Wednesday, 17 August 2011

George Moore 1949 - 2011: A tribute to a good man, and a better father.

Family portrait by the wonderful, the marvellous, Gillian Reid.

If you've been following me on Twitter or Facebook as of late, you may have noticed how hard things have been for my family. If you haven't then I regret to say that my dad, George Moore passed away in the early hours of last Friday, August 12th.

In the build up to the service - which was sincerely beautiful - we had been fretting over finding a fitting passage, without being asked, I went away and wrote something from the heart, something I felt summed up my dad as a person for those who knew him and for those who didn't have the pleasure. Something fun and light hearted. He would've frowned had been otherwise.

It seemed to go down a storm, but only because of my wonderful big sister Katy's magnificent delivery. Unlike this feckin eejit and my extremely wise and all knowing older brother Patrick (I mean that with zero sarcasm), both my amazing sisters, Katy and Hannah are fantastic public speakers and I know deep down I couldn't have delivered this poem with such cheer and such bounce to get a rare round of applause at a funeral. That's real talent.

So my gift to all who have shown such amazing support to my family over this difficult time, is to share this genuinely personal piece of writing which I intend to hold close to my heart for all time.

Whatever may come after it, know that this is my proudest moment as a writer:

He wore glasses, rarely goggles.

His iconic phrase was surely, “the mind boggles.”

He was a father, a brother,

A Morris Minor loving punter.

He once owned an Audi, a Merc, and a Porsche.

Some of my friends would say, he even had ‘the force.’

He was a tinker, some ways a tailor,

He loved movies with soldiers and spies.

He loved museums, mainly the Ulster,

Chasing his children round Botanic would probably leave him in a fluster.

When he married a beautiful woman called, Shirley,

Kids called Patrick, Katy, Andrew and Hannah were to follow shortly.

He’d drink a fine wine, a port, a shandy, cite off one of his speeches,

And once all is said and done he’d shout: “We’ll fight them on the beaches!”

Music you say? Beware, you’ll be there all day,

Though with such wonderful company I know you’ll be glad you stayed.

So I ask you to join me, in these friendships we’ve forged,

To celebrate the life of a man called, George.

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