There was a brief pause before Nanna asked, ‘What are you hearing about the war? Will it be over soon?’
‘That’s what we’re hoping. The British have new planes called Spitfires, which means the Germans have no chance.’
‘Why do they keep bombing us?’ Teresa asked.
‘Malta is an island caught between the fighting in Europe and Africa. Whoever controls Malta can use it to store their weapons, food and fuel, and that would be the key to winning.’
‘So if the Germans defeat Malta,’ George asked, ‘they could win the whole war?’
‘They think they can,’ Papa said. ‘Except they’ve never fought the Maltese before. Now who would like some more stew?’
That night, Teresa tried to stay awake, but she fell asleep in her father’s arms and he carried her to the mattress on the floor.
‘I’m awake,’ Teresa complained.
‘With your eyes closed?’
‘I was concentrating.’
‘Is that so?’ He laughed as he tucked her in.
‘Nanna has been very quiet since we came here.’
‘Her home was very special to her. As soon as the war’s over, we’ll make her a new one, then we can live together again, but for now we need to do all we can to save Malta.’
He held on to her for a long time before he gave her one last kiss.
As she drifted off to sleep she heard whispered voices from the kitchen, but this time her father’s voice sounded heavy and tired.
‘They bombed another flour mill and our largest bakery. The Opera House and cinema are destroyed, the palace is badly damaged. Crete and Greece have fallen and the Germans have planes called Messerschmitts that take off so fast that by the time we see them on the radar, our pilots can’t fly high enough to fight them. They’ve even started shooting our planes on the ground.’
Teresa slipped out of bed and pressed her ear against the kitchen door.
‘But we will win,’ Mama said. ‘Won’t we?’
‘There’s not a braver bunch of men I’d rather fight with. I’d trust them with my life,’ he sighed. ‘Trouble is, the Germans know it and since they can’t bomb us into defeat, they’re trying to starve us by destroying our supply ships. The whole island is running out of food and fuel. We need ships to get through soon or Malta won’t make it.’
‘But we have the support of the British,’ George’s mother said.
‘It’s not enough. There’s a rumour that Prime Minister Churchill has asked President Roosevelt to help.’
‘What can the Americans do?’ Nanna asked. ‘They are so far away.’
‘They’ve lent the British one of their largest ships, the SS Ohio. She’ll be part of a convoy packed with supplies. If they make it, Malta will be saved.’
‘And if they don’t?’ Nanna asked.
There was a long pause. Teresa felt her stomach tighten.
‘We need to pray they do.’
As the weeks passed, the air raids increased and food became even more scarce. When there was a lull in the bombing, Teresa and George would search the rocky fields behind their village, picking grass and weeds to add to their soups from the Victory Kitchen. It never tasted very good, but at least it felt like they were eating something.
‘There’s some!’ Teresa cried as if she’d spotted a pot of gold.
The searing heat of summer had withered what little greenery grew on the island. As Teresa picked the sprigs of grass, she thought of times before the war when she’d complained about having to finish all her dinner, and silently promised she’d never do that again.
She was putting the grass in her pocket when she saw Joseph Muscat in his field. He smiled as he carefully stepped between the long lines of plump melons. His big belly squished as he bent down, picked a weed and tossed it over his shoulder.
Teresa felt her anger like a jolt.
Everyone she knew was hungry. Strong men’s muscles had wasted away and plump women had almost disappeared into their dresses. Some people had even been found in their homes, cold and still from lack of food.
Joseph struggled upright, gave a brief, satisfied nod, and went inside his house. Teresa waited until he was gone before she said to George, ‘This way.’
George hurried to keep up on his crutches as Teresa marched across the dry soil and hid behind a tree on the roadside.
‘What are you up to?’
‘Searching for weeds.’ She smiled cheekily. ‘And working out how to steal a melon.’
‘What?’
‘Joseph Muscat is selling melons for ten times what they’re worth, while most people are starving.’
‘So we’re going to steal one?’ George asked.
‘More than one, hopefully.’
‘But what if he –’
It was too late. Teresa had already shot out from behind the tree and climbed the fence into Joseph’s field. She crouched low, stopped at the biggest melon she could see and pulled it with all her strength. It broke away from the vine and she held it in the air with a victorious grin.
George couldn’t help but smile until he noticed something else. ‘Run!’
Before Teresa could move, the melon exploded in her hands. Pieces of fruit and juice rained down on her. She turned to see Joseph Muscat aiming a gun straight at her.
‘Run!’ George cried again.
Teresa sped out of the field as another shot blasted over her head. She ran even faster, leaping over melons like a rabbit. She scrambled over the fence, scraping her knees on the stone. ‘Can you run?’ she asked George.
‘I can when I’m being shot at.’
George took huge strides with his crutches. Teresa ran by his side, making sure he was able to keep up. When they reached a bus shelter, they hid behind it and sank to the ground, trying to catch their breath.
Teresa began to laugh.
‘It’s not funny,’ George snapped. ‘We could have been killed.’
‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I almost became a ghost.’
Teresa laughed even harder.
‘Why are you laughing?’
‘Because we’re fine.’ She lifted her hands, which held two juicy melon pieces. ‘And because I’m going to share melon with my best friend.’
‘A friend you almost got killed.’
‘And who tends to exaggerate. Now stop complaining and try it.’
George held the melon to his nose. It instantly reminded him of how summer used to smell … of beaches and swimming without fear of air raids. He took a bite and closed his eyes as the juice spilled down his chin.
‘It’s good, isn’t it?’ Teresa asked.
‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘But I’m still annoyed.’
‘You’ll get over it. You can never stay mad at me for long.’
A young boy raced around the bend. His face was beet red and his eyes wide.
‘The ships are here!’ he cried and kept running. ‘The ships are here!’
‘Come on.’ Teresa helped George to his feet and they ran.
When they reached the harbour, it was overflowing with people. Some waved flags and hankies, others danced and lifted children on to their shoulders. A military band played and church bells rang. Teresa made sure to stay close to George as she squeezed through the crowd to the harbour wall.
That’s when she saw it. The ship Papa had spoken about. The SS Ohio. Teresa had never seen a ship so big. It was badly damaged and sat low in the water, as if it was only just managing to stay afloat. Two boats lashed to either side slowly steered it to the dock.
‘That one’s full of fuel,’ she heard a man say. ‘There are four others filled with food, but it’s this one that will keep Malta’s planes in the air and make sure the Germans never win the war.’
Children raced around while parents cheered and watched the boats glide into safety. Old and young kissed and hugged. Complete strangers danced together. Others stood quietly praying, tears rolling down their cheeks.
<
br /> Teresa’s papa would later tell her that of the fourteen ships carrying supplies, only five had made it all the way to Malta. Even though they were heavily guarded by the navy, they had been fiercely attacked from the sea and sky.
‘So many brave sailors gave their lives to save us. We need to remember them always.’
Teresa watched the sea of smiling people all around her. Their faces were thin and grey, with dark shadows under their eyes. Everyone looked lean and haggard. Clothes hung from shoulders like flimsy rags and belts were drawn in tight.
They’d been hungry for so long and in danger of starving, but none of that mattered any more, because everyone standing on that harbour looking at those ships knew they would now be saved.
After three years of bombing, the Germans finally seemed to have given up trying to defeat Malta. The war continued in other parts of the world but for the Maltese, life slowly settled into a newfound peace. The sounds of sirens, dive-bombing planes and explosions were replaced by stone cutting and hammering as roads were repaired and houses rebuilt.
People began whistling again and planting flowers in window boxes. Even though food was still in short supply, the air once again filled with the smells of pasta sauces and freshly baked bread.
Teresa and her family moved out of George’s home into a small flat. Her parents slept in one room while Teresa and Nanna shared the other. Neighbours and friends gave them furniture and blankets and soon it began to feel like home.
When George’s cast was removed, his injured leg was shorter than the other, so he walked with a slight limp. He met Teresa every day at her front door to walk to school with her.
The school building had been destroyed, so for now they had their lessons sitting on the floor of the town hall, with its gaping hole in the roof. They were quick learners and were already able to write whole pages in English and Maltese.
Teresa’s mama still worked long days at the hospital, and when her papa wasn’t working at the docks, he volunteered to rebuild houses, but Teresa didn’t mind because after years of war, they were together again, just like Papa had promised. He was always there at night to read Tom Sawyer or lift her to his knee and tell stories. He’d tell tales of swooping dogfights over the Grand Harbour or of times when the German pilots would fly so close he could see the hairs in their noses.
‘That’s not true!’ Teresa would laugh.
‘It is!’ Papa cried. ‘Long and curly they were too. Some even had baby German flags attached to the ends.’
After dinner he would take Teresa’s mama in his arms and twirl her around the small kitchen. He would sometimes even dance Nanna across the floor until she would pull away, annoyed, but Teresa could tell she was only pretending. To have her family with her was what Nanna had prayed for every day of the war.
It was during an afternoon of swimming at St Julian’s Bay that her parents first spoke about leaving.
‘Leaving?’ Teresa’s hair was dripping. ‘But Malta is our home.’
‘And it always will be,’ Papa said.
They sat on a blanket on the rocks of the bay, which was lined on one side with the blue waters of the sea and on the other with streets of broken buildings.
‘The war destroyed so much,’ Mama said. ‘It’s going to take years to rebuild.’
‘Then it will be strong again,’ Teresa argued. ‘That’s what Nanna always says.’
‘I love this country,’ Papa said. ‘And I’m proud of what we did to protect it, but I look around and I wonder what kind of future we have here.’
‘So you want us to leave?’
Mama pushed Teresa’s wet curls from her eyes. ‘It’s something we need to think about.’
‘What about Nanna?’
‘She’ll come with us.’
‘And George?’
‘His family is thinking about it too. Lots of people are.’
‘What about school?’
‘That’s one of the reasons we’re thinking of moving,’ Mama said. ‘Mrs Falzon is a very good teacher but there are no desks and only a handful of books.’
‘Where will we go?’
Papa took a breath. ‘Australia.’
‘Australia?’
‘Yes,’ Papa spoke quickly. ‘Some of the men at work have had letters from family who moved there. They say the shops are overflowing with food and everyone lives in houses with backyards as big as farms.’
Teresa stared at the children jumping from the rocks into the bay and sailing in rowboats.
‘It will take Malta years to rebuild,’ Mama reasoned, ‘but Australia is ready to offer us a future now.’
‘How would we get there?’
‘That’s the exciting thing.’ Her father’s eyes sparkled. ‘The Australian Government will pay for us to travel there by ship. It’s a young country and still growing, and they need people to build roads and dams.’
Teresa shivered and pulled the towel around her shoulders.
‘It’ll be an adventure,’ Papa said. ‘Like Huckleberry Finn and Tom Sawyer, except we won’t raft on a river – we’ll sail on the high seas to the other side of the world.’
Teresa could see her father’s mind was made up. ‘When would we go?’
‘We have to apply and have an interview, but hopefully it will only take a few months.’
A wave crashed against the rocks, sending drops splintering into the air.
‘And we’ll all go together?’ Teresa asked.
‘I’m not planning on anything else.’ Her father’s face flooded with a huge smile and he launched into planning what they would do when they got to Australia.
Teresa listened and tried to be as excited as her parents, but she couldn’t ignore the small knot of fear she felt in her throat about leaving the only place she’d ever known.
The town hall was brimming with people lined up in their best suits and polished shoes. There was a burble of nervous voices as they clutched official papers or reached for the hands of fidgeting children.
For weeks it had felt as if everyone in the village was preparing to be interviewed. Teresa watched as the women gathered in their lounge room to practise speaking English and iron the curls from their hair. This last part was in case the Australian Government thought they were from Africa, which somehow harmed their chances of being accepted, and Mrs Gatt warned them to wear scarves to protect themselves from the sun. ‘I’ve heard they’ll turn you away if you’re too tanned.’
Teresa sat in the noise of the town hall staring at the skin on her arm, wondering why any of that mattered, when her family were called for their interview. George smiled and said, ‘See you in Australia, mate.’
Teresa laughed. ‘That’s a terrible accent.’
‘I’m still practising.’
Teresa, Nanna and her parents sat before a man wearing thick glasses, a white shirt and tie. Teresa had never seen Papa so nervous. He’d stood up to German bombers, and yet here he was sitting iron-rod straight with his hands squeezed together in his lap.
‘My name’s Mr White.’ The man spoke English so fast that all his words jumbled together. ‘I’m going to ask a few questions and if you answer them adequately, then you’ll take the medical. All standard procedure if you want to migrate to Australia. Okay?’
Teresa’s family had been practising English for months, but they all found this man very hard to understand.
‘Do you have your marriage and birth certificates?’
Teresa’s mama took the documents from her bag and handed them over. The man scribbled something on his paperwork. Teresa tried to see what he was writing but it was too far away.
‘Have any of you ever been in trouble with the law?’
‘Never,’ Mama answered proudly.
‘It says here, Mr Fontana, that you were a gunner in the war.’ He looked up. ‘You fought with the Allies?’
Papa shrugged. ‘I did what many Maltese did.’
‘My papa is very brave,’ Teresa blurted out. ‘He f
ought the Germans and sometimes he could see the hair in their noses.’
Mr White laughed. ‘We need brave blokes like that in Australia in case the Japs decide to attack us again.’
Teresa didn’t know what a bloke was or who the Japs were, but she was sure Papa could stand up to anyone.
‘Can you all speak English?’
Teresa’s father nodded. ‘My wife and I learnt working with the British and Australians during the war and Teresa studies English at school,’ he explained before quietly adding, ‘but my mother only speaks Maltese.’
‘Why is he looking at me?’ Nanna asked Teresa in Maltese.
‘He asked if you speak English.’
‘Is that a problem?’
‘We’re not sure.’
‘And, Mrs Fontana, you’re a nurse?’ continued Mr White.
‘I work at Mtarfa Military Hospital.’
He smiled. ‘A lot of Allied soldiers owe their lives to that place.’
Mr White nodded and scribbled more notes. ‘So that leaves Teresa.’
Teresa’s heart pounded when Mr White said her name. She moved closer to her mother, who held her tight.
‘Are you brave and smart like your parents?’
Teresa wasn’t sure how to answer.
‘She is first in her class in nearly every subject,’ Papa said proudly.
‘Do you like school?’ Mr White asked.
‘George and I love it.’
‘George?’
‘He’s my best friend. He wants to come to Australia too. He’s going to be a doctor.’
‘We could use more doctors, that’s for sure. Any of you ever been seriously crook?’
This time none of Teresa’s family understood.
‘I’m sorry?’ her papa asked.
‘Have you had any illnesses or injuries we should know about?’
Papa shook his head. ‘We are all fit and strong.’
Mr White scribbled once more on his form before asking, ‘Why do you want to go to Australia, Mr Fontana?’
Teresa’s papa leaned forward in his chair, speaking passionately. ‘Malta is a fine country with a proud history, but the war has left us broken, with few jobs and schools without books or desks. My greatest wish is for my family to be safe and for Teresa to succeed in anything she chooses. Australia can offer us this chance.’
Teresa: A New Australian Page 3