A Tribute to Ray Moore

Ern

I've been looking at your website for a number of years, but not for quite some time recently until tonight. I don't know why I logged on tonight ... argument with my 17 year old son put me in bad humour perhaps. I've been TPI for over a year now, and still have bad bouts of the old PTSD ... and need to calm myself down ... you know the drill.
But, I looked up the 9RAR portion of your site and looked at the faces in the honour roll, and realised that today (24 July) is the anniversary of the death of one of my mates, Ray Moore.
I'm a bit of a 'would be, if he could be' and have tried writing things for a number of years. I wrote a poem about Ray in 1988 when the medic who worked on Ray and I went to one of our reunions in Melbourne. At the memorial service of that reunion, we met Ray's widow. Very emotional scene. I wrote this poem that night.
I've shown it to people here and there, but never done anything else with it; not even sending it to Ross for our 9RAR newsletter. Don't know why. Thought I'd send it to you now and leave it to you to add to the site or not as you see fit. Thanks for the great web site.
Cheers
Brian Daly
2Pl ACoy 9RAR

RAY

Wife and son
Together they come
To lay their wreath
In memory of him.

We watch and see
Wonder, 'Is it he?'
The father's there
In his elder son.

Recognition, then emotion;
We'd been talking about the commotion
That surrounded his death.

Resupply, march, patrol, and hit
It didn't take long.
But him ev'ry bit a soldier,
Did his job right to the end.

He saw the man who drew a bead
Tried in vain to beat his lead ...
Was hit and fell.

Even then did not lag,
He fired away,
Emptied his mag
Before he lay ...
exhausted.

Back he came on a stretcher rough
Borne by mates tired, teary, though tough.
Body limp-his face was grey.
That was the last time I saw Ray.

Medic tried to make things light,
Told him he would be all right.
But Ray was clear, said 'don't try'.
He knew that he would surely die.

What he wanted to know
Was who would show;
Care for his loved ones
Wife, daughter, and sons.

The two return.
Others replace.
Honour their dead,
Show a brave face.

We meet, shake hands,
Try to relate
In stumbling terms
How Ray met his fate.

They're brave and tough,
Like him sure enough.
Listen so well
To the story we tell.

And we too learn
Of his pervading concern;
How he wrote to his son
Knew he'd never return.

We listen and hear
How they'd no idea
Of the how of his death,
... just a letter.

Comes the time to depart;
Wish well-make a start.
But no one goes-chat on I suppose,
Not knowing quite when to stop.

It's been nineteen long years
Since that first lot of tears.
Seems neither side wants to break the link
That's come today so poignant, we think.

Must go and so
We say goodbye.
Mother and son
Walk quietly ... we sigh ...

And wonder ... about maybe,
If only, and why.
Guess we can't know the answers
But can only try.

Brian Daly
November 1988

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