He always wanted to fly. He joined the airforce when he was only 18 years old. At 19 years old, he was in the middle of a war. Vietnam.
He survived it. He survived it the way all vietnam vets survived it, traumatised. His wounds were the invisible kind. The ghosts of Vietnam were always around him.
He was able to achieve what his own father sadly, had not been able to do for him, for his mother or for his sister: he was able to overcome his life challenges to become a responsible and emotionally loving husband and dad. He has five amazing children: Damon, Sean, Renee, Brad and Mark- my cousins- all awesomely talented adults with families of their own.
No one could escape the double act that Uncle Harry and his mother, (my grandmother) Florence Willmore created. It pissed all over Australia's famous sitcom "mother and son"..!!! Together they took the most painful parts of their relationship experience and exploited it for all it was worth comically. They always had everyone laughing. My mother, his sister Marlene couldn't escape his good natured ribs either. We all became his unwitting stooges! His irreverence was part of his life energy. And that irreverence carried over right to the end. I don't think I know of anyone who could have had the composure and mischieviousness to go for a joke in their last breath. My uncle did.
Harry was the bloke who bought you a beer in the pub. He told jokes to everyone. He would rage against social injustice, (and sometimes the price of a beer), and often come home barefoot after giving a homeless guy his shoes. He would rant about the evils of drug addiction, then help a junkie out by giving him food, and lodgings for the night on his couch.
He would burst into loud tantrum-like-angry-tirades over the ills of the world, then go out - quietly- to try to solve them in his own way.
We will probably never know how many lives he touched. He never bragged about his
humanitarianism. He just helped people who he saw in pain or poverty. His capacity to give was as natural as breathing for him.
He coulda been a professional stand up comic. He did give it a bash and did great at it. But he put his family first. He coulda been a professional actor, he scored a few roles in some television series of the day, but he put his family first. (Show business is a notoriously dicey if you want to make a solid living. Raising five kids called for more financial consistency. My Uncle Harry knew that.) Harry Willmore coulda been anything he put his mind to. He chose to be a family man. He loved family more than anything else.
He went on to train as a medic, and worked as safety officer on the oil rigs. He then began his own safety consulting firm. The irony is that he spent his life helping others, and seeing that others were safe, both in his personal and professional worlds, but could not address his own medical needs.
A chain smoker, and boozer! These were his drugs of choice, and who could deny this extroverted larger than life character these socially acceptable self medicaids to help him alleviate the day to day emotional pains he carried? He knew the risks, and took his chances, preferring to have a boistrous energy packed life, rather than a safer sedated one. He needed these small addictive comforts to help him deal with his ghosts. These were his choices.
He was alive. He was full of life. That's why his passing hits home so very hard. It leaves us with a void, a vaccuum.
He entered a room like a happy whirlwind, tossing jokes and one liners around like matches that caught alight in everyone's heart. It didn't matter who you were, how down you felt, how inappropriate you might have thought it, he got under your skin to make you laugh.
That was one of his many gifts. You could love him or hate him; he had the ability to make sure though that you never ever forgot him. And he never held a grudge. He had alot to teach all of us about forgiveness.
Lots of people were praying for a miracle healing this last week, when it was learned he was so ill. But the miracle really, is that he survived as long as he did to inject as much love and positive energy into all he met during his life. Cancer wasn't frightening for him. It was just a "bloody nuisance." It held him back from what he wanted to do. He's already moved on. He's already healed. The true healing now occurs with those of us who are left behind. Can we live, and love with as much joy and forgiveness as he showed us how to?
He was born in England, and he died in England, but his spirit is Australian. His artwork is scattered all over Melbourne, Ivanhoe, in pubs, delicatessens and on murals of restaurants. They weren't hung in fancy art galleries, Harry was a pragmatist! Alot of that artwork went to pay bills, to send children to colleges, to buy presents for grandchildren, to take his beloved wife Marion out to dinner, or sometimes he would whip up a mural for beer money. No worries. He wasn't selfish about it. If he got beer money he would shout you one too if you were "with him".
He was the quintessential working class hero.
Uncle Harry was a proud man. Not for him a long lingering fade out in a wheelchair. He would have given any carer he'd have had hell! He went out surrounded with love. Love from all over the planet. And while it is good to know he is not in any pain anymore, while we understand it is just his body that has been shed, it is because we loved him so much that we mourn so deeply. His kindness and generosity knew no bounds!
The legacy he leaves is one of love, joy and committment. Love of family, love of life, and committment to see that all who he came into contact with, left with a smile or with a lighter heart.
My mother and father, Frank and Marlene Hampson, and my brothers and sisters, Glenn, Guy and Sarah, are deeply bonded to our Willmore clan, thanks to the love of family that's been nurtured by Florence and adopted by Harry and Marlene. We hope our Willmore cousins know -wherever we are on the globe, the Hampsons are here for them in their time of grief, bonded by the love we all share for their dad.
I guess we can take some comfort in knowing that we all have a great welcoming committee waiting for us when we pass over. Harry will be there with arms open wide for a welcoming hug, he'll thrust a champagne in your hand and have you laughing in the light. He's most likely redesigning the "after life tunnel" as I write.
There's a part of me that wants to scream "you bastard" for his leaving us so early. You know he would argue back if he could. But it was his time to pass. His mission was accomplished! And now it is our time to honor his life and legacy by trying to implement some of what we learnt from him in our own lives. Our mission is to make meaning from what we learnt from him.
I believe it's time to love each other, especially during this time of mourning. It is time to be kinder and more generous to each other, knowing in our hearts that when we hear Harry Willmore's famous phrase "are ya with me?" that indeed we are. We are with you always in spirit darling Harry. And now you can finally be free to fly- on your own terms, and in peace.
