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Port Bruce Beach July 2015 - Beach sculpture by Tyler Fisher, Atlanta

Port Bruce Pier 2006 by Katy Lipscomb

Fishing tugs in Catfish Creek near the harbour.

The Port Bruce harbour as it looked in 1896. In the foreground are the two Young Brothers fishing tugs, Enterprise- and Uncle Tom .

A view of Port Bruce from across the creek, about 1900.The Young Brothers Store is on the right in the foreground and the Rocabore Inn is on the left. In the background are the homes of brothers Levi and George Young, proprietors of the Young Brothers Fisheries.

The old Wonnacott Blacksmith shop at Port Bruce - courtesy of Marjorie (Wonnacott) Smith of Port Bruce

Port Bruce schoolteacher Edna Young with her students in front of the old Port Bruce schoolhouse- 1909. She resigned the following year when she married Wilfred C. Johnson of Concession 9, Malahide.

Altar cloth memorial to Lisa and Beth Hodson, weaving by Susan Jarmain.

Cornfield Codex, a drawing by Nick Johnson.

The fish houses of Port Bruce about 1972, a water colour by Philip Johnson. Twenty years later they came down and Steve Johnson had something to say:

The Fish House is Down

by Stephen Carter Johnson

( Grandson of Betty Johnson of Urbana, Illinois and Port Bruce, Ontario)

I wrote a little rap cause I got something to say,

About something that happened in Port Bruce today.

I was walking on the pier by the side of the channel,

And saw a man with a hard hat wearin' a flannel.

He was standin' with a shovel in a vacant lot.

A place always known as Cliff's old spot.

The man flashed a grin as I walked on by,

The pile of wood where the fish once fried.

I wanted to approach him and tell him my plight,

But it was no use it was an endless fight.

It's eatin' me up what's goin' on in this town,

They're not supposed to tear the fish houses down.

I remember the days when I was four feet high,

My mom would send me down for some fish to buy.

It was always fresh either filleted or smoked,

And never had bones that would make us choke.

Cliff was a master with a knife, and could surgically cut.

That was his own castle, it was his little hut.

He would give us a wink as he wrapped up our catch,

Then turn right around and slice up a new batch.

The taste was supreme, you could always bet,

And the house was a landmark that I'll never forget.

Yes that was the best place for fish in town,

But only memories remain because the fish house is down.

This wacky little rap is my own personal homage to Cliff's fish house. I wrote it the day it came down. Steve C. Johnson