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Short breaks are normally classified as holidays and this was a good if unusual example: charged with a simple instruction – to deliver, as soon as possible, one Mark XI Spitfire Aircraft No. BS 500 to a much-decorated R.A.F. Officer named Warburton stationed in Malta. No other instruction was given. All detailed planning arranged personally, i.e. no external supervision of any kind. Did however take the precaution of taking a piece of paper, signed by a senior person at home, requesting anyone overseas to facilitate return to the U.K. This seemed a sensible precaution as it was known that the North Africans, and particularly the ones left in Malta, were short of experienced pilots.

An uneventful passage via Gibraltar and Algiers was experienced, with friends at the latter for a convivial evening. Malta was very different. Arrival coincided with a collection of shot-up American B 17s that had landed there to avoid a return to the U.K. in daylight. Life in Malta in early 1943 was clearly pretty uncomfortable. Slept in some kind of underground shelter, and food was short, but surprised that there appeared to be no blackout – a great change from the previous three years in England. The theory was that the enemy were so close that there was no point.

Hung around for a few days hoping to scrounge a lift towards home. Declined a suggestion of visiting submarine, but eventually, at very short notice, got a lift from a passing Transport Command Hudson Aircraft on its nighttime flight from Cairo to Gibraltar. Sat in the back with miscellaneous stores and packages. All peaceful for an hour or so, but suddenly became aware of bangs and flashes in the immediate vicinity. Apologies from the Captain who said the plane had taken the wrong course and had inadvertently flown over Italian-held North Africa. No further alarms and arrived very cold many hours later in Gibraltar.

There was a footnote to all this: walking down Main Street at around 11am passed a bar that was just opening. Went in and ordered a Gin and Tonic. This coincided with the assembly of an orchestra, which presumably operated over the lunch hour. Anyway picked up G and T for the first gulp, and at the very same moment, the orchestra produced a loud opening chord. Gin and Tonic and Glass collapsed into a small pyramid of wet crystals on the bar - an unusual welcome back into peaceful surroundings.

There was a somewhat ridiculous sequel to the Maltese ‘holiday’. At the end of the War, there was a scrutiny of Wartime Flying Logbooks to deal with the issue of Campaign Medals. This resulted in the completely undeserved African Star (for landing in Algiers), and a Bar to this for ‘Service’ in Malta.

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