by Hayward J. Prince I was born in the 40's in the small outport of Princeton on Bonavista Bay in Newfoundland, the son of an inshore fisherman. The fond memories related here are of my younger years till age fifteen, when I left home to live in the city. THE LOFT The smell from newly-barked twine was in the air and men sat on the floor or on wooden blocks as they mended their nets. One of those men was my father. This was the scene as I entered the door leading onto the loft, which was on the top floor of a two storey building situated close to the water's edge and attached to our wharf. To get up there you had to climb some wooden steps, then cross the flake, which was slanted upwards till it came level with the door. Dad was happy that I had come to visit and proudly told a stranger that I was one of his boys and I seem to recall I was just as pleased to be one of his sons. There was a relaxed atmosphere in the loft that day as the men worked on their nets. One man would relate a yarn; then another would tell a joke, and laughter filled the room. They were happy because spring had finally come to the shores of Bonavista Bay and the fishing season would soon begin. Looking around the loft, I discovered that other sons before me had spent some idle time there as well, probably, like me, watching their fathers mend their nets. The evidence was in their neatly carved initials in uprights all around the room. Dad told me that loft was actually the property of Uncle Sam, but he didn't need the space himself so kindly let my father and others use it free of charge. Dad and his net-mending buddies are gone now, but the old building and loft is still standing, although the wind and the rain have taken their toll. But if those walls could talk, what stories they would tell! They'd probably tell you of some fine fishermen, contented with their lot in life, knowing they would never become rich from their labours, but confident the sea would give up the fish to provide the necessities for their families. They would also tell you of the years when fish were plentiful and other years when they were few, and of times when storms nearly washed the old loft out to sea. They might even tell you of some boys who had spent some idle time there and stored in their minds and hearts memories that would last a lifetime. (P.S. Since I first wrote this story, I'm sad to be told that the loft finally gave way to the wind and rain.) Hayward Prince Princeton, NL   Submitted By: Hayward Prince