The younger generation is probably unfamiliar with air raid shelters. These underground structures were built specifically to serve as protection against enemy bombardments during World War II.

During the first three months of the war, in June, July and August, 1940, the population surrounding the Grand Harbour was forced into a mini diaspora. The railway tunnel running under Floriana, which had closed down on March 31, 1931, and other underground shelters were considered the safest ways of protecting a relatively high number of people in a high-density area like Floriana. It certainly saved many lives.

Problems arose when masses of people converged on the tunnel from the Three Cities. Carrying bundles of clothes, bedding and bags of food to sustain them for the night they thronged the streets of Floriana on their way to their destination of choice. People took matters into their own hands, staking their ‘pitches’ even in narrow spaces.

The tunnel, an underground structure of solid rock, could accommodate a large number of people during daytime. However, fewer people could find shelter as the occupants took up more sleeping space at night. Moreover people stayed in the safety of the tunnel day and night. They felt safer there than outside. To solve this shortage of accommodation bunk beds three tiers high were built.

The railway tunnel had its disadvantages. Disease spread because of the lack of sanitary facilities. For my brothers and I, a one-week experience in the railway tunnel was enough to make us seek shelter at home.

A family friend did my mother a favour: she let us boys sleep on her bunk beds. We hardly ever slept soundly. Our bodies itched and we scratched incessantly until blisters covered our bodies. We were glad to be sent home; our parents welcomed us with broad smiles and exuberant happiness. With great pride they showed us the addition to the family, a girl after five boys. Owing to restricted accommodation and inquisitively prying eyes, mother had had to find ways and means to ensure our absence.

On one occasion it was proved that the tunnel was not indestructible. On October 14, 1940, a parachute mine hit King Edward VII Avenue, where Antonio Sciortino’s statue of Christ the King now stands. It destroyed the roof of the weakest part of the tunnel. The explosion trapped the people under the rubble. Fortunately there were no fatalities but several people were badly injured.

Some people preferred to go to a remote village. Tugging at my mother’s skirt, we begged her to do as others and follow suit. Father’s decision was wise. He booked the neighbour’s taxi, an old seven-seater. Giuseppi, nicknamed L-Għannej (the Maltese singer) drove us, except father, to our grandmother’s house in Rabat, which was quite remote from the danger zone of Grand Harbour.

We lived with our widowed grandmother in one room in an alley. A statue of St Paul stood sentinel over the entrance to a cave. It was very humid, with water drops trickling down the walls.

At the sound of a siren warning my mother had a hard time waking me and my siblings up. For six months we carried pillow and stools, and like somnambulists we descended a flight of steps and nestled uncomfortably against one another.

The shelter provided us protection but being accommodated in just one room was nerve-wrecking. Furthermore, as my father had stayed to work in Floriana, my mother worried herself sick. Our stay in Rabat became too frustrating so we returned home and suffered the wrath of the Luftwaffe for the next two years.

Our home in St Thomas Street, Floriana, had a cellar: it served as a kitchen, dining room and my study. Because of lack of space upstairs, I also slept there. After the brief sojourn in Rabat the family used the cellar for shelter. Luckily, Providence saved us from tragedy.

The early attacks of the Italian Regia Aeronautica gave the authorities a false impression of Italian determination. But their raids were sporadic, and dispite the authorities’ initial recommendations, households started to shelter under their stairs. I later came to know that my future wife’s family had followed this message implicitly: they never set foot in a rock shelter. They remained at home trusting their fate in the hands of the Almighty. They survived the war: their faith relieved them of any hardships.

Cellars gained in importance during the early days of the war. Almost all houses and tenements were built with cellars under street level. Little did we realise then that with the collapse of the building above we would have been trapped.

Communal street shelters were the responsibility of government which employed its own workers or private contractors. In Malta it was recognised early on that public shelters in open spaces and streets were urgently needed. Pedestrians, hawkers, tradesmen and other people, especially women who frequented open markets, needed safety.

A one-week experience in the railway tunnel was enough to make us seek shelter at home

The programme of building street communal shelters began in March 1940. The government supplied the materials. It was the moving force behind the scheme. Private builders executed the work under the supervision of surveyors.

Communal shelters were usually intended to accommodate neighbouring residents. ‘Lucky people’ had rooms to alleviate disturbance at night. Sections were sometimes furnished with bunks. Air raids lasted long hours both during day and at night. Following the intensive bombing and the overnight raids, government promised improvement of the amenities, such as lighting, accommodation and sanitary arrangements.

Air raid shelters were built to protect the civilian population but protection against a direct hit was never envisaged. The most important dangers were the blast and shrapnel. It was thought unlikely that any military enemy would intentionally target a civilian shelter. But it did happen at least twice in different locations of Floriana. The instances were identical. On both occasions many people lost their lives and others were injured. Often people gambled their luck waiting outside shelters, till it was too late to rush in.

Some people using a public shelter, including my father, often acted irresponsibly. Worse, they were stupid enough to loiter just outside the shelter’s entrance. They were absorbed watching dog fights in the sky above. When they heard the whistling sound of a falling bomb they tried to rush in altogether, blocking the entrance, with disastrous consequences. This happened in St Anne’s Garden, opposite the statue of Dante Alighieri.

I recall the tension that reigned at home when father did not return home from his usual session digging our private shelter. The rumour spread that casualties had followed the last attack. Being the eldest, aged 12, mother sent me to make enquiries. I was directed to the Floriana infants’ school section. Covered bodies lay on the ground. It was morbid but a relief to find out that my father was not one of them.

Tension was relieved when a motorcyclist arrived late at night: our father was at Bugeja Hospital in Santa Venera. He was injured. He would be released in three days’ time. My mother’s face changed colour only when he came home safe and sound.

Communal shelters became unpopular because they lacked privacy. Eventually, the authorities supplied householders with implements for a small fee. These helped them to take the initiative and construct personal shelters in various locations. These private shelters covered the sides of the massively high bastions. The one that supported Argotti Botanical Gardens along St Anne’s street and garden was lined with entrances.

The shelter space consisted of a corridor, seven feet high and three feet wide and six feet deep. A short turn on the left or right of the corridor signalled the start of expanding it into a sizeable room, spacious enough for the family. Beds covered most of the room space. There was no separation between boys and girls. Parents might hang a curtain but it was not always so.

The turning in the corridor diminished the force of bomb blasts. But a wall a short distance from the entrance also ensured protection against shrapnel. That was exactly the wartime domain of my uncle and his family.

Our father, like his brother, decided to dig a private shelter. He was not cut out for strenuous labour; digging into the solid rock proved beyond him. He engaged a skilled worker who gave up after a few days. The rock was so hard that sparks flew when the pickaxe hit the wall. My uncle came to the rescue. That is why my brothers and I were fortunate to have a space on a huge bed at night. Needless to say, we had a ball every night with our cousins.

I remember the shelter in Capuchins Street, round the corner from St Thomas Street. After our cellar it was our preferred choice. In contrast to home cellars, these shelters were considered to be completely bomb-proof.

Many tunnels were dug as shelters. They saved the civil population and also the military. Shelters protected not only people but also administrative centres, important archives and works of art. Many of these structures may still be seen to this day. They have been converted into offices and storage spaces. With the gradual increase of wartime shelters, the people felt well protected.

Tunnels had been built many years before, especially during the time of the Order of St John. The large medieval labyrinth of tunnels beneath Valletta had been originally part of an ancient domestic and defensive system. The tunnels were extended over the centuries: they were further excavated and reinforced during World War II.

The aim of constructing tunnels under Auberge de Castille was mainly twofold. The tunnels were truly quarries. The stone cut as limestone blocks were used to construct the building above. The underground tunnels were capable of accommodating large parts of the secret defence systems ensuring the protection and survival of the British military and naval administration.

One famous underground shelter was converted into the Lascaris War Rooms. The Knights of St John were the first to excavate the main tunnel. The British excavated a number of communication rooms under Upper Barrakka Gardens. The war rooms revealed a fascinating insight into another world. They were then the most secret places.

From this nerve centre the British co-ordinated the island’s defences. They also played a crucial role in the invasion of Sicily in 1943. After the war, the rooms were used as a NATO communications centre during the Cold War years and as a submarine tracking centre by the British Navy.

From these safe shelters, expert British service personnel were in complete command and in control of all military operations. The war rooms were closed down in 1977, two years before the British forces left the island. The place has been preserved. It is still an important attraction to tourists, especially to ex-British service personnel who visit Malta to refresh nostalgic memories.

I recall the tension that reigned at home when father did not return home from his usual session digging our private shelter

In Floriana, shelters were also used as classrooms. I was only 11 years old but I recall the five flights of steps separated by four landings leading commuters to the railway platform. The four classes occupied the four landings; they were divided by curtains which were certainly not soundproof. In those trying days, tolerance was the teachers’ virtue. Our indefatigable headmaster would not let the war to interfere with our schooling.

School basements were also used as public air raid shelters. The whole of Floriana primary school was taken over by the Public Works Department and Air Raid Precaution. The school also served as a temporary mortuary.

All classes were moved to the House Craft School in front of the Floriana granaries. Our learning time was reduced to a half day of tuition. The girls took over the other half of the day. Thus no classes were missed.

One day, during an aerial attack on Grand Harbour, we were all shepherded into the basement. Soon we realised what was in store for us: this air raid was more determined than others. The Germans had increased their avowed intention of destroying and starving Malta into impotence. It became clear that the German Luftwaffe was contemplating air raids as a means of demoralising the population and disrupting supply lines to Malta.

Every explosion shook the premises above. The doors and windows rattled unceasingly. The floors trembled with every explosion. Even the teachers showed signs of alarm though they tried to put on a brave face. We knew that HMS Illustrious had limped into Grand Harbour and sheltered under the towering heights of French Creek. The Luftwaffe showed their characteristic determination to sink the aircraft carrier but slipped unobtrusively out of harbour at night.

The shattering roar of the barrage, the whistle and crash of the bombs and the innumerable shells bursting high above combined to create terrible precursors of death. The scene was claustrophobic. Gradually our panic grew into hysteria. In the centre of this pandemonium of thunderous explosions rose Miss Quatromani.

With rosary beads in hand and a death face as pale as a sheet, her voice rose above the din. She made us recite the Hail Mary as loud as we could. Teachers joined the chorus of voices: our noise was supposed to deaden the sound of the explosions. It did not, but teachers never let us lose sight of spiritual values, especially in times of need.

The headmaster, the indefatigable Lolly Tonna, climbed up and down the stairs repeatedly. The dark cloud of impatient urgency on his face weighed on his responsibility. He was uncharacteristically agitated. A dangerous thought must have crossed his mind. Suddenly there was a brief lull in the attack. “Run up and out across the granaries into the railway tunnel, run, run, run,” he shouted. We obeyed with alacrity. Gradually the rumours spread. Under the basement of the school was a huge underground reservoir and a watery death.

The Capuchins friary on St Mark’s Bastion overlooking Grand Harbour was relentlessly bombarded by the Luftwaffe on April 4 and 5, 1942 (the latter happened to be Easter Sunday), ravaging the friary almost completely.

The subterranean passages under the friary were being used as shelters. They were partly a charnel house, a repository for dead monks. The sight was a gruesome one: the niches in the side walls contained dried up bodies of former brethren. They were all dressed in their usual robes of coarse brown cloth with girdle ropes hanging from their waist. The vandals of death had repeatedly flattened the building, burying all underneath. Only my friend Fr Clement and a civilian person died. They were not in the shelter.

Some people had little concept of what tragedy might follow a direct bomb explosion. Pious people sheltered in the basement of St Publius church, previously a charnel house. The church received a direct hit on April 28, 1942, and the crypt where people were sheltering collapsed: 13 people lost their lives and 11 were injured. By demolishing the church the Germans had inflicted the severest blow on the people. German vandalism knew no bounds.

Outside urban areas, residents also made use of caves, caverns and grottoes, both natural and man-made, as well as catacombs. Some are unique and world famous. The grotto under the parish church in Rabat sheltered St Paul for three months after his shipwreck on his way to Rome.

At Għar Dalam (The Cave of Darkness), on the outskirts of Birżebbuġa, where remains embedded in the rocks show the earliest evidence of human settlements in Malta 7,400 years ago, people from the surrounding area made use of it as a wartime shelter during World War II.

Another popular cave was Għar il-Kbir (The Huge Cave) near Buskett Gardens. It was a large complex consisting of four main caves. Troglodyte dwellers had lived there for many years. They were happy in their bucolic environment. Living in seclusion, the troglodytes were not interested in the outside world. However the British authorities believed these eccentric and primitive-looking people led a harsh life in unsanitary conditions. In the 19th century the British twice tried to evict them. In their last attempt they blew off the cave’s roof, damaging this historical treasure.

After the war, the government was forced to block all entrances to the shelters on moral grounds. Many people complained that the shelters were being misused. Some of the public shelters remained untouched for some 55 years.

However, in recent years the shelter owners and some local councils have decided to make them accessible to the public and to tourists as historical attractions. They are dimly lit by candlelight or by oil lamps stuck into holes in the walls; they create the old wartime atmosphere as they did during air raids. The underground mazes of low ceilings, restricted spaces, damp atmosphere and rough ground reflects the harsh reality of shelter life. In the background is the pitiful sound of warning alerts and whining sirens wailing away.

Running commentaries describe what went on underground as hundreds took refuge. Photos of the devastation during air raids recapture the stark historical reality in the shelters that served as homes to many. Visitors may be able to glimpse the horrors and claustrophobia of wartime life in the shelters that are hewn into the minds of people like me who were young during the war.