Grandad's War: A Master Shipwright in Malta

My Grandad, Paul, was born in the second decade of the 20th century in the inner harbour region of the island of Malta, then a British Colony and strategic Naval base. Growing up in such close proximity to the British naval operations, he sat for and passed the entrance examinations for attendance at the British Dockyard school, then one of the most prestigious. He grew up surrounded by ships and it was thus natural for him to join the Naval dockyard workforce as a civilian Master Shipwright. He couldn't drive a car, but he could pilot any boat you'd care to mention.

In time he married and moved to the capital city Valletta and then the war started. My father was born in 1940 and his earliest memory is the sound of dripping water inside the hollowed-out rock shelters. Valletta and the harbour area were very hard hit during the war, most especially the docks and the surrounding towns which were virtually raised to the ground. My grandmother expected daily to see the last of my grandfather as he cycled off to work every morning. He was at the dockyard when HMS Illustrious was dive-bombed in January 1941 and later in the year, he was the first on board a captured Italian E-boat after the abortive raid in August. The Family still retains a copper flare-gun picked up from on board the captured vessel. He was also one of the few Maltese civilians given the security clearance necessary to enter the secret underground bunkers and the submarine pens. He used to tell me stories of miles of hewn-out rock passages under the capital city. These were passages which I later discovered myself as a student with lots of free-time on my hands and a powerful torch. He also told me of the day they bombed the quarter of Senglea where he grew up. He had rushed round to find the house he grew up in, completely demolished without knowing whether his mother had managed to get out in time. After some heartbreaking searches, she was finally found shaken, but well in a shelter the other side of town.

Eventually, it became too dangerous to continue living in Valletta and my grandfather evacuated his family to St. Paul's in the North of the island which being mainly agricultural, was largely ignored by enemy bombers. Every day, including at the height of Luftwaffe attacks, he cycled to Mosta at dawn every morning, from where he was picked up by a services truck and taken down to the docks ready for another day's dodging bombs and servicing ships. I clearly remember him stating proudly that he "never missed a single day's work during the war".

© Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.