This site is a tribute to David and Helen Thomson. David was born in Motherwell, Scotland on May 25, 1918 and died on 8 November 2016.  Helen was born in Renfrew, Scotland, on 31 May 1925 and died on the 6th June 2022.  David loved the sea; he served throughout World War 2 on the Battleship HMS Valiant, in the Mediterranean, then, closer to home on a minesweeper clearing the seas around Holland, and as Coxswain of an Air Sea Rescue craft in the Irish Sea providing lifesaving support to aircraft carriers. Helen and David met during the war and Helen's war work was building lifeboats.  The poem she wrote about that time is below, along with Sea Fever. Together they were a loving husband and wife, parents and grandparents.

National Service 1943, by Helen Tannahill Thomson
The powers that be sent for me, when I became 18. 
My call up papers had arrived, my duty clearly seen.  
I said I’d like to be a WREN, smart in navy blue, 
Oh no, they said, you can’t do that we tell you what to do. 
You must go and help build lifeboats  - they’re  needed out at sea, 
So it’s dungarees and gumboots no uniform for me! 
I climbed in and out of lifeboats, hammered with a will.  
Ran in and out with timbers to the steam box on the hill,
Varnished them and painted them, sent them off to sea 
and hoped that they might save the lives of men in jeopardy.

Sea Fever, by John Masefield
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; 

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.