In pictures: Australian soldiers in Malta during WWI

# In pictures: Australian soldiers in Malta during WWI – a forgotten chapter of island hospitality

The black-and-white photographs look almost Mediterranean in their light: khaki-clad young men lounging on the bastions of Valletta, cricket bats resting against limestone walls, while the Grand Harbour glitters behind them. Yet these are not Maltese soldiers – they are Australian diggers, thousands of kilometres from home, who found themselves on our shores during the Great War in what remains one of Malta’s least-documented military chapters.

Between 1915 and 1918, an estimated 60,000 Australian troops passed through Malta, transforming the island into what locals nicknamed “the nurse of the Mediterranean.” While our history books celebrate the Knights and the George Cross generation, these grainy images tell a different story – one of Maltese families opening their homes, of wounded ANZACs recuperating in Floriana hospitals, and of unlikely friendships forged over rabbit stew and broken English.

The photographs, recently digitised by the Australian War Memorial and shared exclusively with Hot Malta, reveal scenes that feel both foreign and familiar. In one frame, Private Jack O’Sullivan from Sydney teaches local children to play two-up against the golden walls of St. James Cavalier. Another shows Maltese nurses in traditional għonnella headgear tending to a soldier with sunburnt arms, while the Mediterranean sparkles indifferently beyond the hospital balcony.

“These images capture Malta at its most generous,” explains Dr. Maria Camilleri, curator at the National War Museum. “We were a tiny colony, barely 200,000 people, yet we welcomed these boys as if they were our own sons. Maltese families would bring pastizzi to the hospitals, teach them Maltese swear words, even arrange Sunday dinners in village homes.”

The cultural exchange ran deeper than military necessity. Australian soldiers, many fresh from Gallipoli’s horrors, found solace in Malta’s slower rhythms. Diaries from the period describe midnight swims at St. George’s Bay, arguments over whose grandmother made better wine (Maltese or Italian-Australian), and the peculiar Maltese habit of adding ħobż biż-żejt to absolutely everything.

Local impact was profound. The influx of Australian currency – and Australian appetites – transformed village economies overnight. Floriana’s Victory Kitchen became legendary among ANZACs for its “proper cuppa,” while Sliema shopkeepers learned to stock Vegemite and tinned peaches. More enduringly, several Maltese women married Australian soldiers, creating tiny pockets of Maltese-Australian families that persist in Melbourne and Sydney today.

The photographs also reveal darker truths. One haunting image shows a makeshift cemetery in Pietà, where 284 Australian soldiers who didn’t survive their wounds lie beneath simple limestone crosses. Local children still leave flowers on ANZAC Day, maintaining a tradition their great-grandparents began during the war years.

Today, as Malta welcomes Australian tourists searching for family connections, these images serve as poignant reminders of deeper bonds. The restored Lazaretto Hospital in Manoel Island, where many recovered, now hosts an exhibition featuring these photographs alongside oral histories from Maltese families who remember “the Australians.”

“The war brought tragedy, but also transformation,” reflects 89-year-old Ġużeppina Borg from Sliema, whose mother served tea to recuperating soldiers. “Those boys taught us that Malta’s future would always be connected to lands beyond our shores. They left as soldiers but remained as memory.”

As sunset paints the Grand Harbour the same amber hue captured in century-old photographs, it’s worth remembering: every limestone wall in Valletta once echoed with Australian accents, every narrow street witnessed improbable friendships between sunburnt diggers and curious Maltese children. In our rush toward modernity, these images remind us that Malta’s greatest strength has always been its capacity to make strangers feel at home.