‘British sailors want to rape Maltese girls. It’s in all the newspapers. Everyone knows.’
I haven’t really got a lot of patience with fools; never had. I told her, ‘Only stupid people believe that. Anyway, we’re airmen: RAF.’ I watched her face. I don’t think that reassured her.
M’smith said, ‘You’re better off with us here than with that lot outside, but you can go if you want.’ He stood aside from the door, and I copied him.
She looked undecided, asked, ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Smoke a cigarette, wait until the coast is clear, and scarper. You can wait too if you want.’
She nodded and she waited. She accepted the cigarette M’smith offered her – Woodbine Exports – and smoked it like a true professional. I filled and lit my pipe, so we had a nice little fug building up in the office. At least she smiled timidly a couple of times, but made no attempt at conversation.
We left together. I wanted to head straight for the Navy’s military transport back to Luqa, but M’smith asked her, ‘Will you be all right? Where do you live?’
‘Less than ten minutes’ walk away.’
‘Would you like us to walk with you?’
She was obviously reluctant, but looked up the road to where the sound of the riot was no longer diminishing. It might have even been drifting back our way. Glass breaking, and wild shouts. I suppose that the alternative to us might have been worse.
‘OK. Thank you. That would be kind.’ I think she said that more from hope than conviction. ‘This way.’
The streets were cobbled, steep and unlit. Some had more rubble in them than houses. The war had left Malta scars that were bigger and longer-lasting than many of the towns I had seen in Germany.
‘I’m M’smith,’ he told her, ‘and this is Charlie. He’s not a bundle of fun tonight because he doesn’t like fights and he wants Diana Dors.’
‘At last, a sensible Englishman; but your M’smith is a peculiar name.’
‘Yes, and I can’t seem to do anything about it.’
She laughed at that, and some of her tension seemed to blow away with it.
‘My name is Suyenne. Suyenne Hansen.’
‘Is that a local name?’
‘No, I’m from Gibraltar.’ She must have been about twenty, and already wore an engagement ring. ‘I came with my father soon after the blockade was lifted.’
I calculated back: she must have been about twelve when she arrived, and this smashed-up garrison town must have scared her half to death.
‘What is your father?’ M’smith tried. She didn’t react. I’m not surprised because it was a stupid question. He tried again. ‘What work does he do?’
‘He’s a policeman.’
‘He’ll be glad we escorted you home,’ I said.
‘No. No, he won’t. He’ll think you wanted to rape me.’ Full bloody circle, but we were now outside a tall old tenement on a narrow street and she stopped as if it was her destination. She said, ‘Thank you. It was kind of you – I was frightened.’
M’smith chucked that away. ‘Don’t be silly; we were frightened too. Anyway; it wasn’t far out of our way.’
‘What will you do now?’
My turn. ‘Walk down to Grand Harbour, and catch the military bus back to Luqa. Tomorrow we’ll be in another country.’
‘Which one?’
‘If we tell you that, we’ll have to kill you.’ I told her. At least she smiled, but I know she’d heard the joke before.
‘You know how to get to Grand Harbour?’ she asked us. ‘It’s like a maze up here: you could get lost.’
‘If we keep following the roads leading down,’ I responded, ‘we’re bound to get there eventually.’
She suddenly froze, and stared at my face as if she was trying to look into my very being. I actually saw a decision being made; it was in her eyes. She pointed down the road, the way we’d come.
‘Why don’t you walk down to that corner, and wait for the civilian bus instead? It will only be about five minutes, and will get you to Luqa quicker.’
‘I’m not sure . . .’ I started.
‘It will be empty at this time of night, and the driver won’t charge you, but will be delighted if you tip him with English money.’
‘. . . I don’t know.’
She shrugged, and added, ‘It’s what I would do in your shoes, but it’s your decision anyway. Now I will say goodnight and good luck. I didn’t expect to be rescued by two Englishmen.’ Then she surprised us by giving us each a kiss on the cheek, before slipping into the dark.
M’smith made a production of lighting another cigarette, and asked me, ‘What do you think?’ while glancing at the street corner she had indicated. ‘Shall we take a chance?’ One of those decisions that change your life.
I shrugged just the way she had, and said, ‘Why not?’
So we slouched down to the corner to wait in a doorway for one of the island’s ancient buses.
Two hours later I was lying on the bed in my temporary accommodation, trying to slow myself down to sleep with that Hank Janson novel. I felt nervy; just like after some of the long trips while I’d been on the squadron in ’44. I gave up on the book and lay back, calculating the odds against being able to date Diana Dors . . . then gave up on that when I reached the several hundred million to one against.
The Navy bus we had been supposed to get wasn’t in yet. The Pongoes had been running the blue Off-Duty Personnel bus around Malta for some time, and called it the Liberty Bus – that’s because the Navy has always been crap at naming things. When I heard a bit of commotion outside, I yawned, stood up and went to the door. A RAF Regiment bod was going down the corridor from door to door, doing a quick head count.
‘What’s up, chum?’ I asked as he hurried by.
‘The bastards blew up
