"He was a fearless man, and a gentleman," said the clergyman to a weeping young woman as the hearse carrying Harry's remains arrived at the Parish Church, Harold's Cross.
Henry William Moore was indeed fearless. He served with the early paratroops in the British Army in the second World War, fighting in Germany and later in Indonesia. These were the glory days of the "Red Devils" when they were selected from other regiments as volunteers of a high standard who could be returned to their own units if they failed to measure up at any time.
Big and strong, he was never intimidating, but always forthright and firm. He was heartbroken by what happened so many years later on the infamous "Bloody Sunday" and never again attended a reunion party. A generation had passed and a vast difference in quality through lowered levels of selection and training obtained when one no longer had two million to pick from.
A great and studious patriot of Ireland, he was first to join the LSF and LDF when they were formed here in Ireland. He went away to the war against the Nazis when the threat of invasion seemed to have receded.
We of the Irish Parachute Club loved this brave, kindly man who was a founder member, our chairman for the first eight years and a father-figure for the 41 years the club has existed. He lived for the club, rejoicing that Ireland, a land without experience of any kind with parachutes and often scoffed at as Europe's most backward country, had founded the first real civilian parachute club in the world - with the help of young people, most of whom had never been close to an aircraft in their lives and who, because they could not afford to buy or modify a special aircraft for automatic opening, were trained to jump from various small club machines and operate the parachute themselves. It took a lot of basic training, confidence and courage.
Not only that, but in 1960 this Irish club astonished the aviation world by air-dropping by parachute loads of supplies for people on west coast islands, in a huge storm, from a twin-engined biplane which was tossed about in the gale but made its way and dropped its supplies on the right islands, thanks to the late Arther Wignall, an Englishman who knew which island from which in the madhouse of wind and waves and spray blown over the low-flying DH Rapide.
Harry Moore was on that flight. He didn't need to be. It was dangerous, and he had no specific job, but he was our chairman; and he sat up front and when it began to seem as if the wild tumultuous seas would drag our little flimsy vehicle down to destruction Harry's stentorian voice countered with Nearer My God To Thee.
He was a quietly religious man, very stoical, calm and with a ready smile and happy laugh. He and his darling wife Vera spent every day of their lives since retirement visiting and transporting sick relatives and friends. I am but one of dozens, nay, scores, to whom they gave their help and friendship night and day. Even in his 84th year, he was active and known and admired by the youngsters of today in the dynamic sport of modern sky-diving.
We offer Vera and relatives our heartfelt sympathy. Harry was very special; he has left us marooned in a sea of grief. All at home and so many abroad deeply regret his passing. We shall not forget our great chairman, Harry.
F.B.