Toni Xiberras and his older brother Kelinu were flying their kites on the roof of their grandmother Peppa’s farmhouse in Sannat on a normal Saturday in 1942. Their sister Margaret had decided to tag along with them that day.

Not being a school day, the children were having the time of their lives on the roof, while their mother Marija could take care of her other six children back home.

“This is what we did every Saturday when we had no school. I have lovely memories of time spent at my grandmother’s. It was a huge house, so we could explore every nook and cranny and let our imagination run wild,” says Toni, who is now 80.

It was 10am on October 10 – the eve of the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary – when Kelinu, who was eight at the time, caught a glimpse of two warplanes approaching from the direction of Marsalforn in the north. At first, the boys thought they were Allied planes, maybe British ones.

“They’re ‘our’ planes,” shouted Kelinu excitedly to his five-year-old brother Toni.

The boys let go of their kites and stared at the planes in bewilderment. Never before had they seen anything so spectacular in the extremely quiet village of Sannat, in the south of Gozo.

“But we quickly came to our senses. Those were not Allied planes but enemy ones,” reminisces Toni, who is now a grandfather and soon-to-be great-grandfather.

Toni Xiberras and his wife Antonia, née Refalo, who married in 1966.

The planes dropped two large bombs – one hit the roof the two brothers stood on and another fell in the farmyard (mandra), hitting a large carob tree – leaving 18 people living nearby dead and a trail of devastation.

The roof shook under the brothers’ legs as soon as the first bomb touched the ground. The second bomb followed, after which the boys heard a series of explosions and found themselves thrown up in the air, separated and buried under the rubble.

“Huge chunks of my grandmother’s two-storey house were razed to the ground, as were some of our neighbours’ houses nearby. I could hear people screaming outside. Others frantically called the names of their loved ones, fearing them death. The scene will remain in my mind forever,” Toni says.

This year marks the 75th anniversary of the bombing, which Toni thinks about every single day, especially on the way to his fields, where he spends quiet moments farming in the open air and contemplating on his life.

You were born again on that fateful day

To mark the bombing’s 70th anniversary, retired university lecturer Joe Zammit Ciantar, who lost his 18-month-old sister Lydia on that day, wrote in an article on the Times of Malta: “In 1942 Malta was going through its darkest days of World War II, with air raids killing hundreds and destroying many buildings. In those days the enemy targeted mostly ships in the Grand Harbour or Marsamxett or the aerodromes at Luqa, Hal Far and Ta’ Qali, which meant that civilians who suffered most were those who lived in or near those targets.

“In Gozo, which had no military installations and where no large ships could anchor and no planes could fly from or land – there was no reason for bombing raids. Because of this, many Maltese sought refuge there during the war.”

The two brothers and their sister Margaret, who only suffered a broken jaw, miraculously survived the bombing. Toni broke both his legs and left arm, while his brother Kelinu – who after the bombing found himself curled up close to a spiral staircase covered by a gate (xatba), which probably saved his life – screamed in agonising pain after badly fracturing his heel. Kelinu passed away four years ago.

The new building at No. 73, Seguna Street, where Marija, Toni’s mother, was breastfeeding his two-year-old brother Ġużeppi. They both survived the bombing. Ġużeppi is still alive.

During the ordeal, the grandmother had gone to the Victory Kitchen in the Tax-Xelina square to get supplies for the family. After the bombing, she rushed to the house in a panic, thinking of her daughter Klara, whom she left cooking a meal for Margaret and the boys.

“Sadly, our aunt Klara’s lifeless body was found in the kitchen next to the stove (spiritiera). She was 39 years old. My dearest mother, Marija, who at the time of the bombing was breastfeeding my baby brother, could not get out of her house. The roof had collapsed and she had to be carried out through a narrow passageway that led to the kitchen downstairs,” remembers Toni.

“Preparing for the worst, my mother came to look for us. She was so relieved to find out that the three of us were safe and sound. My father, who worked as a builder in Ghajnsielem, walked all the way to Sannat to embrace us.”

Toni, who spent 34 years in the police force and ended his service as a police sergeant, loves to read and watch current news. However, the best part of his day is spent in his fields, where he can look across the vast land in front of him and hear his wise old grandmother’s words still echoing in his ears: “You were born again on that fateful day.”