She thought about Rosalie too. Although going straight back to Devon was very appealing, she still itched to knowwhat her aunt might have done with her life, whether in Malta or elsewhere in the world. And she thought, perhaps naively, this might be her chance to restore a part of her family that had been broken.
‘So,’ she said with a grin. ‘When are we going to set off for Malta?’
‘You’re still determined to go?’
‘Of course. I haven’t come this far to give up on Rosalie now.’
CHAPTER 41
Riva
Malta, 1940
Nobody could believe the war was really happening but early on the morning of 11 June, Riva woke to an ear-splitting screech and then a deafening crash. She sat bolt upright in her bed. The building rocked and she trembled in fear, certain they’d been hit and that any moment now the roof would collapse. The noise went on and on pounding in her ears, in her head, in her brain. Then the wail of air raid sirens and anti-aircraft fire from British warships in the harbour. The wait was over. They’d been preparing for this. The inevitable war against Italy which, only a hundred or so nautical miles from their shores, left them vulnerable.
She was currently staying in Otto’s spare room withinwalking distance of the docks. It was easier to be in Valletta for work rather than Mdina. Had the docks been hit? Had people been killed? She paused just for a second, too frightened to move, but then threw on her clothes and boots and together with Otto she tripped and stumbled down the stairs and ran out into the street.
People were begging for assistance as dust, smoke and flying debris ballooned in the air right across the entire dockyard, and ambulance bells began to ring. Riva could barely breathe. She coughed and rubbed her stinging eyes as Otto dragged her into the new casualty station, set up just before Mussolini had declared war.
As the days went by, she longed for some guiding hand to show her the way. Tell her how best she could help. She had no idea. All she knew was that once she’d ensured Addison was safe, she would not be able to just stand by in Valletta. She had to find a way to help, but then things went strangely quiet again – the calm before the storm, she later realised.
By December, a heavier and more terrifying German air offensive had begun, and in January the Luftwaffe began its attack on the aircraft carrier HMSIllustrious, pride of the British Navy.
Riva was reading in bed when the German flares came down, but she saw the blue flash on the walls of her bedroom. She leapt up and ran to the window as the sirens wailed. Then came a horrifying series of explosions above and beyond the Grand Harbour, the air expanding and swelling as if it might burst open and swallow the entire island. Otto’s building vibrated so much she felt sure itwas teetering on the verge of collapsing. She’d been a fool and hadn’t left for the shelter in time and now could only watch in horror as she saw the searchlights and then one aircraft after another tearing away from the group and diving straight into the anti-aircraft flak. These were not the Italian raids they’d experienced so far. Riva had watched those bombs leaving the aircraft with a shrieking whistle only to fall into the sea with a splash. Had even laughed at their failure. These now, were the much more ferocious German bombs dropped at close range from Stukas. She saw the sky fill with bursting shells and twisting planes as the convoy includingIllustriouswas attacked and its multiple barrelled guns fought back with a tremendous barrage of fire. She heard the appalling progress of the screaming bombs and then saw buildings crash to the ground and fires erupt.
By about ten that night, HMSIllustrious, listing unevenly, was dragged through the Grand Harbour’s entrance, its hull burning red in the darkness. It finally berthed at a wharf in French Creek. In air thick with the fumes of explosive chemicals, dockyard workers rushed aboard, bringing with them breathing and firefighting equipment to tackle the blaze.
When it was light, Riva ran, along with hundreds of other people, to the ramparts of the harbour and saw the devastation on the other side of the water, the dust billowing, the buildings turned to rubble, the houses still in flames.
She and Otto took the ferry from the Custom House Steps over to the so-called Three Cities which had takenthe brunt of the attack. As she climbed out of the ferry, she saw dozens of dead goats floating in the water. The streets were impassable, piled high with sheets of concrete, broken glass and mountains of brick, and they were turned away by police. Riva later learned one hundred and twenty-six men had died on theIllustriousthat night and ninety-one had been wounded.
HMSIllustriouswas caught again by two bombs during another air raid on Malta. But, although damaged, like the dockyards themselves,Illustrioussurvived. Still the Germans didn’t give up. Despite further bombings the dockyard men continued to work night and day to enable the ship to be seaworthy enough to escape. On 23 January, a very battered and broken HMSIllustriousset sail for Egypt.
But still the bombs carried on falling.
Night after night.
Day after day.
Over the next weeks, while the raids continued and the people spent their nights in cellars and basements, ‘Demolition and Clearance’ were out in force. When Riva crawled out of their shelter into the dust and debris, all she could do was help get the injured to safety and make herself useful wherever she could. She knew she was not destined to be a nurse but helped as thousands of Maltese people left their dockland homes, their belongings – cooking pots, bedding, bundles of clothes – piled high on flat carts, most of their animals left behind to starve while they attempted to find shelter with relatives inland.
By day, she and Otto both wrote articles about whatwas happening. She focused on the stories of everyday people, their courage, their endurance, their tragedies, and she tried to find nuggets of hope in the darkness that now engulfed them. Otto wrote about the progress of the war. It was not good news. It was rarely good news.
Riva felt a pull to see Addison, to reassure herself again that he was still all right. Exhausted from another night helping in the casualty station, she headed by bus to Mdina, having long since given him back his beautiful car.
When she arrived at the top of the stairs, she saw his door had been left slightly ajar. She knew the butler did this occasionally to allow a through draught into the apartment, so she walked straight in only vaguely aware of the hum of voices and with no idea of what she was about to see.
‘Hello,’ she called out and entered the sitting room.
Addison turned towards her, as did another blue-eyed man in civilian dress.
She froze.
‘It’s been a long time,’ the man said.
‘Twelve years,’ she said curtly and turned to Addison. ‘I just came to see how you were.’
‘I’m fine, Riva. Thank you for keeping an eye on me.’
