JOHN CONNORS:

John was born in 1876 in Merasheen, and died in 1947 at the age of seventy-one years. In that seventy-one years, John Connors worked hard and raised his family through his work as a fisherman. In his young years, he fished with his father, Ans, and later with John Flynn of Petite Forte, where he met Ellen Wakeham, who became his wife. He was among the first people to have an engine in Merasheen, getting one the year after the Pomroys’ got theirs. It was a 4 HP Hubbard costing $145.00 and coming with two outfits of spare parts.

JACK BARRY:

Jack spent his early days fishing and spent many years on the Banks and in Golden Bay with Din Pat. A very capable swimmer, numerous stories are told of Jack being called on to go down 18-20 feet to recover a blade, or take rope off a vessels blades. When Jack gave up fishing, he managed Wareham's Store on Soldier’s Point, a position which he held until he resettled to Point Verde in the late 6O’s.

TOM BARRY:

In the days when it took an educated man to run a business, Tom Barry who could neither read nor write, was in charge of Keats business premises “up on the point“ where Warehams were situated in later years. Stories are told in particular of the spring of the year, when the fishermen were fitting out for the summer, most of them buying on credit Tom kept everything in his head and when he went home at night dictated everything to his wife who recorded it in the ledger. His son Jack after a number of years fishing operated Wareham’s Store, until he resettled in the late 60's, while another son Jim, began returning to Merasheen with his son Gerald a few years ago and continues to live out there with Gerald's family each summer.

Bark in the Harbour

(This was another of Lars songs)

With our bark in the harbour, we went roaming on shore,
I stepped into a bar room, where l was often before,
As l sat a gambling and enjoying my glass,
Who chance to walk in, was a young Spanish lass.

As she sat down beside me, took me by the hand,
Now young man you’re a stranger, not belong to this land,
Jolly young sailor, will you roam along with me,
Where no one will see us beneath a coconut tree.

Soon l consented with her for to roam,
As she lived in a cottage in a neat little room,
She was neat, tall, and handsome and her age scarce 18,
And the name of that Spaniard, l think was Irene.

Early next morning our ship she set sail,
And down by the seashore Irene she came,
With her pocket handkerchief, she kept wiping her eyes,
Don t you leave me my jolly sailor, Irene, she cried.

I bid you farewell with a fine summer breeze,
Hoping God will protect you when you're crossing the seas,
When you reach port, in your own native land,
Think on the young Spaniard, that once held your hand,

When you are married, enjoying your bride,
Think on the young Spaniard that sat by your side.