Martin Moore, who died on Sunday at the age of 60, was somebody who reminded me that I had made the right decision.
Martin’s very being underscored my belief that human terroir and the spirit of the winemaker’s soul play as big a role in the creation of wine as climate, aspect, and soils. He was a lover of wine, people, and life, and in that heart – which failed him so tragically early this week – there was a sense of knowing he was put on this earth to provide his fellow beings with the conviction that wine is something truly great.
He took on the task of setting up the Durbanville Hills behemoth in 1998, and under his stewardship, it has grown into one of South Africa’s most successful wine brands. No one yet knows what new owners of Heineken are planning for its forays into wine, but they will know that Durbanville Hills is now the wine king in their beer-frothed crown
.In fact, I would hazard the guess that the quality of its wines, commercial success, and the proactive marketing of Durbanville Hills played a major role in establishing Durbanville as a renowned and leading modern-era region, especially in Sauvignon Blanc. This is a huge part of Martin’s legacy and I hope he receives recognition for this. But his legacy lives on, and it will continue to do so.
Born in the diamond town of Oranjemund in Namibia, Martin grew up in Worcester. Bernard Kotze, a class-mate at Worcester High School and former marketing and sales stalwart of DuToitskloof Wines, remembers Martin as showing tremendous respect and sportsmanship on the rugby field.
“I was his team-mate when we got drilled one Saturday by the Drostdy Technical School,” recalls Bernard. “They really buggered us up, winning 88pts to our zero. When the final whistle blew and the opposing teams shook hands, I remember Martin going to the Drostdy captain. Despite our massive loss, Martin said to the winning skipper: ‘Congratulations mate, you guys didn’t play to shit today’.” A fiery hooker, Martin often found himself at the bottom of the ruck with players all over him. “I remember Martin’s voice through the bodies: ‘Ag jirre oaks, just leave my bloody ears alone, okay?’” says Bernard.
While he will be remembered as the force behind Durbanville Hills, Martin held winemaker positions at the KWV and Groot Constantia. Anyone who attended one of his wine presentations will recall the extreme thoroughness and detail with which he explained what was in the glass. He would take on a stern professional demeanour and dramatically enthuse on malolactic fermentation, autolysis, acid adjustment and grape flesh-to-skin ratios during ripening. But once the presentation was done, Martin would hold the fort as a jovial host, answering further questions and providing solid doses of humour, mostly of the self-deprecating kind.
He was always up for a challenge outside of wine, too.
During the 1995 World Cup Rugby Tournament in South Africa, Martin was winemaker at Groot Constantia and before the tournament kicked off, all participating teams and World Cup officials were invited to dinner on South Africa’s oldest farm. Media were there too, but there was a strict ban on journalists taking any photographs.
However, a journalist from Die Burger newspaper handed Martin his own camera. And during the event, which saw the opposing teams of rugby greats mingling, the Groot Constantia winemaker happily snapped away without any of the officials batting an eye. As a result, the newspaper got an exclusive photographic essay of a unique private event – pictures courtesy of Martin.
His winemaking prowess resulted in Durbanville Hills winning truckloads of trophies and awards, and Martin always put these awards down to the farmers who farmed the grapes for his cellar and his colleagues. Martin was a great cook, and I was privileged to one day be involved in his preparation of sosaties from start to finish, including a secret curry marinade that he guarded with his life. “Making wine is easy compared to this marinade, so count yourself lucky,” he said.
It is still hard to believe Martin is no longer at Durbanville Hills, and that he won’t be seen at one of the awards functions or product launches. Sitting back, arms folded he would take in what was going on around him, listen attentively, and when he commented the words were genuine, true and scented with his personable warmth and forthright humour.
I have never met his boys Alexander and William, but when I do, I will tell them they had a father who loved them with loyalty and pride that they can carry with them for the rest of their lives. Many of us will doubt be treasuring a few special memories in our own pockets for a long time to come.
This article was originally published on Wine Goggle, Emile Joubert's blog.