It would have been in the summer of 1949 and I was then an NCO in the Royal Air Force stationed on Malta. My unit (which had best remain nameless) had been through a most difficult period, though this was of course peacetime.
We were virtually non-operational and as there was another man of my rank and trade available and he was happy to pursue his particular hobby of building radios at work, it was not difficult for me to slip away and explore the remoter parts of Malta - though I was in my working uniform of khaki shirt and shorts.
My excuse was to visit the stores at Safi where aircraft bits and pieces were gathered together in long underground tunnels, which of themselves were an attraction but not on this particular day. I had travelled on the regular lorry to RAF Safi and shown my face at the office to establish my alibi and then made my way by 'bus over to near Zurrieq and thence on foot to the ancient temple site of Hagar Qim where I wanted to have a careful leisurely look at those ancient cisterns above the lower temple system at Mnajdra further down the clif slope.
It was a hot day, though a welcome breeze wafted up that slope coming across the glittering sea from the direction of Filfla a few miles offshore. That strange little island looking something like an aircraft carrier, was the only island off Malta's west coast and it had long been used as a practice target by aircraft and warships.
Hatless, my stockings rolled down to the ankles with shirt open to catch that cooler air I started off down that steep pathway that joins the two temple sites whilst directing my gaze across to a Filfla that has always fascinated me though we were not permitted to visit it because of the unexploded ammunition that remains on its rocky ledges-it is today a wild life sanctuary.
At that date there was relatively little tourist interest in Malta and the area was almost deserted but my attention was drawn to three people coming up the steep path that I myself was descending. As we drew near, I saw that it was a man and a woman of about my own age followed by a somewhat older man but almost at once I recognised -to my horror- who they were.
I was tempted to turn about and run but thought that such action might make matters worse and so decided to brave it out. I put on my cap and did up my shirt but had no time to roll up my socks as I stepped off the side of the path on to the rough ground of the slope and stood to attention. Princess Elizabeth, my future monarch, passed without looking at me as I saluted and stammered "Good Morning Ma'am, Sir" It was actually afternoon by then but her consort Prince Phillip did not correct or answer me as his eyes looked up and down my dishevelled form with a look of utter disdain (He was of course a serving naval officer at the time based like myself on Malta). The expression on the face of the (presumed) policeman was similar to that of the Prince but still no word was spoken and my hand had come down from its salute. He slowed his pace even more as he drew level and I thought he was going to take my details but after a long look he went on his way and so did I - though somewhat shaken.
