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General News

6 May, 2024

Moore, Moore, Moore — Legendary brothers

The Moore brothers covered a wide spectrum of local society. Frank, the courteous civic leader and ever-obliging proprietor of his menswear corner shop, known universally as “Frank Moore’s Corner”. Frank operated this business with his son...

By Riley Upton

Moore, Moore, Moore — Legendary brothers - feature photo

The Moore brothers covered a wide spectrum of local society.

Frank, the courteous civic leader and ever-obliging proprietor of his menswear corner shop, known universally as “Frank Moore’s Corner”.

Frank operated this business with his son Brian, over several decades.

Frank, the epitome of modesty and a thorough gentleman, rarely talked of his sporting prowess.

According to The Ballarat Courier, he was the finest centre man in the Ballarat League in the years when it was second only to the VFL.

At cricket he excelled. A left-handed opening batsman, he scored innumerable centuries in a diversified competition (including) teams from all over the district. He was the popular choice as captain of all representative sides where he excelled, leading Maryborough to victory in the top turf division. He stood alongside the Herrings, Woodfuls, Nivens, Kerrs, Hubbles, Ponsford, Watts, etc.

To quote the press of the time — “some people are born great, others have fame thrust upon them.”

Chosen as a batsman, Maryborough’s Frank Moore, also a part time wicket keeper, part time bowler, did something which wrote him into the record books of Bendigo cricket.

In a match against the touring Englishmen on January 9, 1933, during England’s second innings, Frank dismissed Pataudi, Larwood, Verity and Mitchell for 23 runs.

Frank served on a variety of local community organisations which catered for the needs of the community.

We are all blessed to have Frank as part of our town.

Frank gave a lifetime of service to the hospital.

The Sports Association honoured Frank for his 40 years of service to the local community.

Tom (Mud) Moore, the nefarious brother in the Moore trilogy, also added to the family’s contribution to the district.

Tom operated a pool hall which was a gathering place for many of the town’s dubious characters, such as the Sheriff, the Yank, Truthful, Swifty, Rusty, Dog’s Body, etc.

This strictly male domain was a hive of gambling and a refuge for “scallywags”.

After destroying (upturning the tables laden with food) for the departing police chief, Tom and his cohorts faced judgement in the court.

The sentencing judge in passing his summary said “son, your name will be ‘mud’ in this town!”

From then on he was known as “Mud Moore”.

With the depression in full swing a gullible Tom was convinced that labouring on a West Australian rail gang was the go. It wasn’t to Tom’s liking — intensive, shade-less heat during the day, sub-zero nights, sleeping on hessian sacks and lice, and mozzies the size of rats infested all.

Sanitary pits perfumed the air and a diet of boiled mutton and damper hardly tempted the taste-buds.

Tom’s escape strategy was simple — on Friday nights the men flush with money would bet on anything. Tom offered a challenge, he would fight the biggest brute in the camp. At odds of 10 to one, he staked all his money.

With a mantra of “I must get up!” he weathered a constant barrage of blows. Eventually the brute was exhausted, Tom charged head-butting his adversary into unconsciousness.

Fearing for his new found bounty, he stowed away on a sleeper truck. From Fremantle he boarded a clipper eventually making it back to Melbourne.

During his passage he swelled his coffers playing two-up and backed evens with great success.

Remarkably Tom obtained a legal bookmakers license and operated for over three decades, from Melbourne to Mildura, fortified by endless pots of tea.

Despite public perception, Tom was a “soft touch”. I kept his books and did his betting tax. He had wads of money lying about, in the unlocked car boot, on the lounge, the kitchen table, etc.

Many a time, too many to remember, a late night knock on the door revealed a dishevelled character (unknown to Tom), seeking money to pay his rent or be evicted. Tom always obliged knowing he usually would be reimbursed.

It didn’t faze him. Unfortunately he said they usually avoided him and often bagged him. To quote Ned he said “such is life”.

Tom’s last communication to me was to destroy his black book thus clearing the slate for all his debtors.

Jack of the three brothers was the most introverted. His mantra was “the harder you work the more you succeed.”

His stables were basic, he believed his steeds were bred to race, not to look pretty.

Jack was a man of strong beliefs, a regular at church and a person who suffered fools badly.

As a trainer driver of harness horses, he had no peer.

He won every major race on the calendar, his triumph being the Inter Dominion with Richmond Lass at Wayville.

His list of champions included Dale’s Gift, Tony Bear, Novel Count and Shaun Truis. Together with the Malone brothers he engineered many outstanding wins.

On one occasion I was present when the returning conquerors were counting their bounty, a gladstone bag full of currency. It was so much that I was required to assist in the count. It was just before decimal currency so it was pounds, shillings and pence.

Once his most prolific owner criticised his handling of a particular horse. Jack’s response was “If you don’t pick up your horses by Sunday they will be out on the road!” True to his word on Sunday they were released.

Jack in later years was so keen on a quid that he often sold horses he had bought at the sales without floating them (at a considerable profit). Many believed that he (like Tommy Smith) had the “gift of the eye”. Many of these horses turned out champions.

Jack was the leading trainer driver for over three decades and is a legend of the industry.

His colours (silks) are on display at the Carisbrook pavilion.

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