When the bombing in Malta stopped around 1943, I was five years old and we returned to Malta to live in a Sliema town house in what was then called ‘Victoria Avenue’. We lived in number 20, across the road from George Borg Olivier who became prime minister of Malta. The street has now been re-named after him
The war finally ended two years later and people started to relax. However, it was on the seafront in Sliema that another very close shave happened in my childhood. I was now about seven or eight years of age and my elder sister, Grace, and I were walking along the flat rocky seafront. Grace spotted a rope, covered in seaweed draped over the rocks. She bent down and took hold of it and started pulling it to see what was attached at the other end. Meanwhile, I went to look and heard a soft ticking noise. I shouted at her “It’s a bomb Grace. I’m going!” Grace laughed “Don’t be so silly,” she said, thinking I was being dramatic and imagining things. I was not waiting to be proven correct so I said “Bye then, I’m going”, and walked off.
Grace had no choice, she was in charge of me and had to drop the rope and chase after me. As we left some boys, who were playing on the beach took up the game and started playing with the rope. As we reached near to home, we heard a loud blast. It was not till the next day, that we learned that the three boys had been killed instantly by the explosion.
Life gradually returned to normal. I remember going with dad to the stadium every Saturday afternoon to watch his team play their main rivals. We would sit on the side of the supporters of Floriana and I could hear people whisper his name and greet him. In the evenings we would often go to visit his mother, who lived not far away, and they would play cribbage while I would sit and talk to my uncle who was not so fond of playing cards. I felt at peace there and enjoyed their company. Granny West baked the best rice pudding ever!
One of the things I remember vividly from my early years was my ability to watch and enjoy someone at work. We lived in a street which housed many of the better off families. However, round the corner, not a hundred metres away, was a tiny room in which a cobbler sat repairing shoes.
He seemed to expect me to turn up and just smiled when I did. I would watch him put the shoe on the last, cover the sole in a thick glue and then place a piece of leather on it. Next the leather was cut to the proper shape and secured. Not sure if he used nails or sewed them. A lovely picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus hung behind where he sat and I would watch for many minutes without a word being said. Somehow this man exuded peace and I felt he really enjoyed doing what he did.
I certainly found joy in watching him and to this day many years later, I can still imagine him sitting there with a smile on his face.
I adored my mum, and was very affectionate towards her but I spent quite a lot of time with my Dad. As well as going to his football club or his mothers, from a young age he and I would go to see films together. This carried on even when I was going through difficult times later in life. However, he rarely talked about himself, if ever. All I knew about him came from people who told me what a great handsome sportsman he was.
He was such a fast runner that he was given the nickname by his team ‘The Gazelle’ and because he was known never to have fouled anyone he was called ‘Gentleman George West’.
Dad was always keen to promote a love of sports in all his children. My sister Marian, would often talk about how he would grab her by the hand and run with her when she was about eight years old. Later she turned out to be a very keen tennis player. My sister Irene was not so enthusiastic. Dad took her along to watch the football matches in Floriana but, from their seat, right in the front, all she could think about was how she would dodge the ball if it came towards her. It wasn’t quite her thing. I was different. Me and my friends called ourselves ‘The Sharp Shooters’ and we met and played football near our home in Victoria Avenue. Dad decided that we should have a proper club room so he helped by kitting out our cellar with benches and other bits and pieces. We all wore the same T-shirts and our ‘training’ consisted of races round the block and high jumps over hurdles which dad created with bamboo rods. At this time all seemed well with the world. I never noticed the oddity of my parent’s relationship. The fact was, they were living separate lives in the same house. My father had his own room on the top floor and my mother in the main bedroom. As far as I can remember, I never went anywhere with them together. Nonetheless, I was a normal, happy kid even if a bit more mischievous than most.
Being the long awaited boy in a family of three girls did mean I was rather spoilt and, being the adventurous child that I was, I took full advantage of this. I tended to be a bit wild and I somehow managed to get thrown out of four or five junior schools. At one, I climbed through a window and went home for being told off for turning up in football boots, sporting a hockey stick. At another, the military school in St. Andrew’s, I was put over a teacher’s knee for a well-deserved spanking, whereupon I promptly bit her! Despite this behaviour, I was a well liked child; especially with our neighbours.
In the house next door to us, lived a family of seven , brothers and sisters, none of whom were married. They would join my father on the roof and chat away for a few hours. They lived a very reclusive life and were all deeply committed to their faith. One of the brothers enjoyed making large kites out of bamboo and crepe paper which he would give me and I would fly them for hours from our roof. Another member of the family was called Johnnie and whenever I met him in the street, he would give me a considerable amount of money, three or four Maltese pounds, equivalent today to around 50 euros.. Regrettably, I took advantage of this and would go out to meet him when I saw him. Every time he would ask me to tell my parents about it but I hardly ever did.
A Russian friend of the family, who I called Aunt Milla, would turn up for tea every other day on her way to see her Russian friends around the corner and give me a ‘big penny’ to go and buy some classic comics. That was two shillings and sixpence which was also a lot in those days.
Up the road was a wonderful spinster who jokingly called me a scruffy little boy and threw me the equivalent of five pounds in today’s money to go and have a haircut.
I also delighted in selling things for other people, making a huge commission. Occasionally this backfired especially in the case of five cocker spaniels which the children wanted back. I also collected all the old magazines like Vogue and Harper’s ETC and sold them, second hand to a shop in the strand. I seemed to have a gift as a tradesman of sorts.
Regrettably for me, all this came to a bitter end when I was sent to St. Edwards college and imprisoned, or so it felt, at least for the first two years.