Gerald Montanaro Gauci’s explicit account (‘A personal account of war’, October 11) of the bombing of a shelter in Rabat on October 11, 1942, welled up emotions.

My family lived round the corner from the tragic event, in St Bartholomew Street. Although the air raid occurred well over two years before I was born, I can never forget my grandmother subsequently forever lamenting the loss of her precious son, Ninu, listed in the article as the youngest casualty of that fateful day.

She often recounted that Ninu, 11 years younger than my dad, wanted to go and watch the dogfight over Ta’ Qali from the shelter nearest our home following the sounding of the air raid warning. She had warned him not to go as it was dangerous but he insisted and ran off to watch the excitement in the skies above. In any case, he innocently argued, if the worst came to the worst, he would dash down the shelter. Famous last words.

As some unfortunate readers will appreciate, burying one’s child is an indelible traumatic memory.

I thank the correspondent for recalling that sad event, with specific gory detail my grandmother thankfully never actually witnessed herself. When in the area, I always stop at the Howard Gardens monument bearing my uncle’s name, saying a silent prayer for the repose of his soul and that of the other casualties.

May all innocent victims worldwide of unnecessary wars forever rest in peace.