I Wish I Had Known Them All
I Wish I Had Known Them All
Kevin Davis, 2024
I wish I had known my forebears all,
To understand the roots of who I am;
Yet those I knew gave threads enough
To trace our family’s woven span.
My mother’s parents died before my birth
In lands whose customs were not my own;
Yet they left kin who spoke of them
And mourned them fully grown.
I never met those grandparents,
Yet through the stories shared,
Their trials and courage live in me—
A strength by them prepared.
The bombs that fell through their hard years
Rained fire from the skies,
Took homes and lives and shattered streets
Before their children’s eyes.
Yet in the rubble of their world
They searched for some small way
To keep their family fed and safe,
Come hardship, come what may.
My grandparents lived in Clydebank town,
In Scotland, wartime scarred;
In 1941 the blitz began,
And Clydebank suffered hard.
Of twelve thousand homes, just eight remained;
The rest lay torn apart.
Twelve hundred died, thousands were hurt—
Grief marked each family’s heart.
Thirty-five thousand were left homeless then;
Shelter was scarce and thin.
Food and work and school went on
Through losses deep within.
Their fortitude was plain to see,
Their courage stark and bright—
A people holding life intact
Amid the burning night.
My grandparents, Peter and Elizabeth Paterson,
Were steadfast, brave, and true;
They raised their children through the storm
As war around them grew.
They forged a sense of normalcy
Where chaos had its claim,
And every child gave what they could
To end the hate and flame.
My grandfather worked at John Brown’s yard
Repairing Allied ships,
Then home again to care for kin
With steady hands and lips
That sang for sailors home on leave,
His music lifting gloom—
A harbor made of melody
In wartime’s shadowed room.
My grandmother kept a home alive
When even none remained;
Their house destroyed, possessions lost,
Yet dignity sustained.
With others from their battered town
They sought what refuge could be found—
Kind Glasgow neighbors took them in
And shared what hope went round.
My mother, fifteen, school just done,
Went with her brother Fred
To work at Singer’s factory floor—
War industry ahead.
They fashioned aircraft parts and shells,
Not sewing machines of peace,
And walked home dodging strafing fire
That fell without release.
Her brother Jim joined Royal Navy ranks;
Her sisters Mary, Nellie too
Were placed with kin for safety’s sake—
Each did what they could do.
They served both family and country then
With courage, duty’s aim;
Their sacrifice runs in our blood—
Our heritage, our name.
My father met my mother there
While his ship lay in repair—
APA-13, the General Dickman, battle-worn,
Needing careful care.
Amid refitting, work, and war,
They found brief hours apart
To kindle love in shadowed days
And pledge a steadfast heart.
They courted while he piloted
His landing craft through war—
D-Day and the southern coast
Their promise binding more.
She gave her scarf; he carried it
Through danger, cold, and foam—
A token of the life they planned
Beyond the guns of Rome.
They wed September thirteenth, ’44,
With rations shared by friends;
Their wedding photos still recall
The joy that war transcends.
She sailed aboard the Santa Rosa then
With brides from many lands;
His parents welcomed her with love
And open, grateful hands.
May eighth, 1945—war’s end in Europe’s sphere.
He returned to Memphis home;
His ship was sent to Asia’s front,
While he stayed stateside, near.
She joined him there; their married life
Began in peace at last—
His service done, their duty met,
The war now in the past.
My grandmother died August ’46,
Just fifty-six years old;
Her family safe, the war complete—
Her story bravely told.
My grandfather, broken-spirited,
Lived on a little while more;
Having seen his granddaughter named for her,
He soon reached the farther shore.
My grandparents both were taken
Long before their time;
Their sacrifice is why I live—
Their struggle shapes my rhyme.
I am who I am, as are my kin,
Through all their trials endured.
That is my mother’s side—
Now I turn to those
On my father’s side, whom I knew.
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