Huddled between a large showroom and a yacht services outlet, opposite the gardens of Ta’ Xbiex stands a tall narrow building, easily missed by the casual passerby, empty after forty years, marking the disappearance of another little England from our shores. Refuge to a long line of British visitors and residents, the Landfall Club will be sorely missed by its regular patrons, but perhaps even more by Eric Stuart and his wife Jane who have run it for 33 years, and their two children whose childhood was influenced by the many riveting stories they heard from daring servicemen, yachtsmen and adventurers who had travelled the world.
The front door opens onto a flight of stairs leading to a small landing with minute kitchen, where only traditional British fare is produced, and a small well lit bar and restaurant, tables covered in simple checked table cloths, a few faded pictures displayed along the wall, one of them a photo of the glorious roof top view of Marsamxett harbour. Up another flight of steps a much bigger terrace which served as a fine weather restaurant in the summer.
The owner of the Landfall Club, Eric Stuart is all of 80. A wiry man, he remains mentally alert with a sardonic wit. Descendent of a radical Jacobite – who was condemned to death by the British government, escaped to France and came back under an assumed name – Eric displays the family streak of non-conformity in his passionate and humorous asides about both Maltese and British politicians. Of one politician who shall remain nameless: “You can tell he’s lying when you see his lips move.” His wife and business partner, Jane, twenty years his junior, a trim sprightly sixty, dashes to and fro, single-handedly serving a cluster of elderly, all regulars, on the day I visit, only a few days before the Club is set to close.
How did ex-British serviceman Eric find himself in post war Malta? The answer is wry and succinct. “I got fed up with the English weather and my rusty barometer.” In post-war England, he left the army, trained as a caterer and managed restaurants and pubs for a couple of years. So when he came to Malta, he found a job with the Education Department in 1963, teaching catering at St Patrick’s College in Sliema and in Gozo at the Students college. For a year he managed Comino Hotel and then opened a disco with a British partner, first in Malta: Sacha’s in South Street and later Palm Beach, the first big open air disco in Malta. Eventually Sacha’s was moved to Paceville, changed hands and became B.J’s , which it remains till today.
In 1971 he opened Alcove bakery, the first bakery to produce brown bread in Malta. “I used to deliver bread at 4am, every morning to get there before the crowd emerged from the Church.”
In the meantime in 1967, Jane had been lured to Malta, the magical island she had heard so much about from her father, whose own father had been a pharmacist with the navy in Bighi. Soon after she met Eric and married him.
The Landfall Club was opened in 1964 by a certain John Hirst, as an adjunct to the yacht services. Eric took it over in 1971. He reminisces about the wide range of people who have passed through the Landfall Club and relates their adventures: warriors, scientists, authors, dancers, a lot of wonderful eccentrics. He recounts the tale of the heavily pregnant lady who had ridden on a donkey for six days, over mountains in Sri Lanka in a mad bid to reach hospital in time to give birth; the one man submarine commander who went to Norway and sank a big battle cruiser single handedly and managed to escape, or the SAS brigadier who first fought the Mao Mao in Kenya. They have particularly fond memories of one regular: Wings Day, the brains behind the daring escape from a German war camp, who was immortalized in the box office hit The Great Escape.
Although the Club was an English watering hole essentially, a smattering of quite distinguished Maltese did frequent it. One of these was the former Police Commissioner Vivien de Gray, a dour man who however became quite affable in the company of Eric and Jane’s children. Others were media veteran Charles Arrigo, retired Brigadier John Spiteri, the now deceased Judge Victor Sammut, and Moira Mintoff who became a good friend. “I was with her in hospital the day she died”, says Eric.
Most of the Landfall’s members are now quite elderly, a number of them widows, who, having married older men, outlived them. The Club must have provided a life-line for these people, not only enriching their social lives, and giving them an affordable meal at the restaurant, but even delivering it at home when they were ill. There was a time when there were queues of residents waiting to join the Club especially in the period when Malta provided a tax haven for overseas pensioners. Since this privilege was lifted, and since British pensions stopped keeping pace with the cost of living in Malta, the number of members has decreased but is still enough to fill the restaurant on a Sunday. Eric explains that the servicemen who left were replaced by visiting yachtsmen, Embassy employees – the French embassy and later Australian.
Eric and Jane think the label of ‘colonials’ doesn’t do justice to their British members. “They don’t identify with England. Many of them had spent years in India, or Sri Lanka, Hong Kong or Africa, and when they came to Malta they integrated quite well with the Maltese. They didn’t grumble about the heat. They had seen much worse in tropical climates. They have grown very attached to Malta and their families continue to visit.”
Eric reminisces about the brilliant dancers who also passed through the Landfall and I am reminded of an interview some years ago with Charlotte their daughter, who is standing by. Charlotte runs a tango club in Malta, which after a shaky beginning has become a very successful venture. A ballet dancer since she was three, and a professional landscape designer, she spent time in ‘seedy clubs’ in Brixton slaking her thirst for the sensual, suggestive, melancholic magic of the Argentine tango. After a stint in France, she finally settled in Malta where she feels she belongs. She has since married a Turkish tango dancer and they have a little son Victor Baran who restlessly climbs up and down the furniture, roams around the restaurant, and finally curls up to sleep. A propos of childbirth Charlotte enthuses about her own experience of childbirth and solidarity between mothers: “I recently trained in mother-to-mother support, especially during labour, breastfeeding and the months following childbirth. I was fortunate to have such empowering help when my son was born. It seems that our society lost this type of sisterhood and gave way to medicines and convenience.” Charlotte’s brother Ben is a yacht skipper, with a degree in water-based leisure management, and he is also a part-time actor, who has recently appeared in the BBC documentary Warbie.
After some persuasion Eric sits down at the piano and plays a tune for me. I learn that he has played semi professionally in the past with people like George Shearing. This enterprising dynamic man was also a champion fencer in England, did some motor racing, was a brilliant golf player, and once took part together with George Falzon in a European Amateur Golf Competition.
This was my first and last visit to the Landfall Club, but even I can feel a little of the regret the Stuart family and their devoted clientele must be feeling.