Gordon Moir, Kamikaze as most people knew him, was a talented, loving, deeply religious, considerate but firm father.
The youngest of nine children, he was born in 1928 in Inverell.
The son of a PMG (Post Master General) linesman his family moved to Bulahdelah and then to Taree when he was three years old.
He often regaled his family with stories of growing up in Taree and he sounded like a larrikin. In his youth he would go up to the orchards on Bays Hill and he and his friends would have a feed then escape before being caught.
His parents had a general store in Commerce Street. In later years he lived in a house in Cowan Road and often laughed that he ended up living there.
He often told the story of his sister Jenny riding through the bar in the Fotheringham Hotel on her horse.
He left school early and took on bullock driving - then travelled to Darwin to become part of the civilian defence of Australia during World War II.
Poetry was a major love of his.
His creativity was amazing and he would sit and write a poem within a few minutes. A lot of his poetry was very deep and dealt with issues that were happening around him.
Another love was sketching and painting. He loved leaving a serviette with a waitresses portrait on it as a reward for lovely service and many a coaster in a pub ended up with incredible sketches on them.
In his early 20s he moved to Sydney and met his Rose Marie. Together they bought their home in Villawood and had two daughters. He became a great grandfather to six after he had seven grandchildren.
His life revolved around his family, his job as a wharfie and his love of motor bikes, cars and planes.
His poetry reflected these passions. He loved taking his daughters flying in his friend’s Austers and Cessnas and telling the pilots to perform manoeuvres.
He parachuted and drove gliders.
He had a lot of German friends when he lived in the Picton area and joined the German club in Wollongong, creating the art for their clubs and regalia for their uniforms. Many a weekend was spent travelling the country with these friends.
After retirement he travelled the country visiting country pubs. He loved the pub atmosphere - probably a result of his visiting the pubs of Pyrmont and Sydney areas after work for a beer when he was a wharfie.
He talked of the times he had a beer with Bob Hawke when he was in the trade union movement.
He was well known on the wharves and was proud to have been the most ticketed mechanical driver on the wharves - X378 his wharfie number.
He returned to Taree and lived near his daughter in Taree as he got older and loved putting his poetry in The Manning Great Lakes Extra in the “poets corner” section.
A lot of people used to tell him how they loved his poetry and waited for the paper to read his latest poem.
He was good friends with lots of locals and his church friends looked in on him and made sure he was going ok.
After a bad fall Gordon entered Storm Village in Chatham where the wonderful staff looked after him beautifully. He spent six years there and often sketched the nurses and wardsmen.
Unfortunately Gordon’s beautiful heart tired out and he passed away on February 16, 2018.
Compiled by daughter Rhonda Newell
This odd misshapen thing, my misinformed and uninformed mind
A misspent thing that prowls the caverns of my brain
In constant search of answers that it never seems to find
Until all spent it bids me (Tis my master) “Drink”, so it can sleep again
Yet still it knows that somewhere deep within
That endless maze of alley ways of thought inside
Somehow if it can only keep on looking deep therein
Somewhere there stands a door to everything, waiting to open wide
Each brain is full of alley ways and streets
Like life without, each alley holds a story or an answer on its own
A countless multitude of thoughts abide in these untraveled streets
The unused answers lie await, for every problem man has ever known
This alley here for instance, it once entered there
And whereupon experiencing hurt it turned and walked away
Now lies dust filled and uninviting and my mind it doesn’t care
Yet still it might have added to my knowledge had it dared to stay
Those unused misused scarred streets within my brain encased
Uncared for as I seek my life without
Hold keys unnumbered to life’s problems and it’s pleasures still untraced
Treasuring a world of knowledge such as we can never dream about