For 12 years, starting from November 1990, during my tenure of assistant headship and later headship of former primary schools A and B at Qormi (St George), I came to like the city and its people.

My feelings were enhanced by the fact that during World War II, my late mother-in-law and two of her siblings took refuge at a house number 55 in Main Street, formerly High Street, which is now an electrical shop, by the side of St Francis chapel. Her sisters eventually settled in the place and remained there until their demise in the late 1970s.

In 1992, I was introduced to the Canon Michael Zammit, an energetic priest dedicated to both St George and Qormi. During the 1990s and beyond he continuously helped me in my work as I found in him a genuine friend who thought highly of the schools in the vicinity, including the former adjacent secondary school.

It was he and the Canon Joachim Schembri, another priest from St George parish, who brought to my attention the fact that the primary school was one of the Luftwaffe’s targets in WWII. Mgr Mikiel Azzopardi, who founded the Dar tal-Providenza, an institution that caters for disabled children, wrote about this dark chapter of Malta’s history in the May 10, 1980, edition of Maltese newspaper Leħen is-Sewwa, which Can. Schembri kindly gave me. This article is based on Azzopardi’s article, as well as other information that has surfaced since then.

Following the success of the Luftwaffe attack on two schools in Britain in 1940, in which 600 and 450 people respectively lost their lives, the Nazis did not enjoy the same success in a bombing run on Qormi primary school, but it was a close shave.

Azzopardi relates that on May 13, 1941, the day of the first appearance of Our Lady of Fatima, she probably saved all the people in the school.

At the time there had been a mass evacuation of most of the Cottonera inhabitants in a bid to survive the mass bombings of the enemy. However, old, infirm and disabled people from the Three Cities could not find a suitable abode in the villages to which they had been allocated. So on the initiative of the then Director of Education Albert Laferla, these refugees were sent to settle in the government school at Qormi (St George).

On the orders of the Governor Sir William Dobbie, air raid shelters had been hurriedly dug in all towns and villages, including one in the garden of School A (formerly the infants’ school, at door no. 38). The shelter tunnel passed underneath the school and the road in front of Frederick Maempel Square with an exit (now sealed) at the opposite public garden. All air raid shelters had separate entrances and exits and they were never hewn in a straight line in order to ensure maximum safety for their occupants.

I still remember the stone slabs covering the mouth of the shelter in the school’s back garden. The stairs leading to it were later blocked with debris and then sealed to make way for a play area for kindergarten children in 2002.

In 1941, the girls’ school (door no. 37) also served as a ‘home’ and a hospital managed by the Education Department. The medical superintendent (school medical officer) was Irene Condachi. The nurses, comprising 21 sisters from four different Orders – Franciscans, Sisters of Charity, Domenicans and some of Ta’ Nuzzu, were assisted by teachers, maids, charwomen and washer-women, who had been transferred because the schools where they had been serving partly closed down because of the war.

On Friday, May 13, 1941, a few minutes after 2pm, no sooner had the children settled in their classes for the afternoon session than the alarm was raised by the bell

Mgr Giuseppe Darmanin was appointed chaplain at the beginning of hostilities but he was later transferred to Qormi primary school and served there as spiritual director. He was later followed by Azzopardi for the remainder of the war.

A total of 160 refugees were housed on the ground floor, while 240 school children on a ‘half-time’ system, occupied the first floor. Lessons were held in the morning for 120 children during the first week, alternating with the rest who had theirs in the afternoon and then changing over the time during the second week.

In his article, Azzopardi wrote: “Raids or no raids, we all stood together as one family on solid ground, based on receiving the Holy Eucharist, reciting the rosary and praying to Our Lord and his blessed mother to protect us.”

In addition, there were spiritual conferences and visits to the Blessed Sacrament, conducted by two different sisters every 30 minutes.

The editorial of Leħen is-Sewwa of May 14, 1941, written by Michael Caruana, spoke of the caring and pleasant atmosphere in the ‘home’. He wrote that if one were to visit the place, one would see and feel nothing but Christian charity and love for one’s neighbour throughout the school.

But were it not for their great faith in the Lord and the intercession of Our Lady, things might have taken a turn for the worse.

Only a few days earlier, on May 8, the feast of Our Lady of Pompei, Azzopardi said that he had had a premonition that something drastic was going to happen to the school, so he organised a supplication, namely a prayer recited at noon on her feast day.

Everybody gathered in the school corridors and filled the small chapel on the first floor to hear the priest plead to Our Lady to deliver them from danger.

The event ended with all the children and residents of the home reciting the Our Father: The Lord’s prayer reverberating throughout the whole building in one united voice. Every soul was moved.

Since air raid sirens were not audible from the school, there had been a standing arrangement whereby when there was a raid, the police would phone the school caretaker, Ċikku, at once. Then Ċikku would ring a bell, which was placed on a small table outside the school head’s office, the head teacher would blow a whistle and all the teachers would lead the children, nurses and inmates who were able to walk, down the stairs in a scramble for the rock shelter lying beneath the school.

Enemy bombers had, in fact, been carefully observing the school. Over 400 people entering and leaving the premises had attracted their attention. It was the ideal target to sow terror and death.

On Friday, May 13, 1941, a few minutes after 2pm, no sooner had the children settled in their classes for the afternoon session than the alarm was raised by the bell. Head teacher Rikarda Farrugia blew a whistle and all the teachers led the children quickly into the shelter, followed by disabled, old and sick people, assisted by their helpers. As they had practised this evacuation drill many times before, they knew exactly what they had to do in the shortest possible time.

At about 2.15pm a lone Junkers-88 fighter-bomber came in low over Malta on a bombing run. Azzopardi was in the corridor near his room, which also served as a clinic, with Dr Condachi and two Franciscan sisters: Mother Providenza and Sister Luigia Callus. The post had just arrived and Azzopardi was browsing through the headlines in Leħen is-Sewwa.

As soon as the children had settled underground, Ċikku went running up to Azzopardi and shouted that he had not received any alarm orders from the police to ring the bell. Somebody had done so in jest. He had hardly finished uttering these words when there was suddenly a crescendo of a plane flying at great speed followed by high-pitched whistles and then two powerful explosions.

The first bomb fell in front of the facade of the infants’ school at no. 38, (now the pri­mary school of Qormi, St George) causing slight damage on the right-hand corner of the main door lodge and just a few feet above near the number 38.

Heavier damage was wrought by a splinter on the flat arch of the third window on the left of the first floor, which was repaired in 2002.

However, the second bomb scored a direct hit on the school chapel at the girls’ school at no. 37. The glass panes of windows and doors were shattered and flew like confetti through the air as the ground quivered.

Azzopardi recalled: “There was a cloud of dust and smoke and a strange smell pervaded the air, one that I will never forget.” (It was cordite from exploded bombs.)

It was only after the bombs had fallen that the air raid warning siren wailed. The nearby stairs through which 120 boys, girls and infants had just descended a few minutes before, was demolished. Blocks of stone and supporting iron beams caved into the kitchen below, obstructing the main school door.

The altar, tabernacle, benches and the harmonium were totally destroyed. In the morning, Azzopardi had consecrated and put in the tabernacle a ciborium holding about 400 hosts. Everything lay buried under the debris.

When Azzopardi saw the chapel in that state and the blessed hosts scattered among the broken stone blocks, beams and dust he began to cry like a baby. He was worried about the two Domenican sisters whose turn it was to conduct the prayers of deliverance in the chapel according to the roster for 2 to 2.30pm.

One of them, Sr Margerita, had gone to the chapel at 2pm. She had waited for Sr Kristina for five minutes and when the latter failed to turn up she went down to find out what had happened to her colleague. She found out that Sr Kristina had fallen ill and so she stayed with her to look after her. They were safe, thank God.

Azzopardi commented: “Had the bombs fallen 20 minutes later, they would have probably killed myself, the children and all the sisters assembled in the chapel, who would have been there, waiting for me to lead the monthly retreat starting at 2.30pm.”

Head teacher Farrugia had not taken shelter in order to give some instructions to a caretaker. With the explosion, Farrugia was thrown against the wall on which a large crucifix (now at the entrance of no.38) was suspended. Stunned and dazed by the blast, she lost her spectacles amid the suffocating smoke and dusty atmosphere.

She pulled herself together and even tried to find her way downstairs, holding firmly on to the banister in no. 37, formerly the girls’ school. The banister was there alright but the stairs had disintegrated and she stumbled down a height of about two storeys onto a pile of debris. But apart for a few bruises she was unhurt.

A caretaker’s niece lay half-buried under a small mound of rubble. But being very light, she soon got out, spluttering and coughing up dust and other material. There had been about five caretakers on the roof hanging clothes to dry, very near where the explosions had taken place, but only one was slightly injured in the leg by a splinter.

Some of the roof parapet walls had been blown to smithereens while the remaining ones had been dented and holed by shrapnel.

After having assessed the situation, the school head, assisted by the teaching and other staff, conducted a roll call of every person on the premises on that day. Everybody was accounted for.

Azzopardi wrote that the Lord in the Holy Eucharist had wished to draw the bombs upon himself and spare the lives of all the people in the school. It seemed like a miracle!

One question remained unanswered: Who had rung the bell? If it hadn’t been for the bell ringing, a tragedy would certainly have occurred. As a result, everybody remained in awe.

The caretaker shouted that he had not received any alarm orders from the police to ring the bell. Somebody had done so in jest. He had hardly finished uttering those words when there was suddenly a crescendo of a plane and two powerful explosions

In what was once the school chapel, consecrated hosts lay scattered all over the ruins. Azzopardi communicated the news to Archbishop Mauro Caruana and, together with other priests of the city and the sisters, he began painstakingly gathering the remaining fragments of the hosts.

Less than an hour after the attack, the sisters had helped resettle the old and sick people to keep the school hall free. A chapel was hastily improvised and an altar put up with a tabernacle. The parish priest of Qormi St George soon arrived, bringing with him the most holy host so that the adoration could be continued. During the ‘holy hour’ (Ora Santa) the following Thursday, everybody sang the Te Deum to thank God for delivering them from almost certain death.

It took the clergy about 15 days to gather the blessed hosts and after that time it rained. Azzopardi then contacted the archbishop for advice. The latter told him there was no need to continue. With the help of Air Raid Precaution truck drivers, the remaining debris in the chapel was transported and dumped into the sea to build the former square in front of Msida parish church.

A few days after the attack Laferla arrived at school and asked Azzopardi what he thought should be the next step. The latter replied: “Let’s continue with our work.”

Laferla patted him on the back as he wholeheartedly agreed with him.

Thus Azzopardi and all the staff proceeded with their charitable work until the end of the war. It was fulfilled out of love and gratitude for Jesus who had saved them from certain tragedy, and for his mother Mary, who had chosen this special day dedicated to her appearance to the three children at Fatima.

But still there was one mystery which remained unsolved for many years: namely, who had rung the alarm bell? This presented a challenge and I delved into the matter. After enquiring and interviewing several people, the truth finally came out.

In 2004, I retired as head of school and Mansueto Zerafa took over. As he usually did every year on Fatima Day, on May 13, 2008, he organised an assembly for all the Year 6 students and their parents in the school hall. They were asked to invite their relatives and old people to reminisce about their past experiences of the school. It was at that time that the attack on the school was mentioned.

One particular lady, Lucy Camilleri (née Formosa), came to speak to the senior citizens. She claimed that she was the person who had rung the bell. She said she had not owned up at the time as she would have been chastised, so everything remained hidden until 2008, that is, 67 years later. In 1941, Formosa was seven years old and attending Standard 1 (Year 3). She hailed from an area in Qormi known as fuq tal-Blat.

Zerafa invited Camilleri to come to the school to talk about her harrowing experiences during the war. In the meantime he checked the school register of 1940-1941 and found her name and those of friends who she mentioned. During her visit to the school, she correctly identified the crucifix and the head’s office even though it was then serving as a printing room. Zerafa therefore concluded that her story was genuine and that Formosa was, in fact, the heroine who had saved the day at the Qormi school.

Camilleri is now an octogenarian and lives in a home. She told me that she had been continually tempted to ring the bell near the head’s office and it so happened that she decided to satisfy her wish on that particular day and time. Her act had sent nearly everybody racing for the shelter but her little mischievousness had saved the lives of hundreds of people.

As Zerafa rightly said: “Providence has its own ways!”

I am greatly indebted to the following people for their assistance: Lucy Camilleri, J. Grima, M. Zerafa, Fr F. Tabone, J. Farrugia, librarian Qormi primary school (St George) and G. Bartolo, former caretaker at the school. Thanks also to the Qormi local council, especially mayor Rosianne Cutajar and the customer care team – Bernice Darmanin, Noel Pace and Maria Lewis – for helping me trace Camilleri’s whereabouts, and Franky Agius for the photographs of the schools.