it was truly the hands of Karmenu’s father that had created the shoe. The sandals earned an award, a testament to the family’s incredible skill and a source of pride that extended far beyond the shores of Malta.
Shoemaking was not always glamorous. During the Second World War, it became an essential trade that was vital to Malta’s survival. When the island was under siege, local craftsmen like Karmenu and his father were indispensable. Shoes were not just a luxury, they were a necessity. They were used every day, repaired and sometimes made from scratch. Karmenu vividly remembered the endless work, even in wartime, going from Żebbuġ to Birkirkara or Valletta to either deliver shoes or collect scarce supplies. The Chircop workshop, like many others, became a lifeline for Maltese families. Despite the bombs and chaos, the workshop never closed and the rhythm of shoemaking continued.
Karmenu’s versatility as a shoemaker was remarkable. His talent was not limited to one particular type of shoe; his hands could make anything from sturdy Wellington boots for soldiers to elegant formal shoes for men and intricate bespoke shoes for women. He explained the making of shoes using the ‘maskaretta’, the front part of a shoe made from a contrasting brown and white leather. His eyes lit up as he described the shoes he made — he could still picture the smooth, shiny glacé leather or the crisp, two-tone patent leather shoes made for dancing in the dance halls of Sliema. These shoes were not just products, they were stories, tailored to the personalities of the people who wore them.
Special occasions called for special shoes, and weddings were no exception. Karmenu’s role as a “Skarpan” master ‘meant that he not only made shoes, but also created memories. He designed shoes to match the bride’s dress, paid attention to every little detail and made sure they were carefully wrapped in paper to protect them until the big day. He remembered making shoes from luxurious materials such as crocodile, lizard and snakeskin, as well as the elegant ‘Alakka’ patent leather ‘styles. Each pair was treated like a work of art, showcasing the craftsmanship that defined his profession.
“Agħmilli sixpence żoq żoi!”
Not all his orders were traditional. With a smile, Karmenu recalled how young people from Siġġiewi would come to him and ask for shoes with a distinct squeaking sound – “zoq zoi”, as they called it. These young customers wanted their shoes to make a noise when they walked, a quirky trend of the time, and Karmenu, ever adaptable, put this into practise by leaving certain parts of the leather unglued, creating the characteristic squeak with every step.
But despite its artistry, shoemaking was labour-intensive and time-consuming. It often took two or three days to complete a single pair. Karmenu received 12 shillings for each pair, while the shopkeeper could sell the shoes for six liri. Nevertheless, Karmenu was very proud of his craft. The process was meticulous — the designing, cutting, sewing and assembling, all done by hand. But as Karmenu feared, these skills were slowly disappearing like worn-out soles that could no longer be mended.
However, with the change in Malta, the demand for handmade shoes also changed. The emergence of imported mass-produced shoes in the second half of the 20th century led to a sharp decline in the local shoe industry. The cost and labour involved in making handmade shoes was no longer affordable for most consumers. Karmenu recalled that in the early 2000s there were only eight registered shoemakers left in Malta. Karmenu continued his work, focusing mainly on shoe repair, but in 2020, at the age of 90, he finally closed his business due to the effects of the pandemic, which was the final reason to retire and close the door to his workshop and store.
As he spoke, I couldn’t help but wish that I could absorb every bit of his wisdom and carry it forward into the future. This article offers only a glimpse into his world, but it is a world that I hope to continue to explore as I continue to document the art, history and artisanal techniques of shoemaking in Malta to ensure that this extraordinary craft is remembered for generations to come.
This post is sponsored by Touchwood Antiques
