One cannot understand the impact of World War II on the Vittoriosa of my childhood without analysing the social, economic, educational and political aspects prevailing in the pre-war years in this ancient maritime city straddling two deep sea inlets, Dockyard Creek (previously Porto delle Galere) and Kalkara Creek (previously Porto della Infermeria).

Fascist dictator Benito Mussolini.

Even at a tender age, it was easy to realise the strong connections this city always had with great maritime powers. I was born in the shadow of Fort St Angelo, a few metres away from the Auberge d’Italie, a huge palace that was built outside the Collachio because the Italian knights were responsible for the Order’s mighty fleet.

As soon as I learnt to read I was overwhelmed by the exceptional number of bars and band clubs bearing names connected with Royalty and the Empire. They included names like England’s Glory, Rose Shamrock and Thistle, Coronation Bar, George V Bar and Empire Bar, with the two band clubs bearing the royal appelation Duke of Edinburgh Band Club and Prince of Wales Own Band Club.

I vividly recall the view from my grandfather’s window, the massed bands of the Royal Marines on the flight decks of the giant aircraft carriers HMS Furious, Argus and Ark Royal – a familiar sight to the people of Vittoriosa. The sounds of these bands reverberated through the densely built areas of the Manderaggio whose sturdy oarsmen (barklori) earned their living with their naval connections on the typically gaily-coloured dgħajsas.

A fragment from the dome painting by Gian Battista Conti at the Dominican church in Vittoriosa that was destroyed in the German blitz.

On the Kalkara side, ships laid anchor in splendour – rows of light cruiser squadrons, destroyers and submarine flotillas with their white ensigns and Union Jacks fluttering proudly. Across the bay stood Bighi Hospital for the Mediterranean Fleet, while on the land front, Fort Salvatore housed the internees, a terse reminder that war was imminent.

HMS St Angelo, rising defiantly on the north point of the Vittoriosa promontory, was the headquarters of the Mediterranean Fleet, while on the Marina Grande, the Naval Bakery, now the National Maritime Museum, provided bread and biscuits for the whole fleet.

The festivities on the occasion of the coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth in May 1937 were particularly impressive in Vittoriosa. The main ditch on the land front was embellished and named Coronation Garden. In the primary school, special parties were organised to mark the auspicious occasion as we proudly waved small Union Jacks and sang patriotic English songs like Rule Britannia and Hearts of Oak.

The Vittoriosa promontory was essentially British. Oblivious of its implications if war broke out, the populace, then numbering over 7,000, looked upon the Royal Navy and its dockyard as a source of revenue

At that time it was evident, even for a young child, that Vittoriosa’s connection with the British Navy had peaked to its zenith, and when in 1939 the gathering clouds of war were thickening, the Vittoriosa promontory was essentially British. Oblivious of its implications if war broke out, the Vittoriosa populace, then numbering over 7,000, looked upon the Royal Navy and its dockyard as a source of revenue.

In spite of this, the number of Italian sympathisers in this historical city with its roots embedded in Italian culture, was quite substantial, but their activities were not synonymous with fascism. In fact, the five Vittoriosa internees at Fort Salvatore came from highly respectable families who were interested in Italian culture and sport.

The former Naval Bakery on the Vittoriosa marina that catered for the whole of the Mediterranean Fleet. The building now houses the National Maritime Museum.

As an altar boy at the Dominican church, it was easy for me to conclude that in the main, the Dominican community was pro-British. On the other hand, the Cottonera diocese had a small nucleus of pro-Italians.

The impressive lofty medieval tower in the centre of the piazza, which gave the city of Vittoriosa a Tuscan flavour.

Sir Hannibal Scicluna, entrusted with the safety of ecclesiastical art treasures before the outbreak of war, was naively faced with this remark from one of the canons “Se gli aeroplani italiani arriveranno a Malta lanceranno fiori e baci di ciocolata” (If Italian planes fly over Malta they will only drop flowers and chocolate sweets). It was a time when Italy, through cultural and educational links, was particularly active in the Inner Harbour Area in its attempts to infiltrate Maltese social structure and to promote fascist ideology among the younger generation.

In fact, some children in my class were transferred to the prestigious Italian-sponsored school – the Unberto Primo – in Valletta. At the Dominicans’ Il-Lunzjata church I could wonder at the cycle of beautiful paintings by renowned Italian painter Gian Battista Conti, a fantastic work of art that perished in the bitter German blitz of 1941.

However, as the British presence consolidated itself with the passage of time and the introduction of new policies and better governance, Vittoriosa was overwhelmingly British rather than Italian. When in the latter half of 1939, war hysteria reached an unprecedented scale there was an uneasy feeling in our narrow, winding streets. Many families shed their familiar Italian names in favour of an anglicised version; thus Gianni became John, Giuseppe, Giusi and Beppe became Joe, Enrico changed to Henry, and so forth.

Children testing their gas masks.

Invariably in the early 1940s there were similar name conversations of the numerous bars, coffee shops and band clubs in the medieval piazza dominated by the lofty medieval tower similar the those found in Florence, Lucca and Pisa.

From a young age I was already following the fluctuating fortunes of war and I was visibly elated when three minor British frigates caused the great German battleship Graf Spee to be scuttled at Montevideo Harbour in the Battle of River Plate and I was deeply saddened at the debacle of the retreating British Army on the shores of Dunkirk.

As war was imminent, the vast cellars under the medieval houses were reinforced, and doors were covered with blankets. Meanwhile, we were trained against a gas attack, and in the process had to get used to wearing the ugly, frightening gas masks. As war preparations started, the blackout was introduced and window panes had to be painted over in dark colours and taped to prevent splintering. In May 1940 the Cottonera schools closed down, and only reopened three years later.

The propaganda that the British Empire was invincible went down well with extreme British elements in Vittoriosa but there were strong doubts among the level-headed about the truth of the flattering statements. All along there was a subtle feeling of insecurity – that Britain was only mildly interested in defending Malta.

As war preparations started, the blackout was introduced and window panes had to be painted over in dark colours and taped to prevent splintering. In May 1940, the Cottonera schools closed down, and only reopened three years later

Later I learnt that during the 1936-1940 period the British government adopted a parsimonious attitude towards Malta’s rearmament, rock shelter construction and food/ammunition storage, even when the threat of war against Italy and Germany was lurking round the corner. Some political analysts also maintain that Malta was sacrificed on the altar of appeasement to satisfy Mussolini.

Governor of Malta Sir Charles Bonham-Carter had endeared himself with the Vittoriosa populace by visiting the former conventual church of the Order and its treasures. In his address to parish priests a few days after the start of the war in September 1939, he alerted the Maltese to the possibility of the fighting reaching our shores.

The Duke of Edinburgh Own Band early last century dressed in the gala uniform showing the strong link of the city with the British Navy.

While war raged furiously in Europe and German General Erwin Rommel’s panzer units were wreaking havoc throughout the Low Countries and France, it became evident that the theatre of war would move further south. Early in 1940, Italy’s position was manifestly clear as its eagerness to jump on the victorious German bandwagon could not be restrained any longer.

On the eve of his untimely departure from Malta on May 24, 1940, Bonham Carter regretted that he had to leave Malta at a time when “the Empire was passing through a fiery period – a time of terrific stress”. In his farewell speech to the people of Malta he reminded us of Winston Churchill’s famous words on taking over as Prime Minister: “I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat. We have before us an ordeal of the most grievous kind”.

At midnight on June 10, from his balcony at Piazza Venezia in Rome, Italian dictator Benito Mussolini announced to huge cheering crowds waving placards and banners – amongst them a placard carried by Maltese fascists – that Italy was at war against Great Britain and France. By 7am the following day, Italy was already dropping high explosive bombs on the Three Cities and Valletta.

(To be concluded)