Alice McHardy: Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6 : MALTA 1942
(Transcribed from the diary of Alice McHardy QAIMNS(R)
About the middle of December 1941 the air raids began to increase. We soon realised that the Germans had returned to Sicily and that Kesselring was in charge. Morning after morning as we sisters were going on duty at eight the air raid siren would start up, and in no time at all the sky would be full of Messerschmitts and bombers making for the air strips and harbour. After they had dropped their loads there would be a short lull and then another group of planes would arrive. After a respite of an hour or two they were back again. This went on all day and night for weeks on end. By the end of January we had got so used to this way of life that if a lull was longer than expected the question we would be asking ourselves was "Are they going to invade?”, which was followed by a feeling of relief at the sound of the siren and the on coming planes, thinking its just another raid.
Takali aerodrome was now getting its share of the bombs. The barrack blocks on the hill above was no place to be in while a raid was in progress, even at the best of times it was not an ideal place to house sick men. The blasts from exploding bombs blew out nearly every window and their wooden frames were torn to shreds. The first time this occurred we were taken by surprise, and several patients and staff had to have pieces of glass removed from various parts of their anatomy.
After this, at the first wail of the siren those patients who could were out of the ward in no time, making their way to the slit trenches, tin hats being put on at the same time. The few that remained on the wards were quickly covered with a spare mattress and I, the brave sister, would be crouching down in a tiny cubby hole trembling with fear.
When Private Pecorella was on duty, minutes before the siren started its wailing, he would come to me, saying, “Sister I am the ambassador for my friends, (his friends being some of the patients). May we go to the trenches?". The first time he said this to me I must have looked surprised, because he quickly added that he had heard the Germans leaving Sicily, and that they were on their way. He was quite correct, minutes after he and his friends had left the ward, the siren started its wailing and the planes were soon overhead. Private Pecorella was an honest nice person, I am certain that he was telling the truth, but it does seem incredible that anyone could hear plans revving up more than sixty miles away, nevertheless, he was always ahead of the siren and never made a mistake.
In December we had heard about the Japanese surprise attack on Pearl Harbour and realised that the war was now world wide. I was upset when hearing of the bombing of Singapore. In spite of everything, Sister Carrol thought that we ought to try and have a party just before Christmas. She had managed to get some tomatoes and a few eggs from goodness knows where, and asked some of us if we would be willing to let her have our biscuits. (We were given one army biscuit with a cup of tea each afternoon) she would saw them in quarters and spread a mixture of egg and tomato on them. We agreed, so that was settled. The next question was just what were we going to have to drink. Although by this time Malta was known as the "Gin sodden bathbrick among the troops, we found it impossible to get anything at all. We very reluctantly decided to give up our afternoon cup of tea, and spare a little of our meagre sugar ration in order to have something for the doctors it had been suggested we should invite. There was an ancient gramophone and a few records belonging to the mess, but as it was cold, a fire was needed. I was given the task of hunting around the countryside for old bits of prickly pear and such like material that we hoped would at least smoulder.
Off I went on my bicycle down the hill and over the far end of Takali where I remembered seeing these plants growing. They were few and far between and it took me some time to gather enough leaves to make even the smallest of fires. There was a slight rise in the ground that hid Takali air strip from my view, behind me was a bare dry rough field. As I was deciding that I had better find somewhere else to hunt for something that might burn I heard the unmistakable sound of a Messerschmitt almost overhead. I was bent down at the side of a bush and remained crouched down under its very scanty cover. The plane was quite low and coming towards me at a terrific speed. Then to my horror there was the sound of machine gun fire. I was terrified, but remained quite still, hoping that I had not been seen. In a matter of seconds the plane had gone, and I got up and started to run, knowing full well that the Germans were on their way to bomb Takali.
Instinctively I was making for the road leading to the hospital which was a fair distance away across the bare field when I heard someone calling. “Come over here Sister, you’ll be safe with us”. I stopped and turned round to see a Tommy scrambling out of what turned out to be a hole in the ground which housed a gun. It was at the far end of the field, and in no time at all I was being heaved over sandbags and found myself, still quivering with fear, pressing myself against the side of the pit, watching the gunners firing off the red round balls of fire into the air, aiming at a lot of planes passing over the part of the field I had just left.
They were dive bombers making for the air strip. In spite of my fear I watched those men, each one knew exactly what to do, the gun was fed and fired off without a moment lost, the only words that were spoken was when one of them turned his head in my direction saying with a laugh and a wink "Its great here". They were north country boys, I think from Manchester. I have never forgotten them, I thank them every time I think of that day. Those planes would have been over me long before I had managed to find somewhere to hide. If one of those Germans had not shot me down I would, I am sure, have died from fright.
I did not enjoy myself that evening, not through any fault of Sister Carroll, I was unable to forget my experience. The dried leaves I had collected soon smouldered away and were not worth the effort I had put into getting them. In any case there was an air raid warning later on that evening, which put an end to the party. Christmas and New Year were much the same as any other day. There was no mail, no parcels, no parties; after our Christmas dinner of the usual very small portion of stew, Sister Samuels had managed to give us a morsel of pudding which she had carefully kept from the year before. Try to arrange a dance, but Kesselring put a stop to that he did
Early in the New Year I was on night duty. There were two of us to cover the barrack blocks. Sister Rayburn was in charge of one half of the wards and I of the other. We were given a pass word which was different each night and instructed to meet at a certain place about midnight. There was a Maltese sentry on duty. He was stationed under an archway near the spot where we usually met. It was our only means of communication with each other. We could not use the phone, although we could get incoming calls from Matron or the Colonel, and these were so rare that I almost forgot that such an instrument was on my ward. In any case there was no dial on the instrument. I was never told why there was a sentry on duty, but, of course, could easily guess that an invasion was expected.
One night, during a heavier raid than usual I realised a bomb had fallen and exploded at the far end of the barracks. This happened about midnight, I had just finished my two hourly round and was waiting at the rendezvous when the bomb went off. I waited for a while and as there was no sign of Sadie Rayburn, I decided to break the rules and go in search of her. To get to the other side of the barracks I had to pass the sentry. This was not easy, but eventually I persuaded him to let me pass.
Sister Rayburn was busy helping the orderly to clear up the debris in the end block that had been damaged by the bomb. The patients from the ward had all gone to the trenches and were unhurt, the orderly who had been in the building at the time of the blast had managed to duck under the ward table and although rather shaken was also unhurt. Sadie was pleased to see me, she had forgotten the password, all she could remember was that we had been given one of 57 Heinz varieties, but had no idea which one.
I told her that I had not found it easy to persuade the sentry to let me come over. She laughed and said, "you don't look like a German paratrooper to me”. As the raid was still in progress I had to get back to my side of the barracks. I wondered what I should have done if I had found Sister Rayburn and others buried under rubble.
The sergeant major lived in a room adjoining the block that housed the stores would be the one to call, but what if that was the building bombed? I settled this problem in my mind, by thinking the only way was to deal with things as they came. Much later that block did get a direct hit, the Sergeant Major complete with the bed he was lying on were blown right out of the building. The 'Maltese stone stood up to bomb damage and blast much better than ordinary bricks.
For the next three months air raids during the night were frequent, but during the day they were continuous. There was no need of a Private Pecorella to warn us of them, we even got to the stage of taking no heed whatsoever of the sirens, and just carried on as best we could during the lulls between raids. During the day it was almost impossible to get to sleep. I felt safe enough in the cement annex where I was housed, and managed to rest by covering my head with a pillow. Early one morning during a heavy raid the phone rang. I crept out of my cubbyhole to answer it. The Colonel wanted to know how things were. Looking out at the open space in front of me, where once there had been a window I could see a land mine floating down some distance away. I told him of this and continued to tell of one patient who had been blown out of his bed onto the bed next to him and seemed none the worse for his flight through the air. I found I was talking to myself, he had rung off, probably after hearing about the land mine.
That morning as I was going off duty, I could see the mine now covered by its beautiful green parachute, a corporal came enquiring about the time the thing had landed. I ended my reply by begging him to let me have its nice green cover for a souvenir. His reply was unrepeatable.
February and March came and went, the Germans kept up their continuous raids, they were doing just what they liked, the gunners were short of ammunition, food was even more strictly rationed, paraffin, our means of cooking and light, was more precious than gold. We were allowed one bath of not more than six inches of water once a month, a much looked forward to luxury, never enjoyed as it was certain to be disturbed by planes overhead, which meant getting some clothes on, not wishing to be caught in the nude.
There was enough water but no fuel to pump it up to us. What I hated more than anything was that after using the lavatory not being allowed to pull the chain, except once at night. There were rumours in plenty. Stories of expected convoys that never arrived, of the longing wish that Spitfires were on their way. The news that upset me most was that Singapore had been invaded by the Japanese. In March the Breconshire managed to reach Valetta, but was sunk in the harbour [26th March 1942], some of her cargo of oil was saved which was as some one said at the time “like a drop in the ocean". Much much more was needed.
It was a common practice of the Messerschmitts when leaving the aerodrome to fly between the barrack buildings. If we happened to be foolhardy enough we were able to see the pilots quite easily, one horrid man sprayed F block with machine-gun bullets, some passing through the open spaces where once had been windows and sprayed along the far ward wall. During these terrible months, as often as not the sky would be one mass of German bombers, dropping their cargoes anywhere and everywhere, One went through the dome of Mosta Cathedral., which fortunately did not explode, and this building is in an area quite a long way from any aerodrome or other likely place where one would expect to be bombed.
After finishing my spell of night duty I was back again on F block and remained there until the beginning of June. The patients were delighted to be discharged with the exception of one Irishman. He was suffering from Hepatitis (in those days simply called Jaundice). It was the custom that as soon as the patient’s skin was clear and he had no other signs of this complaint, to allow him to go back to his unit. They were all warned not to take any drink containing alcohol. For most of the patients this was not a difficult thing to do, there was not any to be had, except perhaps gin. My Irish patient had, however, made a friend of a kind Maltese who had some local wine. When his skin was clear and he was ready for discharge, he would be missing from the ward for a while, to be found much later suffering from the effects of alcohol. The next morning his skin and the whites of his eyes were a bright yellow. He did this several times. In the end it was an orderly that succeeded in changing this man's habits. How he managed this I never discovered. I had done my best to try and persuade this patient to stop imbibing, telling him of the damage he was doing to himself, even threatening to report him, which, of course, I would have done under ordinary circumstances: my efforts were useless. I had been sent over to the main hospital to help out with some emergency, and this orderly was left in charge of the ward where these patients were treated. I returned two days later, and my first question was asking where the Irishman had gone, thinking he had been caught drunk by the wardmaster, and was surprised to hear he had been discharged. On my asking him how he had managed this, he said that he was only a cowhand, knew how to tend animals and that humans were easier to treat. The medicine cupboard was empty, even of the army number nines. I guessed that he probably knew where that Irishman got his drink and had it stopped at its source.
It was about this time that we Sisters heard that there was going to be a film show given in the cinema in Valetta. This was a very rare occurrence, and the film was one that had been shown several times before. No new films had arrived on the Island for a long time. Two of us decided to risk being caught in an air raid and went down to the town. We arrived to find the cinema full and the film had already started. There was nothing to be done except rest for a short time in the Union Club and return to Imtarfa. On our way home we were caught in an air raid, and were badly shaken when told that the cinema had had a direct hit. Nearly everyone who had been watching the film had been killed or seriously injured.
A few days later three sailors were admitted to Imtarfa. At the time of the raid they had been in the public house next door to the cinema. The wall of the pub had caved in and they had been trapped inside, but unhurt. On admission they were all unconscious, suffering from an overdose of Gin. It had taken three days for the men who had been clearing up the rubble to get to the place where the sailors were trapped and were surprised to find the three bodies, thinking that the bar was empty at the time of the bombing.
During March rumours were rife. The Breconshire had managed to get to the island, only to be sunk just outside the harbour, and of the other ships in the convoy two only managed to reach Valetta, only to be sunk by the Luftwaf'fe. Some Spitfires had arrived, but not nearly enough, the German planes were coming over in droves, and soon there were hardly any planes left to defend us. The shortage of fuel and everything else was worse than ever. It was impossible to get a good night's sleep because of the raids.
I lived from hour to hour, wondering when it would all end. Food rations were down to rock bottom. Sister Sheila Gough, who was working in the next ward to mine was trying to feed patients suffering from gastritis and similar conditions it was an almost impossible task.
Listening to my patients talking among themselves I gathered that General Ibbbie was not seeing eye to eye with Air Marshal Lloyd. They were on the side of the air force in spite of them being army personnel. They thought Mabel Strickland a wonderful person. From their conversation I gathered that they were keen to help the blue boys1 rather than be sent on route marches hunting for lizards under stones. It seemed that our Governor was feeling the strain of his work and was much in need of a complete rest.
It was not surprising to hear that he was going to be relieved and that Lord Gort was going to take his place. It was about this time that we heard that the King had awarded the Island with the George Cross. The army were now busy making pens .for planes down in Takali, filling in bomb craters, we heard rumours that the Americans were bringing us a lot of Spitfires, and sure enough we were delighted to see these planes arrive.
That morning, it was May 10th, that several of the Sisters, together with Jessie Torma and Kitty Crima, the Sisters I domestic staff, were standing outside the mess watching the German bombers being chased by those little Spitfires. I for one was screaming with delight as these planes flew overhead, not one of us thought of the danger to ourselves, we were yelling out such things as ‘'He's got him, He’s got him”, while watching one of our planes firing his bullets into the tail of a bomber and watching the stream of smoke and fire leaving it as it began its dive towards the sea beyond, or shouting “Watch out, watch out, there’s a Messerschmitt behind you". It seemed that the Germans were afraid of these new planes, but it was much later that day that I remember asking whether those men in the bombers had managed to bail out, or get back to Sicily. I never hated them, I just loathed the war. Nevertheless, I wanted us to win, realising what a brute Hitler was and this day in May was a turning point in my feelings that we would. For some time before this I had thought of what I would do if there had been an invasion, and what would happen to me. I used to say to myself that I would rather be killed than become a prisoner.
During May the enemy had become much more wary and there were fewer bombers but a lot more Messerschmitts. Still they came, giving us no peace day or night. Lord Gort had arrived, it was a common sight to see him on a bicycle, one almost as ancient as my Fergie, going round the Island, visiting the airmen and organising the safe custody of stores, dispersing the supply of fuel, but he looked sad. I saw him in the outpatients department one day getting his hand treated for burns, he had been helping to put out a fire near a precious petrol dump.
At long last things were beginning to go our way, and although still getting bombed we felt that we were going to win. About this time the hospital was very busy, extra beds had been added to wards in the main building, there were casualties from our own bomber crews and, of course, the pilots from the Spitfires and Hurricanes as well as naval personnel, but for the almost first time we were admitting Germans. One of these prisoners had been sent to a ward in the barracks. The very next day, outside the block where he was a Messerschmitt flew low nearby and dropped a parcel.· This landed in front of the ward in question. The Germans had been dropping small brightly coloured things which went off when touched. We had heard of one young person who had lost part of his hand by picking up one and when the parcel turned out to be the shaving tackle of this German, we were very surprised and wondered hoe the pilot had known just where his friend was.
One afternoon between raids I was surprised to see Sister Rayburn and Sam Thornton. Sadie had managed to get Sam into a wheelchair and had pushed him over the rough ground to F block. His leg was encased in a plaster and he had one arm still in a sling. I was very pleased to see him and we had a long talk. I thought that he had lost a lot of weight, which was to be expected. He told me that he had counted the number of times he had heard the air raid siren and said it had gone off one thousand two hundred times during his stay in the ward, a period of just over 6 months. Planes were now coming in at night and instead of returning empty, were taking some of our patients who were well enough to travel. They were taken to Luga in a rickety old ambulance and as often as not when they got there found themselves being heaved into a slit trench, because of the German bombers having arrived at the same time, and some of them had to be returned to the hospital owing to the damage done by the bombs. One evening Sadie Rayburn came running over to the barracks, some patients were to be taken to Luga and Sam Thornton was among them. He wanted to say goodbye and thank me. I saw him being carried into the ambulance and hoped against hope that the Germans would stay away until the Hudson had left the Island. Some time later, to my relief I heard that Sam had arrived safely at Gibraltar early the following morning, together with two other air crew patients from the same ward.
In June I was working in the main hospital. The wards were full and we were kept very busy. One of the Spitfire pilots who had, been in the battle of Britain was recovering from a severe chest wound, he was a Rhodesian whose father had been a pilot during the 1914-18 war and he was disgusted with himself, getting shot up. Although his chest was still full of bits of shrapnel, his wound had healed and he was anxious to be discharged and get his own back on the Huns. He was Patrick Lardner Burke. He asked the surgeon if he could go down to look at Takali. Colonel Davidson said he could, but only if sister accompanied him. I was off duty that afternoon and agreed to go with him. Pat managed to walk down to the airfield quite easily, but I was not looking forward to the return trip up that very steep hill, realising that my patient would probably get very chesty while doing so. The field was empty with the exception of one plane. There was no one to be seen, everywhere was a mass of rubble and looked desolate.
Here and there I could see recent bomb craters. Pat made a dive for the plane and before I could even catch up with him he had got into the pilot’s seat and was fingering the gears and things and looking ahead. He was in a kind of trance and seemed to me as if he intended to start the thing up.I was terrified, yelling at him “Don’t go”, He did not hear me, in desperation I looked around, hoping that someone would appear. Pat was in another world, he must have been reliving his last fight with the Germans. As I was deciding what to do if he did try to get the plane going, I heard the blast of gunfire and coming towards us, diving steeply, was a bomber. The gunfire brought Pat out of his dream ·world and the two of us made a hasty retreat to a nearby crater, which was just under the wall of the Military Cemetery. There was a whoosh and a bomb exploded inside the cemetery, covering us in dust and debris. The bomber had gone, we got up and ran back to the roadway. By this time Pat was puffing and struggling for breath. We sat on the side of the road, watching more enemy planes flying around, but soon they too had gone.
It took us some time to get back up that hill. Colonel Davidson was waiting for us. He looked rather anxious at first, but was relieved to hear Pat say, “I’m ok Doc!”. I met Pat a few times after he had been discharged. He did not fly in Malta again and after a few weeks was transferred to Egypt.
June and July were months of our hopes being raised by seeing the enemy planes being chased by our fighters, only to be dashed by being told that rations would have to be cut again. There were one or two days when we saw a few planes, probably doing reconnaissance sorties, but this was made up for at night. Often the night sky would be alight with flares, searchlights, and the sounds of gunfire and exploding bombs made sleep almost impossible.
The Colonel gave us a prep talk. He told us of the strict rationing, of which we were only too well aware. Jessie Torma and Kitty Grima were already drying the tealeaves after use to brew them up a second or even third time. There was even less paraffin, this meant that our Maconochie diet had to be eaten straight from the tins. He warned us to be very careful where we trod, warning us of the small tin-like things that had been nicknamed ‘Micky Mouse’ bombs which the enemy had been dropping almost anywhere. He then informed us that under no circumstances were we to wear mufti, that we had to be in uniform at all times.
At this I rebelled. He threatened me, but I did not give in. By this time we had a small flat in Saint Paul’s Bay where we could spend a day off relaxing by the sea, and our only pleasure was resting in the sun wearing a thin dress, or having a swim. In any case we had to wear something over a bathing costume right up to the water's edge, look around us to make sure no Maltese were about before going into the sea. At that time they were horrified and disgusted at women bathing in scanty costumes. It would have been impossible to do this if wearing uniform. I was very rude and bold, I asked him were we expected to sleep in uniform, take our monthly bath in uniform, or on the very few occasions when we got to the sea, were we expected to swim in uniform. A few days later Sammy told me that I could wear mufti, but only with discretion, and to try and keep the peace.
There were two German prisoners on my ward. One was very arrogant and spoke fairly good English. He said to me "You had better be careful how you treat me, I am your prisoner now, but soon you will be ours". I told him that while he was a patient in my ward he would be treated in exactly the same way as any other, and hoped that the prisoners in his country were getting the same. The other prisoner was different. He would not speak, I was sure he understood English. I felt sorry for him. He was a broken man. I kept him :in my ward as long as I could, but in the end they took him to the prison camp. I did everything I could to try and help him, but failed. When the boys came to take him away, they said to him, "'Sister's been molly coddling you, we'll teach you". I called after them “Don't be hard on him, he’s a sick man.
It was about this time that I met Air Marshal Lloyd. His name was Frizzel. I often wondered what happened to him, but, of course, never found out. He used to visit the ward and did his best to cheer up his wounded airmen. On one of these occasions he challenged me to beat him at tennis. I thought he was joking, and said I would. There was a tennis court outside the Sister’s mess, but the net was in ribbons, the court had at least one small bomb crater in it and there was lots of rubble lying around it. The next afternoon he arrived complete with two racquets and tennis balls. He had managed to get the court swept, and we started to play only to finish because of enemy planes overhead. We made two more attempts on other days but failed for the same reason, much to the disappointment of the patients who were watching from the ward window. He left us in July and was replaced by Sir Keith Park. Before he went he was at the ceremony on the Castille watching his brave airmen being decorated by Lord Gort. He was very proud of them.
Lord David Douglas Hamilton, who was the squadron commander of a group of spitfires stationed at Takali, was another person who used to visit my ward. I knew of him because he had married the famous leader of' the Women's league of Health and Beauty in 1938. The wounded pilots he visited told me that he was a great leader and was highly respected. No matter what they did, he would insist on taking the plane that was considered to be the worst one.
I remember he came to the ward one day with his trousers tied up with a piece of string.I said something about this to one of the pilots - he answered that he had probably given his belt to one of his men. I met him again one evening at the Takali mess in Mdina.
In spite of what we were going through, there was trouble in the Sister's mess. Sammy was very unhappy, she had fallen in love with a sergeant and being a regular army sister this kind of thing was frowned upon. I had been scolded by the Matron. The letter that I had written to my brother, which I have already mentioned, had got into a newspaper and someone had informed Matron about it. I was supposed to have said, among other things, that 'boy friends were two a penny’. I had no recollection of having done so. Matron was very angry and said I was a disgrace to the service. It took me a long time to live that down.
There was another Matron attached to our unit, her name was also McHardy. As a junior and not a regular, I was not allowed to receive telephone calls, but there were calls for me, I never found out from whom. Matron McHardy would tell me that she was tired of getting calls for me, but never gave me any messages. I never knew who had been trying to get me on the phone. At the time I thought it was rather mean of her, but she was not a bad sort of person. The Maltese V.A.D's liked her very much, I think she was responsible for looking after them. One of these Maltese girls was Josephine Camalleri, who later married Captain McDonald. She was a very good nurse and I liked her a lot. In fact, I liked all of them. They were a great help to us and braved the bombs and other horrors very well indeed. The others I remember are Lina Lidgley, Mary Dingli, Esther Pether and Antionette Ellul Grech, and Joc’s Sister who married an American.
The airforce were now coping with the enemy, but we needed a convoy for more fuel and food. As the days went by we grew more despondent, wondering what was to become of us. At long last some ships did arrive, but at what an awful expense of loss of ships and men.
We also knew that Tobruk had fallen and that our airmen were hard pressed trying to stop Romell's supply ships getting across to Africa. At least we were saved from complete starvation for the time being. The American Ohio had been badly bombed, but had managed to get into harbour by being sandwiched between two other ships. Her cargo of oil was removed just in time, she broke in two and sank in the harbour. I heard about this time, Mid-August, that the Clan Ferguson had been sunk on the twelfth. It was no time for rejoicing for me.
Two sisters who had been down at the flat at Saint Paul's Bay told us a remarkable story of seeing a flying boat coming into the Bay. It was an Italian and in no time the spitfires were there. It landed on the water and the next thing they saw was men waving white shirts at the planes above them. We did not believe them at the time, but it was true enough, we learned later that the crew of a Beaufort had been taken prisoners by the Italians, and were being taken back to Italy. They were two New Zealanders, a South African and an Englishman. They had overcome the Italian crew and brought the plane with their captors to Malta.
On the afternoon of August the eighteenth, I admitted a Canadian pilot officer with very severe burns. The only parts of his body that had not been burnt were the top of his head, a part of his back and his feet. He had bailed out of a burning plane over the sea and was seen coming down looking just like a flaming torch. He was semi-conscious and was not expected to live. He was a friend of George Beurling who called him Mac MacLean. The surgeon on duty that afternoon was Major Anthony Charles. For nearly three weeks MacLean remained semi-conscious. He slowly improved, the burnt lips were the first to heal. It took much longer to get his eyes and face uncovered from their gauze masks, kept constantly moist, which was done by using an undine douch, and gently dripping saline solution over burnt areas. During the fourth week he was beginning to know us, to ask for drinks and starting to move about in bed. It was decided to send him to England for further treatment. We had worked so hard and were so proud of our success that we were disappointed to see him go, which perhaps was selfish of us.
George Beurling, known to all as “screwball” was stationed at Takali. He came to Malta in June. He had been in the Battle of Britain, He was such an amazingly good spitfire pilot that it was not long before his name was on everyones lips. He shot down plane after plane. His aim was so good that he never seemed to miss, and must have been the most hated pilot by the enemy. I heard all kinds of stories about him from patients. That he was interested in nothing except shooting down planes and flying. When he first came to the Island, he was a sergeant and was not at all keen about his promotion to officer's rank. He must have been the number one target for the enemy. It was a sad day when I admitted him to my ward on the fourteenth of October. He had bailed out after his plane had been riddled with bullets, but luckily he was not badly injured and was not at all pleased when Colonel Davidson, the surgeon, told him he was to be flown home to Canada. He wanted to get back into the sky over Malta to get his own back. He left us for England a fortnight later, together with several other Malta pilots and others. The plane he was in crashed on arrival at Gibraltar and it was some time afterwards that we heard that he had managed to get out of the wreckage. The death toll was high, several of his friends were killed that day.
About this time a psychologist came to the Island. His task was to find out how the army personnel had stood up to the strain. He was invited to share a meal with a group of officers. They enjoyed acting the fool and did their best to try and convince him that they were all 'round the bend'. They pretended to be eating a luxurious meal from empty plates, then demolishing their scanty meal of stew, called an imaginary Fido to come and eat the scraps from an empty plate. He must have had a hard time trying to write up his report.
in early October, food was still very short and Lord Gort was insisting on anyone who was not doing essential work to. leave the Island. These people were told to be ready to go at very short notice. One Minister, whose wife had already left the Island, was told he had to go. He decided to have a jumble sale of his belongings. Among his things was a rocking horse. There was a very sick dying child who had been asking for such a toy.
One of the Sisters who knew this child asked this man if she could borrow the rocking horse and return it in time for his sale. He refused, saying everything had to be put up for auction. Others did their best to try and persuade him to let the child have that toy. He still refused. We were so angry that several of us got together and arranged among ourselves to go to his house and warn people as they arrived for his sale. I remember that night. He sold every piece of the clothing of his wife and children to the highest bidder, but when he started auctioning that rocking horse, one of us called out one halfpenny. He had go let it go for a few coppers. There are rotten people in every walk of life. He was one of them
The news from the desert was much better. Romell was retreating, the eighth army with General Montgomery was beating him at El Alamein. In the hospital we knew that our airmen were busy bombing the German supply ships, because we were admitting bomber crews. News was also trickling through that American and British forces had landed at Oran. We were still getting air raids, but these were less, although much more erratic and after -what we had gone through we took these raids as a matter of little consequence. However, we soon realised that Kesselring was making another effort to finish for good the stubborn Maltese. He kept, up his attack for ten days, but our brave airmen gave him such a beating that after that we never had another severe raid,
The Welshman had been making journeys over to the Island, bringing essentials, but what we badly needed was a convoy. This duly arrived on the twentieth of October and although they had had a stormy passage from Egypt, not a single enemy plane came to meet them when they entered Valetta. The whole Island were overjoyed. The people in Valetta and Sliema lined the streets, were out everywhere, the roof tops were crowded, there were shouts of joy and even tears. The relief was over-whelming. Food at last, but Lord Gort, that wise cautious man, had to dampen our hopes, rationing would have to continue, it would take a long time to get stores up after the long period of being without.
Although food was still short, life for me was much easier. We knew that our airmen and navy were busy sinking Romell’s supplies. One ship that had been sunk by the navy had been full of British prisoners on their way from Africa to Italy. The survivors who were admitted to Imtarfa told us a sad story. In the camp they had left, men were dying from dysentery, they were suffering from this complaint themselves and told us that some of the men that had gone down with the ship were already dead. They were mostly cockneys, were soon well again and were delighted to be free.
I was beginning to enjoy life. I managed to borrow a canoe from a sergeant and spent my off duty time paddling about on one of those lovely bays around the coast, going down to the flat at Saint Paul's Bay and sometimes managing to get a small piece of fresh fish from a local fisherman. On one of these trips the Countess Saint Cassia asked to borrow my bicycle. She had to get to a friend's house rather urgently. This was the beginning of a friendship that I shall long remember.
Colonel Davidson had managed to hide his yacht somewhere or other ever since the beginning of hostilities. He now managed to get it into Saint Paul’s Bay, and promised to take some of us for a sail around the little island where Saint Paul was supposed to have landed. I did not know about the terrific current that swirled around this tiny rock and once in that yacht round that island was quite enough for me. I was glad to feel my feet back on land.
There were still visits of enemy planes, but nowadays we took very little notice of them. They did sometimes drop their bombs in unlikely places. Probably to get rid of them to lighten their load and try to escape from a spitfire. One of these gave us an unpleasant surprise. It landed against the side of the hospital, luckily it did not explode, but we had an uncomfortable half hour or longer while it was being made harmless.
We were not looking forward to Christmas, thinking that it would be a repeat of the year before , but to our surprise and delight the Air Vice Marshal Keith Park had managed to get flown in for us a real Christmas dinner. There was chicken soup, roast turkey with ham and sausage, plum pudding and mince pies followed by coffee. The amounts were small and were washed down by a sip or two of sherry. A dance was arranged for afterwards. Not one of us could move, we just sat there holding our over filled tummies. We enjoyed that meaI so much that it was sheer joy to sit and dream. Not one of us did any dancing that night and it was not long before we: were in bed with our knees bent up to relieve our over-stretched stomachs. Still, it was worth it!
