In October 1941 my troop took over XHD19, a four by 3.7-inch heavy anti-aircraft (HAA) gun position. It was out in the wild, close to Binġemma, with only a watch tower, built by the Knights of St John, and a large underground water reservoir nearby.

Besides our normal HAA role, for some three wintry months we were also to man the watch tower during air raids and give a running commentary to the Anti-Aircraft Operations Room (AAOR) of what was happening in our area. This meant running 180 metres, partly uphill on very rough ground and scaling some 15 rungs onto the roof of the tower, wearing an overcoat, balaclava, steel helmet and carrying binoculars; then sitting down on a ground sheet in the open against a two-foot wall for hours on end. It was only fun when there was something to report.

One wintry afternoon we probably shot down a Ju 88 on a reconnaissance flight. The plane crossed the island at about 20,000 feet and was engaged all along. We joined in when it came within range but eventually we were the only ones firing as there were no gun positions west of us.

It was getting dark; our rounds were very close to the target when we lost it. Some 30 minutes later, AAOR phoned to say there was a lot of activity in the area where the plane was last seen. It went on for a long time but we never found out what had happened.

As our gun site was on some of the highest ground in Malta, we could easily tell which town or village was being bombed; there was nearly always someone whose family lived there. It was especially difficult in the first four months of 1942, when Adolf Hitler’s decision to flatten Malta instead of risking a bloody invasion was put into effect.

During those four months, 785 were killed or wounded by enemy action; of these, 357 were Royal Artillery (RA) or Royal Malta Artillery (RMA) personnel – 121 were killed and 236 wounded.

It was especially difficult in the first four months of 1942, when Hitler’s decision to flatten Malta instead of risking a bloody invasion was put into effect

The capture of Malta would not have been a walkover; Hitler still smarted by the loss of a large number of his elite paratroopers in Crete; one reason for the loss of Crete was the defenders’ shortage of anti-aircraft (AA) fire. The Malta AA defences were still very strong.

The Italians, who were to provide the main landing force by sea, had serious doubts that the invasion would be successful; they still remembered the rout on July 26, 1941, mainly by the RMA coast defence guns, especially those at Fort St Elmo, where six RMA soldiers had lost their lives on the first day of the war.

A sizeable Italian naval force – the elite of the Italian Navy – made up of small but very fast craft, had unsuccessfully tried to enter Grand Harbour. The chief of the Imperial general staff – the top soldier – sent his congratulations to all ranks of the RMA manning the coastal defence guns on their success in breaking up the enemy seaborne attack and added “that their action had excited universal admiration in the UK”.

By April 1942, the Royal Air Force (RAF) were no longer in a position to put up any real resistance; in any case they did not have more than a few serviceable planes at any one time, and sometimes none at all, so when a few were airborne they kept within range of the Bofors light anti-aircraft (LAA) guns to get some protection.

The only resistance came from AA guns. Half the gunners defending Malta were Maltese. HAA were restricted to 16 rounds per gun per day, were not to fire on fighters and only on bombers if they had not yet jettisoned their bombs. Raids often lasted all day and night, so a roster was worked out so that each gun position could rest for a few hours a day.

One day a radar was placed inside our perimeter – it was primitive and huge; we were not responsible for its operation – only for board and lodging. A few days later, on my way to man the watch tower, an ME 109 flew very low behind the tower. I could see the pilot eyeing the gun position and, of course, the radar. We had become an important target. I foolishly shook my fist at the pilot, who ignored me.

On April 14, 1942, returning from 24 hours leave, I was asked to change duties; that meant sleeping in the command post instead of in my room in the mess. That day we had air alarms all day and all night, many just nuisance raids.

At exactly 4am I informed AAOR that XHD19 was resting and not many seconds later I was fast asleep. Twenty minutes later the spotter on duty outside my window informed me that a stick of bombs had fallen very close but not inside the barbed-wired perimeter; as there was nothing close except rock, I slept on.

I was woken up again at about 7.15 am and was told that a small bomb must have fallen on my room as it was in a shambles. I took out my camp kit, my service dress trousers that had half a moon missing at the top end and a few other essentials. A lance bombardier in his mid-30s started helping to clear the mess. He lifted a folded blanket and immediately dropped it, shouting: “It’s ticking,” and disappeared.

There, on top of my boots and resting against my box which contained all my worldly possessions, was a 500-pound bomb. It had gone through the corrugated iron roof, leaving a neat round hole; it then went through my trousers neatly folded on the bed before being bounced back against the wall by the springs of the folding iron bed; it then slid down the wall where it got covered by one of the blankets.

Meanwhile, the other officer had heard the noise but slept on five metres away with just a 15cm wall between him and the bomb. My aunt grabbed the trousers next time I took them home to show them to the family and made a pair of barathea pants out of them for my two-year-old cousin.

The bomb went off at 7.40am. I had placed the area out of bounds and gone up to the command post to report the unexploded bomb, telling the other officer to set up a suitable area for us to shave. It was a beautiful spring morning.

When I returned I saw that the shaving area had been set up only some 12 metres away. I ran towards it shouting “that’s much too close!” and the bomb exploded a second or two after I went past the open door. I was the closest to the bomb but was unhurt except for a small stone hitting my knee; the officer had a small splinter in his forehead but seemed alright.

Worst off were two young gunners who had slept on but did not want to miss the details of the incident. They were peering from about 20 metres away right opposite the open door of my room and were hit by splinters. All three had to be hospitalised but were back on duty some days later. The Benghisa war diary had survived but was all dusty and crumpled up; it is now at the War Museum at Fort St Elmo.

It was then 8am. The site was again operational. The air alarm went off and a few minutes later we were firing away. It was April 15, 1942 – the day King George VI awarded the George Cross to Malta “to honour her brave people”.

Many of the precious Spitfires sent in April, that Churchill had personally made possible, were destroyed or damaged on the ground by the enemy. It was very demoralising

A few days earlier, on April 3, the King had written to Governor Sir William Dobbie: “I have been watching with admiration the stout-hearted resistance of all in Malta, service personnel and civilians alike, to the fierce and constant air attacks of the enemy in recent weeks. In the active defence of the island, the Royal Air Force have been ably supported by the Royal Malta Artillery, and it therefore gives me special pleasure, in recognition of their skill and resolution, to assume the colonelcy-in-chief of the regiment.”

The next day I was posted to our sister troop XHD 18 Tarġa, which was a much more comfortable place to live. It even had soft armchairs in the officers’ mess. It had been attacked five times but there had been no serious casualties. My troop officer was a young warrant officer (WO), a few years older than me – WO II C. Zahra. He was very pleasant and efficient. Unfortunately we did not share the same mess and so we did not have our meals together, when most troop discussions and planning usually took place.

Soon after I arrived there were several big raids on Ta’ Qali, less than a mile away. We were on higher ground and had a splendid view of the runway and many of the pens on the perimeter erected to shield the fighter planes, Many of the precious consignments of Spitfires sent in April, that Churchill had personally made possible, were completely destroyed or damaged on the ground by the enemy, some in front of our very eyes. It was very demoralising.

The enemy did not go scot free but Malta was the loser; it was a great blow. Many enemy planes were destroyed during the attacks. One hit was particularly spectacular – the plane lost its right wing while still diving on Ta’ Qali; a parachute opened but it got caught in the plane’s tail that spiralled down to crash a mile or two away.

One day, we were expecting a raid when the battery commander and the battery captain, who had not taken many engagements, approached the command post and I was asked whether I minded if the captain took the next shoot. It was, of course, not a request but an order.

The barrage on Ta’ Qali went off well but two of the last wave of Ju 88s peeled off and continued their shallow dive straight at our position. It was the only time I would have had the opportunity to order “gun control” when the sergeants on the guns took complete control and fired special shrapnel shells, the layers using their gun sights instead of their dials – Fuze 2 at an approaching target and Fuze 4 at a receding one – the guns firing just like a shot gun.

Our guns never fired. One of the planes harmlessly dropped a canister containing a large number of anti-personnel bombs (butterfly bombs). No one was hurt. The canister was probably meant for the airfield and the pilots must have had second thoughts at the last moment.

My battery commander often stood close to the command post watching the shoot especially when it was a big raid. One day I stopped an engagement to fire instead on top of Salina gun position commanded by my elder brother as it was being dive-bombed. We had prepared barrage details to defend other gun sites being attacked. He was awarded the military cross. “I suppose family takes priority,” my officer in command (OC) said jokingly; “Pity, the other shoot was very close.”

The next consignment of 60 Spitfires arrived in mid-May. By then, Lord Gort had taken over as governor and commander-in-chief. This time the arrangements were excellent. In each pen, everything was ready to service the plane as soon as it landed and a fresh pilot was readily available to jump into the cockpit should the enemy approach the island. The enemy stayed away but came in force the next morning.

This time the Spitfires did not wait for the enemy to reach Malta; instead they met the planes some 20 miles out at sea and mangled them. I could not help clapping as the Spitfires took off three abreast from our end of the runway, forming up over Valletta before flying out to sea. There were still many raids after that but the RAF had gained local air superiority and never lost it again.

My 21st birthday was due on May 20. I felt that I deserved a break of three days to celebrate it with my future wife. All was set. Zahra would have his 24 hours off, returning at 8am on May 23 and I would then be free to leave. At 7.40am, five Italian bombers approached Ta’ Qali from the west, in strict formation, flying in a straight line, at a constant speed and height – the ideal HAA target, which the Luftwaffe never observed. We were soon firing away with other HAA guns. The fire was extremely accurate and before they reached their target they released their bombs to hurry back home.

At 8am I was having breakfast. A message arrived from Mtarfa – 90 General Hospital; WO II Zahra had been admitted hospital with bomb wounds. A few minutes later another message arrived saying that he had succumbed to his wounds. He had been surrounded by the bombs dropped by the Italian planes some 1,500 metres from our gun position.

My morale dropped to zero. I had helped to make the planes drop their bombs. I was on duty and so did not even go to his funeral. He was the only one from my battery killed by enemy action.

(To be concluded)