Peter Martin Jennings (12 May 1948 - 5 May 2015)

Pete was one of seven children, three girls and four boys and we all grew up in the countryside at a place called Charlewood Cottage, a fairly isolated place where neighbours were few and far between.

Life revolved around doing our jobs for mum and dad and then when the chance came all playing together. This usually involved playing in the local fields and woods building dens and climbing trees. One of these woods was called Dogford which always had a beautiful carpet of blue bells in the spring, it was a spooky place however where we quite often felt like we were being watched by someone, and our walks turned into runs when sometimes we felt this strongly .

We were the three Musketeers where some of our games involved Bill and Dick being the Cowboys against Pete…. The Indian. However, it was Pete that was nearly given a new parting with the Indian’s axe when Dick threw it at him. Luckily Dick was not on target on this occasion and missed Pete’s head by a whisker! It was ALSO always Pete that got the blame when things went wrong…sometimes it’s great to have a younger brother!

All this changed when the family moved to Purley. Pete was still at school then and on finishing went on to study catering in London and become a Chef. This really didn’t gel with him however so after a chat with Dick he decided to re-train as an accountant. It may be that the idea of cooking the books was more appealing than the idea of cooking for others.

We all enjoyed nights out in London at that time having the occasion meal at Fortnum and Mason where Pete was Floor Manager for a while or having a few drinks at various pubs in town. We were brought up in a near tee-total family environment so for us this was freedom at its best, however not all of our excursions were that civilised. We were once stopped by the police for stuffing our empty chip rappers into a bank letter box after a good night out …it seemed like a good idea at the time….we were the Three musketeers again!

Over the years Pete has been an inspiration to all of us, a good councillor when needed and he was always willing to help when asked, and I think we all now feel that we were never able to fully repay him for all of that help and support.

Since 2008 he has been aware that his life was impaired and likely to be cut short by multiple myeloma: this didn't stop him having a very positive outlook on life and take any setback on the chin, swear at it and then just carry on.

Once, Cathy was asked whether his public and private face were the same. She said that he was always the same, always brave and always fighting on with a positive outlook. He was a man of many talents and loved his wife, children and grand children and was proud of what they all had achieved in life.

He often said 'Life is sweet' which for someone with his condition was an exceptional statement and it puts all of our own concerns firmly in their place. He was grateful for Cathy's care and support which helped him to fight on as long as he did and he was laying carpets days before he died, so that he could get the 'show on the road' before in his words 'he snuffed it'….so like our Father Frank who was attempting plumbing jobs shortly before he died… stubborn and independent to the end.

He once said he had two wishes towards the end of his life, to have at least one payment of his old-age pension after all those years of paying in to it - box ticked on that one; and the other was to see his grandchildren grow up which has been denied him. No doubt if he had lived he would be proud of their achievements later in their lives no matter what they do.

To sum up, Pete loved life, his wife and his family, he liked to have a few drinks now and again, indeed occasionally he has had to be carried home ….but he would always be ready to use his two favourite quotes:

“WYSIWYG …What you see is what you get “

and “What a load of old ROLLICKS. “

Pete put up a truly amazing fight against his condition until the very end and was a truly amazing chap, who was loved by us all and will be very much missed by us all.

I’d like to share a few thoughts and memories of what my dad means to me.

Dad was the strongest man I know. When I was young we used to go to the market on a Saturday morning to buy the veg. He would pick up a great big sack of potatoes effortlessly and carry it on his shoulder with me in tow. I remember being in awe that someone could pick up something so heavy.

His true strength showed through when he faced cancer. Even when his body was failing him, his mind never gave in and he kept his humour right to the end. He was truly inspirational.

Dad was a very practical man and a great teacher. I spent many hours, days and weeks with him fixing cars, rebuilding parts of the house, assembling furniture, plumbing radiators or reworking electrics – anything that needed doing. He always explained to me what he was doing and encouraged me to have a go. He taught me skills that I have put to use time and again.

He also imparted his wisdom when I hurt myself doing DIY. His response to me jamming a slate ripper into my knee while fixing his roof was “you didn’t want to do that” while laughing. This was in spite of my clear agony and the precarious nature of the situation. I couldn’t help but laugh with him.

Dad supported me massively all through my life. He encouraged me in all that I did and supported my decisions. At school I was always proud that he watched me run in my home cross country races. But he would not only come to the races, he supported me day-by-day in my training, sitting at the corner of the road timing me while I did laps.

In later life, particularly while going through university, he supported me through the tough times and tough decisions. His calming approach always made problems seem surmountable.

For a long time I have thought of Dad as a great friend. Our friendship was forged through the many hours that we chose to spend together and cemented through our shared loves and our equally warped sense of humour.

I remember my first beer in my very early teens – Dad and Uncle Bill had been rebuilding the kitchen walls all day while I mixed the mortar. When they sat down to admire their work with a beer, I protested that I had worked just as hard – I was handed a can of John Smith’s, the first of many beers that I shared with Dad. It was always a joy to go to the Foxley Hatch with Dad and share a beer when I came home from uni.

5 years ago, I was privileged to take a trip to Scotland with Dad. We spent a week and a half sampling our favourite whiskies across the reaches of Scotland and finding a few new favourites along the way. There were so many highlights of the trip, but watching Dad conquer the uphill walk to Marwick Head in the Orkneys in spite of his illness will stay with me forever as will spending a memorable day in the Laphroaig distillery achieving one of his long-term goals.

Dad gave me the confidence to try; he picked me up when I fell; encouraged me to try again and took pride in all my achievements. So today I celebrate the life of my father, my mentor, my inspiration, and my friend. I will miss you Dad, but have so many great memories to look back on and know that you have helped make me the man I am.

Dear Peter your cheery smile and laughter brought great joy to all around you. You have truly earned your eternal crown, so Rest in Peace. Miss you so much.
Lots of love
Maureen Flynn xxx

Being the only girl with three brothers gave me the automatic privilege of being “Daddy’s Girl”. I would like to say that I didn’t play on this status, but as children when we all got into trouble, more often than not I seemed to come off more lightly than my brothers amidst outraged cries of “Daddy’s Girl” – sorry about that boys!

Growing up, my memories of Dad include him laughing out loud at things on TV, inviting neighbours round for Sunday lunch with Dad carving the chicken, making coke floats, going on hunts for elderberries then helping him to make his wine, of the joy on Dad’s face when, with my brothers, we gave him probably the first decent Christmas present from us - a glass decanter with four glasses we’d proudly bought from Woolworths!

As a teenager, Dad ran the best taxi service around. He always answered my call, picked me up promptly and never charged. On top of that he would always gladly drop off my friends, which meant totally going out of his way, sometimes doing a round trip of 10-15 miles, but he never grumbled as he would rather see us all safely home. Once back, he would then pour himself a large glass of well-earned whisky, his job done.

This continued when I went to university in Sheffield, whenever I needed a lift home Dad would be there. Or he’d be dropping me off at the airport on my next adventure. Or driving to Bruges to pick me up and take me on to Paris so I could empty my flat.

There is one particular occasion that I shall never forget – in the second year at uni when I was finding the workload very stressful, I remember being on the phone to Dad on a Saturday night trying hard not to cry down the line, telling him I was fine really. The next morning, whilst I was having an early breakfast before my driving lesson, there was a tap on the window and both Mum and Dad were stood outside smiling, bearing gifts of flowers and grapes, big hugs at the ready. They’d recognised my distress and got up at 5 o’clock in the morning especially to drive the 200 miles to make everything alright in my world. And they did, I didn’t do a jot of work that day as they took me out for lunch and to have a bit of fun, helping me put everything back into perspective and reminding me what was important in life. They lifted a weight off my shoulders through their love and support and it was no trouble to them. Family meant everything.

When I did finally learn to drive myself, Dad fixed my car when I stupidly crashed it. He didn’t berate me or make me feel bad but he worked hard to straighten it out, roping in Uncle Bill along the way, until it was roadworthy again.

If Dad wasn’t a mechanic, he was an electrician fixing the dangerous electrics in the new house I’d bought with Simon. Or he was a plumber. Or a decorator. I thought all men could DIY like my Dad!
When I was getting married, Dad came looking round venues and even came dress shopping with Mum and I, giving me his opinion on the lace, the sequins, the style and was there when I found THE dress! When Mum made our gorgeous wedding cake, Dad iced it to perfection – as Mum said “he was a better plasterer than me”. He then took it down to the Burford Bridge Hotel, taking a few hours to finish setting it up in situ the night before so it was perfect. On the actual day, when I had the honour of him walking me down the aisle, he laid a steadying hand on my arm to stop me from tripping up as my emotions overwhelmed me.

Dad was always encouraging and kind, a font of all knowledge and always had great advice – get a good education, get a good job, spend wisely, have fun, go travelling, come home! He was a fantastic dad and I only had to pick up the phone and ask for help and he would always be there to make it alright.
In short, Dad was my hero, never more so than in the past seven and a half years, and I will miss him everyday. It was only through his determination to fight his illness and through his unswerving hope that my children got to meet and know him – they truly loved their Grandad. I asked them for one word to describe him: Ben said “brilliant”, Jessica said “wonderful” and Megan said “awesome”. So to my brilliant, wonderful, awesome, knowledgeable, heroic Dad, rest in peace, but your spirit lives on and your courage shall remain an inspiration to me forever.

Miss you loads Pete :(.

What a lovely family you are all, it's a privilege to know you all and we just know that Peter will be raising his glass to all of us right now.
Vida, Bob and Grace xxx

I just want to say "Thank You" Pete, for many things, the biggest thank you of all, you know what that is !! ......, Thank you for always being there no matter what. Thank you for so much. I truly miss you and love you. All my Love always Maxi. Xxx