Personal Reflections by Marion, Angela and Hazel MARION REMEMBERS Among my many special memories of Peter are our wonderful holidays together. When the children were small we used to enjoy holidays on the farm in Wales. They helped feed the orphaned lambs and washed their hair in the mountain stream. Later on we took coach tours abroad with Northern Tours and met up with like-minded fellow travellers. Then, motoring through Europe to visit our friends in Hungary, Andrea and Janos and learning all about their changing culture. We had previously taken in Hungarian students. Peter often told the story of how we used to show them DVDs of Mr Bean, to get over the language barrier. He was a loving and supportive husband. He couldn't sit still so he did the ironing, the hoovering, decorating and maintaining the home. In fact he loved his home and couldn't wait to get back there from our holidays. After 55 years of marriage what better testimony can there be of a wonderful husband. ANGELA REMEMBERS When Hazel and I were small, I loved playing with Dad. He would swing us around, let him climb on his back or sit on his shoulders. Then as a young teenager I would plead with him to let me paint his nails or put makeup on him, after twisting his arm a few times he would finally concede. It was like this when I dyed his hair one time. He was in his late forties and his hair was a silvery grey by then. I thought what a good idea it would be to dye his hair back to his original black colour. After much persuasion one evening he agreed. I put the dye on his hair, leaving it on longer than the instructions advised as I wanted it to make doubly sure it covered all the grey. Big mistake! After I’d washed the dye off and dried his hair, I saw that the dye had indeed covered all the grey, but in fact his hair was now a striking jet black. Of course, I didn’t realise at that time the repercussions it would have. In my eyes, I was just helping Dad to look like his younger, handsome, gorgeous, self. He took one look in the mirror in horror and said something like “oh what have you done!” I think we washed it a few more times to try and take some of the dye out, but to no avail. The next day he went to work as usual at British Gas. Of course, all his work mates and the young gas fitters that were under his supervision, noticed the huge change in his appearance & ribbed him about it something chronic. No longer a silver fox more like a character from Grease. He never forgot this, and later remembered it with amusement As has already been said many times, Dad could never sit still. One of my pet peeves was that he didn’t take time to relax and didn’t know how to. It became apparent as he got into his seventies that he needed some form of relaxation for his health and wellbeing. I would try to encourage him to do some stretching and breathing exercises but he wouldn’t keep it up. He had always loved having his hands being tickled, so I would often give his hands a treat in the evening by massaging them with oils and creams. More recently because of lockdown he would ask me to cut his hair. So out came the clippers. I liked to continue the TLC by also giving him a facial. He seemed to enjoy it & it lifted his mood. It was great to get him to be a bit chattier again and to try and have a joke with him about things. To see a flash of his old self and knowing I could do something to help him feel a bit better and improve his mood also helped me during this time. He gave me so much of himself. He was such a generous, kind and thoughtful man, who took so much convincing of how wonderful and talented he really was. It feels surreal knowing he is not around anymore only in spirit and photographs and with these lovely memories. HAZEL REMEMBERS Dad was a quiet man, softly spoken, well that is until he was doing a Mrs Richards when his hearing aid wasn’t working. He always just got on with things, no fuss and, after he’d cleaned up, no mess. I admired his trait of not stopping until he had finished a task. Dad was always good with his hands and as a kid and an adult I thought there was nothing he couldn’t do. After he’d retired from work for the third time I asked if he would make my wooden painting panels for me. I’d send him my proportioned designs by email often with the words “sorry Dad for the delay in sending I know this is short notice but can you make this in the next 2 weeks” No panel was alike, with strange angles that no mitre-saw should be inflicted to cut. But Dad came up with ingenious ways to overcome obstacles. Possibly one of the panels he must have cursed me for was the metre wide octogen, in this instance I came down to help the master at work, although Dad jokingly called me “the Guvnor”. The construction we made was a thing of beauty and a joy for me to paint on. It gives me great joy and pride knowing that our joint creations of his woodworking skills and my fine art are in privates homes across the world. That his legacy lives on. I guess you could say my Dad lived an ordinary life and I know it’s an incredibly cheesy thing to say, but for me he was my hero and forever my idol.