The fact that I am too far away to attend Harry’s funeral (or really a thanksgiving for his life) made me think perhaps apart from sharing your sadness on his passing, I could share some small part of his younger days with you.

From my experience of attending these sad occasions, it seems that often there are bit of history which come to light which have not been noted, because of their insignificance, but they help paint a picture of times when one did know their loved one.

Brother Harry, or as the family in New Zealand always knew him, Harold, is several years older than me, so when he left home to go off to war, I was just a young boy, a young boy who thought everything in the world of this brother. When he was saying goodbye to our mother at the door, I did not want to show him my tears, and caused a fuss to pretend I was upset about something else. Childish. But he meant much to me.

Before that day, and I’m a little lost of the sequence of this, Harry was at one time employed in the Town Clerk’s Office of our local Borough Council. I knew he was highly respected there and I was so proud to be associated with him when I heard a good friend of the family telling our Dad what a great job he was doing at the office whenever he called on business.
Perhaps I should tell you a little of our home and lovely town. We lived about half a kilometre from a wonderful swimming beach, in an area surrounded by a horseshoe of hills. Harry had a painted pinewood surfboard about 5 feet long. I never got to use it. In the middle of this suburb was a large school ground, and a road went through the middle of that, with lower school one side and higher school the other. Our home was on that road with a few others, so we had the school in front and behind our back fence.

One of the advantages of that was we did not have more than a minute to get from home to school, so we weren’t very good at getting out of bed early.

Harry was keen to leave home and, somehow, I do not know how, he got a job and accommodation on a dairy farm on the Canterbury Plains near Christchurch. How many months of winter he survived getting up to the cows I do not remember, but it was a source of much amusement to us, perhaps not to him.

Later, I think when he was at the council offices, he signed up with the armed forces, and this time he knew he would be off to Canada to do his flying training. So he would be leaving home. But first of all, basic training was part of all servicemen’s life. How surprised he was and our family were to find him a regular visitor most nights and weekends – basic training and accommodation for quite a long while took place in the school behind us, which had been requisitioned for the period of the war.

Yes I was the youngest brother, as there was also eldest brother Francis. Francis, Harold, and I would walk around to their schoolmates’ houses. They would open the gates and go inside - that was after closing the gate so I could not follow and see what they were up to, so I had to wait or go home. It took a while to forgive them for that, but I had learnt a lesson, we weren’t the “three musketeers”!

As I grew older, I was apprenticed in a daily evening newspaper. On Saturdays, quite often there was several hours between editions, and I would go roller-skating at a nearby rink. This story becomes pretty obvious, but I’ll tell it anyway. At that young age roller-skating and females were priorities. There were two sisters who I met up with and whose clip-on skates I was pleased to adjust as I had a skate key. However the elder girl always puzzled me because she said little but always seemed to look at me in a strange way. I always imagined I had some special attraction (it’s a failing of us eccentric Harvey’s).
A few weeks after returning from overseas and the war, one of the first things Harry did on a Friday night out was to take me to a hairdressing shop in Christchurch and introduce me to one of his ex-girlfriends. Yes, you guessed it – she was the elder one of my skating friends, and I was now on the outer. I guess we were both handsome but Harry had his air force moustache and a few years and experience on me!

Harry and brother Francis at one time were able to rent some unused glasshouses and produced tomatoes and perhaps a few other items after they returned form the war. However Harry was restless, and went to work in one of what was then one of the major shops. He had a lot of friends there and life was going smoothly – in fact a group from work enjoyed a weekend on the beach near home, with promises of more great weekends to come.

Harry had problem with a tooth, and had leave from his job to attend a dentist during the day. When he returned his work place was on fire, many workers were dead, including some of his workmates on his floor.

This was the catalyst for him to return to England and the RAF. I believe he worked his passage “Home” as a “pantry maid”, whatever that was.

We seldom met up after that. Flying, George Medal, wedding, children, retirement, bank job, retirement, grandchildren, travel – all these we had to read about or hear of by phone, and vice-versa for him about family in NZ and Australia, with our separation, so far from one another, missing out on all those times. That is perhaps a sadness we shared over a long time, a different sorrow from that of today.

We (my wife Gweneth and I) are pleased that Harry’s suffering is over, and hope that you, family and friends, can treasure your good memories of times together.

Rest in peace, Harry, and we send our love and thoughts to you all.

Gweneth and Bob Harvey, Melbourne.