About the contributor

My Grandad, Paul, was born in 1915 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 dockyard workforce as a 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.

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. At the height of Luftwaffe attacks, despite my grandmother's entreaties, 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".