FIRE ON A COLD NIGHT..

 It was frigid that February 14, 1948. My Momma and I stood outside on the steps and watched as the sky blazed red. I remember that glow. I remember that freezing cold night,  wondering why my Daddy had gone out and there was tension and fear in our house. I felt it - but didn't understand it.

Later, much later, that night, I remember seeing Daddy walking up our dirt street holding the hand of a little boy about my age and a younger little girl in his arms. They spent the night at our house. Nothing was said that night about where they came from and why.

A young boy, his younger sister,  and their Mother, would never forget that night. They learned to cope, but they didn't forget. This awful memory remains tucked away in my mind too. Sometimes it creeps out and I still can see the red glow in the sky. My heart hurts for my strong Daddy and those children he carried in his arms. It's easier now, but the memories are indelible, and will never die.  

You see, the truth is, my Daddy, my cousins, and their Mother had witnessed the horrific death of their brother, father, and husband.   Some memories are best forgotten. Some are so painful that they aren't discussed, they are suppressed, hoping that the pain of the event, the moment of horror, will be erased because it is willed to be. But the pain never goes away. Lives are forever changed. 

Times to Remember

I was a wee little girl on Dec. 7, 1941 only three years old.  I remember very well those days when my Dad worked at the Shipyard in Savannah.  The nights we had our windows covered.  The ration stamps.  The red, white, and blue "Uncle Sam Wants You" posters, and the sirens.  The quietness.  The darkness.  Also, the soldiers who were killed and whose pictures were in the local paper.

I remember the night my Mom was standing in front of the fireplace, warming herself, and crying.  She was holding a letter.  I believe it was the letter calling my father into war.  Ultimately, he was deferred because he was working for the DOD.  Yes, I remember what war is like even though I was young.

My Granny Elkins saw three of her five boys go to war.  Different branches of service.  Different locations in the world.  My Big Mother Scott saw her baby boy join the service.  I cannot think of anything worse that having my children subjected to such horrific circumstances.  Not knowing where they were, if they were alive, if they were warm and fed, if they were scared, and knowing they were just boys themselves doing their part. 

Several of my ancestors served and some died fighting for a cause they believed in during the Civil War.  Some of them were sons of immigrants from Ireland and England.  Yet, they fought for what they considered detrimental to the future of their families. 

 

Indeed those were perilous times.  But our country survived because they pitched in and did what was necessary during war to save our homeland.  Thank you to all those who lost their lives that December day and to all those who have served before and continued since then,  to defend our freedom as we know and enjoy it every day.