Malta Pulls Plug on Gas Delivery Subsidy Early, Ending 70-Year Village Ritual

Gas cylinders clanged one last time on Friday as Malta’s €2.3 million annual state subsidy for door-to-door LPG delivery was axed five years early, ending a 70-year ritual that turned kerbside “buttuna” drops into a national soundtrack. From today, households must fetch their own 12 kg cylinders from authorised points or pay the full €26.50 market rate—almost double the subsidised €14—prompting fears that the “guy with the red truck” will vanish as fast as pastizzi at 7 a.m.

The surprise decree, buried on page 12 of last week’s budget implementation bill, blindsided the three family-run distributors who still weave through 32,000 narrow village streets each month. “We were told the scheme would taper off in 2028,” fumes Joe Saliba, 58, whose father bought the first Bedford lorry to climb Mdina hill in 1956. “Now my drivers are being asked to work for half pay or be laid off before Christmas.”

Energy Minister Miriam Dalli insists the cut is “a necessary nudge towards cleaner heating” and claims EU state-aid rules leave “no wriggle room”. Brussels, however, confirmed to HOT MALTA that Malta requested the early termination in September, well ahead of any deadline. Critics smell politics: with an EU excessive-deficit procedure looming, every unspent million counts. “They’ve literally taken the heat out of our kitchens to balance the books,” quips PN energy spokesperson Ryan Callus.

Beyond the spreadsheets lies a cultural void. For generations, the squeak of the cylinder trolley has been the metronome of Maltese afternoons—signalling siesta’s end louder than any church bell. Grandmothers time their kawlata around it; kids chase trucks like ice-cream vans abroad. “My nanna swaps her homemade ġbejniet for an extra foot of rubber tubing,” says Sliema resident Rebecca Pace, 29. “Try doing that at a self-service vending machine in Birkirkara.”

Those machines—sleek, 24-hour lockers installed by Liquigas at six supermarkets—are being touted as the future. Users scan a QR code, deposit an empty and collect a full cylinder in 45 seconds. The company promises 40 more units by Easter, but rural Malta is already sceptical. “Great if you drive and live near Lidl,” notes Għarb mayor David Apap. “What about 82-year-old Ċensa who climbs 46 steps in a 300-year-old house?” In Żabbar, parish volunteers have launched a rota of “gas angels”—youngsters on €5 stipends who ferry cylinders to the elderly, but demand outstrips helpers 10 to one.

Environmentalists applaud the subsidy’s demise. “LPG is propane—basically bottled climate change,” says Suzanne Maas of Friends of the Earth. The group wants vouchers redirected to rooftop solar water heaters, which already grace 60 % of Maltese homes. Yet the timing stings: electricity tariffs rose 15 % in October, and a cold, wet winter is forecast. “People will burn wood pallets or even old furniture,” warns Alfred Baldacchino, who runs a Qormi hardware store. “We’ve already sold out of €15 fan heaters.”

Small businesses feel the ripple, too. In Marsa, the last metal-cage workshop that refurbishes cylinder trolleys has halved its workforce. “No deliveries, no broken wheels,” sighs owner Marco Zammit, sparks flying as he welds what might be his final axle. Meanwhile, black-market WhatsApp groups—“Gas 4 U Fast”–are proliferating, offering midnight drop-offs at €40 a pop. The Regulator for Energy has opened three investigations, but admits enforcement is “tricky when the commodity is literally exploding in demand”.

As dusk falls on Triq il-Kbira, Attard, pensioner Frans Xerri, 88, shuffles to his doorway clutching a faded 1998 calendar signed by the then-gas man. “He drew a smiley face because my first grand-daughter was born,” he reminisces. Tonight his spare cylinder is half-full, perhaps enough for December. Beyond that, he doesn’t know. “Maybe I’ll ask the priest to add ‘steady hands’ to the rosary,” he half-jokes, eyes glistening. The red truck turns the corner one last time, its familiar chime replaced by the sterile beep of a reversing delivery van. Somewhere between Brussels budgets and green transitions, Malta has lost more than a subsidy—it has severed a copper-bright thread in the island’s social fabric, and no QR code can scan that void.