MY PARENTS
   by Madonna (Rose) Collins

My parents, Harold and Bride Rose, lived most of their lives in Merasheen. They raised a family of five children there (Madonna, Nellie, David, Anselm, and Louis) until resettlement forced them to leave their home on Soldier's Point in 1968 and relocate to Freshwater, Placentia Bay.

Harold was a quiet hardworking man who was always willing to help a neighbour in need, turning his hand at anything from launching a boat to butchering a sheep. If one listens intently enough, his laughter might still be heard in the distant hills, or in and around the Mooring Cove. It was here that he laughed hardest when he won a to hand of monk on a cold winter's night or tested his home brew on some unsuspecting visitor who happened to drop by.

Bride, of course, will be remembered for her songs, one of everyone's favourite being ‘The Tiny Red Light’. Although she was ill most of her life, she never gave up singing, often using music to help cope with her pain. She was happiest when a visitor came to the house and she could share one of her songs. However, even when alone, she would rock and sing to her heart's content.

The Rose family is now scattered far and wide while Bride and Harold have entered their eternal resting place. I relate the story of “Harold's Brew" in an attempt to demonstrate their love of life and to assist in keeping their spirit alive. May they rest in peace.

HAROLD'S BREW

Ah, Merasheen! What wonderful memories our beautiful island home evokes! Those memories are now the subject of many a yarn at get-togethers and reunions. Family life, back in our childhood days, revolved around work with all members, including the youngsters, expected to perform certain chores. Older children were given more responsibility and were often in charge of the younger ones. However, there was more to life than just hard work as people always made room for laughter and fun. The Rose household was often a place to have a time -or a spree as Harold served his famous homemade beer and Bride always keen to sing ‘a good ole come all ye’.

As many of you who grew up in Merasheen are aware, Harold could be considered something of a brew master in his time. He delighted in putting in a keg of malt, hops, or potato beer, often adding secret ingredients, such as raisins, to aid in altering the taste or to help in giving a richer colour. He continually worked at perfecting his brew, being careful to never cap it off until it reached the proper stage. Following the capping off (usually in recycled rum bottles), his ritual required that he hide the bottles away in different areas of the house in order to age the brew.

When he decided that his beer was properly aged and ready for drinking, he took great pleasure in trying it out on any male visitor who dropped by. Seldom indulging himself (except for the occasional
Jockey Club), he would sit back and grin, awaiting expectantly the forthcoming praise of his brew. In this way, many a ‘time’ started at our house with Mom, Mrs. Bride, only too ready and able to sing one of her many songs.

I remember well one fall, Dad was putting in his keg of beer in preparation for the upcoming Christmas season. My siblings and I watched intently as he used his ‘copper’ to make the bottles airtight. He proceeded to put his bottles of beer away, never allowing us the privilege of knowing where he was hiding them.

Some nights later, when everyone has settled down for a good night's sleep, there was suddenly a loud explosion. This appeared to originate in our parent's bedroom. Mom could be heard screaming as she just about hit the ceiling, thinking aloud there must be an earthquake. We children were scrambling and shrieking and at the same time pulling blankets over our heads, while himself jumped out of bed in his white singlets, roaring with laughter. ‘Why’, we all thought in our state of panic, ‘would our father be laughing at a time like this?’ Amid his gales of laughter, he was finally able to order us back to sleep and to reassure us that all was well. He had immediately realized that he had capped off his brew too soon and one of the bottles, which he had hidden under the bed, had burst. He stayed up until the wee hours trying to locate his other bottles so that he could uncap them to prevent other explosions during the night.

This incident made for quite a tale at the next “time" and added to the merriment with Bride's songs, a boiler of rabbit soup and of course, Harold's brew.