This is a day that we all knew would come but never wanted to come. Over the last 3 1/2 years, dad has fought and faced his illness with strength, courage and dignity throughout.
Nearly two hundred years ago in the mid 1800s the ancestors of both mum and dad had lived just a few houses from each other, in the same street in Bermondsey, and with all close-knit communities, like that around Devonshire Road, they would have known each others' families.
Whether you call it fate, kismet, karma, or serendipity it seems mum and dad were fated to meet as the past called out to them. They understood each other, had shared values, supported each other’s choices in life, and took this final journey side by side.
The last few weeks have been the darkest and saddest of mum’s life. But it has also highlighted how lucky she had been to have shared that life with him, and the happiness and security that he had brought to her.
Things will never be the same for her, but she is comforted today by the outpouring of love expressed for dad and his life, and that he made the world a better place to live in, not just for us but for so many others.
Dad was a big part of Devonshire Road, being born at number 42, attending Holy Trinity and then Forest Hill Boys schools. He was a boxer with the Fisher Boxing Club in Bermondsey, becoming an ABA junior champion before retiring when he met mum. He had many jobs before running the garage full time, from working with grandad with his haulage contracts, and then as a black cab driver. His only focus throughout though was us, his family, to provide and look after us.
We lived in Bermondsey and Rotherhithe before Mum, Dad, Sophie and I moved as a family to Forest Hill into number 46 in 2003, and to dad it felt like he was coming home. Everyone in the street knew dad, and dad knew them. He had time for everyone.
Whether that would be repairing their car, being a good neighbour and looking after spare keys, taking in parcels or feeding pets when people were away, or simply stopping to have a chat and a cup of tea, lending an ear or offering advice. How many times have we had a problem and the first person we thought of to ask for advice was dad? He was someone who was always there and would have a solution to whatever problem we may have had, whether it be mechanical, carpentry, or life in general, dad would have the solution or would find a solution. Dad leaves behind a big hole in this world and in our hearts which can never be filled.
Mum and dad found a passion for travelling and visited many places around the world. From exploring Australia and New Zealand, to the many cruises they took. Dad would always call or text home with stories and photos of the places they visited. Sheila, Finley and I were lucky enough to join mum and dad on a mini cruise to Amsterdam, and dad was overjoyed to share his love of travelling and being on the open sea with Finley.
There are many stories to tell and fun times to remember in a house filled with three small boys. From the time Dad was playing in the garden as a child and filled the petrol tank in grandad's car with water. Grandad wasn’t amused, and when Dr Barnes, the family doctor, visited granny Pat, Dan, John and Dad dropped a brass bell on his head and nearly knocked him out.
The mischief didn’t stop as he grew older. Dad and I used an app on the iPhone to prank call friends, who still to this day don’t know that it was dad and me. Some things were not always intentional, but he always managed to see the funny side of things, like the time when delivering Budweiser, and a pallet fell through the back of the luton van and bought gridlock and chaos to the streets of Chelsea.
There are so many more stories to tell but sadly not enough time to remember them all.
Dad’s sense of humour was as alive as ever, even in his last few days at the hospice. One night, I mentioned that I had a sore back because the seat in my car was broken. Before I could say any more, dad said “lose some weight you fat git” with a cheeky laugh and called me “Smithy” from Gavin and Stacey. But that was dad and me, taking the micky out of each other, laughing and joking. Then he said to get my iPad and find a picture of the seat before showing me where to take the seat apart and weld the frame to make a repair. He was a fountain of knowledge, and someone we could all turn to for help.
One of my proudest moments in the last few years was when Sheila and I were blessed with the arrival of Finley. Dad was a doting grandfather and was overwhelmed with joy when around Finley. He would have Finley in a pair of overalls with his head under the bonnet looking at how things worked. Finley was ecstatic when he showed him how to turn water bottles into rockets launching them with compressed air, or making catapults from lolly sticks and elastic bands
Dad was the perfect grandfather, loving, caring, silly and never better than when breaking the rules. It felt like history repeating itself with grandad and me but now with dad and Finley. We can’t remember dad without remembering dad with Loca, Sophie’s dog. Loca would be with him all day when he was working, keeping him company, and jumping in all the customers cars. Whenever mum and dad were on holiday, the first thing dad would ask is how’s Finley and Loca. We used to joke that dad loved Loca more than all of us, but Finley stole his heart from the moment he was born.
People always asked me why I didn’t call him dad but called him Pete. When I was younger, I spent a lot of time around dad, mum, granny, grandad, aunts and uncles, and everyone called him Pete. This just seemed normal to call him by his name, and anything else just didn’t seem right. The word hero gets used more and more to describe people today. But dad was a hero to us all, as a husband, brother, father, father-in-law, grandfather, uncle and friend. He wasn’t just my dad, he was my best mate..
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