ALBERT WILLIAM MOORE

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ALBERT WILLIAM (BILL) MOORE April 14, 1918 - May 7, 2015 Dad passed away peacefully, at the age of 97 years, tucked in safe and warm in bed at the Grace Hospital watching playoff hockey. He was predeceased in 2012 by the woman of his dreams for nearly 74 years, Cecilia (Peggy). Children Bill (Ruth), Jackie, Ross (Leslie), Penny (Marvin), brother-in-law Norm Glover, as well as numerous grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nieces, nephews and friends will all miss him terribly. A special mention should be made of Betty Moore. She was a faithful daughter-in-law and a willing care-giver to the end whenever the family called upon her. She loved Dad as her own father. Dad was an ordinary Canadian but of extraordinary character. Respectfully this is a peek through a small window into the very big room that was our Dad's life spanning close to a century. Following the death of his mother during childbirth, extreme poverty necessitated 17 month-old Dad being placed in an orphanage. He would remain there until he was seven years old when his older brother Eric came and took him to live with him and their sisters, Louella and Maude, in a tiny house at the north end of Whytewold Road in St. James. Life was tough but even so Dad had many fond memories of those times. They are too many to mention them all, but there was the ram and four sheep that used to live between the houses. That ornery ram chased Dad down the street more than once butting him in the behind and sending him tumbling. Or waiting until a shadow darkened the knothole low down in the outhouse wall and then peeing in his spying brother's eye. Skipping ahead, war drums were beating in Europe when Dad joined the army at Minto Armories in 1938. When war broke out he was sent off to train at Camp Shilo near Brandon. But it was not all hard work and no play. Cue the twinkle in his eye and a mischievous grin when he would recount the time when the Regimental Sergeant Major gathered the troops around and bragged that there was no use trying to go AWOL because nobody could ever escape Camp Shilo's security. Rising to the challenge, Dad, his brother Malcolm and brother-in-law Ron Hancox soon spotted their opportunity in the form of a laundry truck making its daily pickup on the base. They snuck into the back of the truck while the driver was absent and hid inside three of the many large laundry bags. Shortly after the truck left the camp they popped out and Dad loved describing the horrified look on the truck driver's face. They made their way to Winnipeg and spent a week saying goodbye to family and friends and then turned themselves in to the MP's to face the music. It would be neglectful not to mention the hero's welcome they received from their fellow soldiers. Dad was a new father with an 18 day old son when his country called and he shipped out to war in the fall of 1940. He was a very proud member of the Queen's Own Cameron Highlanders. He would not see his small family again for five long years. When he got to England Dad volunteered for the extremely dangerous job as a Dispatch Rider (DR). Many men washed out because of the demanding training. Dad's skill handling a motorcycle, especially off road in rough terrain, served him well. But he had chosen a job that came with a very large target on the back of each man. Capturing or killing one of them and getting their hands on the vital information they carried was the equivalent of an enemy successfully hacking their opponent's computer today. In enemy hands the information DR's routinely carried could change the outcome of battles and cost many of their fellow soldiers their lives. In August 1942 Dad was wounded at Dieppe, France where his unit suffered 75% casualties. He was one of the lucky ones rescued and evacuated back to England. Once he recovered, his request was granted to be transferred to the Saskatchewan Light Infantry in Italy. Dad's hope was to get closer to his older brother, Eric, who was there fighting already. He was able to seek Eric out and Dad said he would never forget lifting the flap on Eric's tent and seeing his face light up when he saw who was calling. They even went for a little tour behind the lines on Dad's motorcycle. Neither knew that day that in just a few weeks Eric would be killed in combat. Dad never forgot his two faithful friends who were constantly at his side during the war. They were his motorcycle and his trusty Thompson submachine gun (Tommy gun). They helped him survive the war including the 1943 Battle of Ortona during a time that became known as bloody December'. It was also dubbed "Little Stalingrad" because of the deadliness of its close-quarters combat. After that came Monte Casino and onwards up the boot' to participate in the liberation of Rome. All of this, yet Dad's steadfast opinion of his war service was "I didn't do anything special". Au contraire. During the course of the war Dad missed celebrating Christmas very much. When he came home and for the rest of his life he made up for those lost years and Christmas was without question his "most wonderful time of the year". After the war he left the army and began living his life as a dedicated husband, loving father (things such as slamming his youngest son's fingers in the hood of the '48 Plymouth are but a distant memory), a good provider and friend. He got a job as a nursing orderly at Deer Lodge Veterans Hospital where he worked for the next 25 years helping care for veterans less fortunate. At the same time he worked another full time job as a landscaper. Two full-time jobs for 25 years! When he retired from Deer Lodge, Dad worked for many years as a custodian with the Winnipeg South School Division. He took immense pride in his job. He also coached sports at the school and even mentored when called upon. When he finally retired, the affection and respect faculty and students held for him was obvious. He was going to be missed terribly. That was conveyed to him clearly when on his last day of work the faculty and students gathered in the gymnasium for a general assembly. Dad was the guest of honour. Mom was there too. There were speeches praising his work ethic, character and overall positive contributions to making the school a better place. He was presented with gifts including a golf cart to enjoy in his retirement. Later he received a photo album chronicling the event and on the reverse of each photograph was a hand written note, each one different, thanking him for his contributions. Last but not least, was the final honour, special and exceptional recognition in the school yearbook. Our dad looked forward to the day when he would be able to wrap his arms around the many loved ones who had gone on before. Our mom, his mom whom he never knew, his older brother and father figure Eric, all of his other brothers and sisters, relatives and friends. Mission accomplished. In accordance with Dad's wishes there will be no funeral service. The family would like to extend a sincere thank-you to the staff at the Sturgeon Creek Retirement Residence for eight wonderful years. Wojcik's Funeral Chapel, 2157 Portage Avenue, Winnipeg, MB in care of arrangements 204.897.4665. For those who wish to sign Wojcik's online Guest Book please visit our website at www.wojciksfuneralchapel.com I stood watching as the little ship sailed out to sea. The setting sun tinted its white sails with golden light. As it disappeared from view, a voice at my side whispered, "He is gone". But the sea was a narrow one, and on the furthest shore a band of long missed family and friends had gathered to watch in happy expectation. Suddenly, they caught sight of the tiny sail. At the very moment when the voice had whispered "He is gone", a glad shout went up in joyous welcome with the words, "Here he comes"!

As published in Winnipeg Free Press on May 16, 2015