29/12/2025
Sharing with you talk I gave
Yesterday (28/12/2025) as we gathered at Lyndhurst Cemetery not only to commemorate the consecration (stone setting), but to lift up the stories, laughter, colour and friendship that was — and still is — our beloved Harry … or, as many of us knew him, Mustang Harry.
Harry left us suddenly on 17 June 2024, at the age of 71, and although the calendar keeps marching on, the shock and the ache still feel fresh. But so too do the smiles he left on our faces.
I first crossed paths with Harry back in 2003 through Freemasonry. I discovered that he and our dear friend Peter Morris were responsible — or maybe we should say to blame — for proposing our long-time mate, Michael Vorcheimmer. That connection formed something very special. From that moment on, a new bond was forged: the Four Amigos — Harry, Peter, Michael, and myself, our very patient partners shaking their heads behind us.
We laughed together, travelled together, argued together, pretended to be sensible together… and usually schemed together.
Sadly, this year we also lost Michael, so two of our Four Amigos are now keeping the heavenly lodge very busy.
Let me share a few memories of Harry, because if there’s one thing he would insist on, it’s that we talk about him… preferably at length!
Harry was our loveable musician — Mustang Harry — and a very patient one. He forgave me for my “deaf ear” for music and my inability to hold a tune. I thought I was singing; Harry thought I was testing the building’s structural integrity. Yet he never complained — he just smiled, shook his head, and probably prayed for earplugs.
He was flamboyant, loud, and gloriously extroverted. His Hawaiian shirts weren’t clothes — they were public statements. When he and Jenine travelled, he started buying the most outrageous shirts for the rest of the Four Amigos. Soon it became a tradition. Our wardrobes began to look like a tropical bird sanctuary. And no matter how hard we tried, Harry always won the “loudest shirt” competition. In fact, some of his shirts were so bright they required sunglasses and council approval.
Harry was also wonderfully competitive. I would show him something technical — downloading movies, copying files — and at first he’d go slowly, pretending he didn’t understand. Then, within days, he’d overtake me completely and become the expert, the teacher, and the self-appointed IT help desk. I’d ring him for help and he’d say, “Sam, I thought you were the one who taught me!” That was Harry — always turning the tables with a grin.
Within Freemasonry he didn’t just participate — he collected offices. Treasurer, Director of Ceremonies, Secretary, Worshipful Master of multiple lodges… he did the lot. I sometimes suspected he was trying to run the entire Craft single-handedly. If there was a role he hadn’t done, it was only because he hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
And then, there was the most important part of his life: his beloved Jenine. Harry might have been generous with shirts and advice, but there was one thing he didn’t share — holidays with Jenine. That was their sacred time. His devotion to her was absolute. Behind the colourful shirts and loud personality was a man with a huge, loyal heart.
So today, as we stand here after the stone setting, we don’t just mourn Harry — we celebrate him. A man of music, colour, mischief, competition, generosity, and deep love.
A brother in Freemasonry. One of our Four Amigos. A friend who left the world brighter, louder, and definitely more colourful than he found it.
Harry, Mustang Harry, your race isn’t over — you’ve just changed tracks. Keep a shirt saved for us, keep the music playing, and please — when we eventually meet again — be kind about my singing.
Rest in peace, my dear friend. You are loved, missed, and will never be forgotten.
