These words are take from “So We'll Go No More a Roving” by Lord Byron.
As many of you know Lord Byron lived much of his life in Nottinghamshire, at Southwell, and more famously at his family's ancestral home, Newstead Abbey. Many of you will have heard of his reputation,“Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know” according to Caroline Lamb. His letters, begging for money and excusing his own outrageous behaviour are as interesting and entertaining a read as his poetry. Grace loved the letters and the stories of this man who was about as far removed from her own husband, Bill, as anyone could be other than Bill and Byron's common interest in cricket and boxing. The poem reminded Grace of Bill's decline in the last year of his life, culminating in his early death at 56 of a heart attack in 1972. It was a consolation to her. There other tenuous link between her and Byron, was that her sister-in-law, Nell's cousin is Keith Barron, the actor. Keith once portrayed Byron in a television drama.
So, we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.
For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the heart must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.
Though the night was made for loving,
And the day returns too soon,
Yet we'll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.
The poem was written in a letter to Byron's friend, the Irish poet, Thomas Moore. By coincidence Thomas was Bill Moore's middle name.
A Eulogy for Grace Moore
Grace was born on 19 April 1913, the fourth child of Percy Morris, and his second wife, Lilian Ludgrove. They were living in Sheffield with Percy's brother. Percy's profession was listed as second hand clothier, but his real skills were ducking and diving. He came from an ordinary family on Querneby Road Mapperley. Grace's family may have come far; but her son John still goes for a drink with his friend, Phil Lee, on Querneby Road.
Percy was a communist, but had no scruples about taking worker's money. He operated an illegal off course book, then absconded to Sheffield.
Percy had three children, Bert, Edie and Joe by his first wife. Their mother had abandoned them and run off with another man. Percy's mother said: “I don't blame her”.
Lilian was described by her eldest step-child, Bert as “an angel” and by Edie as “cruel”, a term Edie used for those who denied Edie what she wanted.
Percy and Lilian had one more child. He was called Albert. Grace became devoted to her younger brother, but he suffered from epilepsy.
Percy had a motorcycle. He kept tins of petrol for it at home. Paraffin was in similar tins. One time, Lilian was having trouble starting a fire in the hearth. She decided to add some paraffin, but it wasn't the paraffin. Lilian died in the explosion. Grace was 2.
Percy had 5 children and no partner. Percy did what he normally did when up against it. He left. He became a despatch rider in the First World War. Percy was a little man with a moustache who would do Charlie Chaplin impressions. On the German side was a little man with a moustache who also became a despatch rider. Later Chaplin did an impression of him. Percy had one up on Hitler. Percy had a motorcycle. Adolf had to pedal.
Percy survived the war, but his mother Hannah died in the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1919,. One of Grace's earliest memories is of being taken by her dad in army uniform to see her dead gran.
In a more innocent age, children were allowed out to explore unsupervised. From the ages of seven and six, Grace and Albert went riding around on trams and trains for fun.
When Grace was about 14 Percy moved in with a new partner. She already had two daughters. Grace had to share a bed with them, but one of them wet the bed. Grace decided it was time to leave. So she did, via the bathroom window. She never lived with Percy again. She later moved in with Edie and her husband Alf, an engaging extrovert with a weakness for beer and buying dogs off men in pubs.
Grace left school at 14, but never lost her desire to learn
In his twenties, Albert had an epileptic fit at work, while sharpening knives. Sadly he died in the accident.
Grace worked as a pattern cutter in Nottingham's garment trade.
In 1936, Grace met a hard working, sports mad Ulsterman called Bill Moore. They had the same birthday, 19th April. At 2, Bill had lost his father, a ship's steward, in the First World War. Bill resembled Dick Powell, the dancer, and star of the film: “Gold Diggers of 1933”, which was Bill's favourite.
1939 came. Bill enlisted in the Navy. He was sent for training at HMS Arthur, better known as Butlin's Skegness.
Grace did war work assembling gas masks.
Bill was posted to Atlantic convoys. On his first trip, a torpedo ran right under the ship.
Bill married Grace in December 1940. They were separated for long periods. Once Bill was stuck in Algeria. Then he was posted to the Royal Yacht to work on Overlord. Military security prevented Grace and Bill being together. After the invasion Bill went to France. Hard work earned him a 'Mention in Despatches'.
In the late forties, Bill rented a house in Carlton. It would be Grace's home for the rest of her life. Bill's mother came to stay for '3 weeks'. She was carried out 7 years later.
By 1950 Grace was in her late thirties. Bill wanted children. They had John. His difficult birth prevented Grace from having more children.
Grace supported Bill and John and worked hard for them. The boy grew up hard working, and thorough like his dad, but with his mum's desire for knowledge. She did much to educate him. She began learning French with John.
Grace took John to see his father play cricket. Wives prepared cricket teas, but Grace took a stand. She was going to do sport as well. She took up tennis, and remained an avid follower of the game.
To his parents' delight, John won an exhibition to Cambridge, but while he was there his father suffered a heart attack playing cricket. This was in May 1972. He died in hospital the same day.
With quiet fortitude, Grace put her life back together. There would be no more husbands. There was only one Bill. She took courses in French, reading modern classics in the original language. She played the piano and loved Mozart's music.
Grace made friends with mothers of John's contemporaries, and wisely cultivated ladies with their own cars. She kept in touch with previous neighbours. She read, baked, gardened and grew roses and other colourful flowers and shrubs. She travelled to France with a new friend, Agnes, and to Greece with Esme Pearch. Grace enjoyed holidays in Cornwall with her sister-in law, Nell and her cousin, Mary Barron, who owned a cottage near her actor brother Keith's.
Grace kept her mind active by doing puzzles and excelling at scrabble. She learnt to use a computer for a first time in her nineties to play the game.
Grace remained optimistic, adaptable, and hospitable. People remarked on how mentally acute she was, and how modern were her attitudes. A week before her death she had a cataract operation. The operation restored her sight in one eye, but the whole process was stressful. The following Saturday she told John she was feeling low and tired. He encouraged her to rest.
She said that she was not desperate to reach 100. Quality of life mattered more. Her diet of butter, full fat milk, fat cheese and red meat was cardiovascular Russian roulette. Her preferred way to die would be to go to sleep one night and not wake up.
She overcame many setbacks. She thought of others, and had great interest in the wider world.
Thanks for Grace Moore.
Closing Sentiments
These words are selected a verse from Fitzgerald's free and imaginative translation of the Rubaiyát of Omar Khayyám. To Iranians who love arts and science, poetry, universal fellowship and nature, Omar Khayyám is revered. People rally to his memory who oppose narrow fundamentalist Shia doctrine. Grace's brother Bert loved the Fitzgerald translation. Fitzgerald's home used to be opposite the chapel of King's College Cambridge. Grace loved roses, red wine, and sometimes, just to watch the river flow.
While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyám the ruby vintage drink;
And when the Angel with his darker draught,
Draws up to thee - take that and do not shrink
