Today we said goodbye to Peter Vincent, the late Treasurer and longest-serving committee member of the Friends of Bidston Hill. A kind and generous man who will be missed by all who knew him. It will be strange to open the Windmill without him.
Caroline said it right in her heart-felt eulogy, reproduced below with permission.
Eulogy
A letter to Peter from Caroline
Dear Peter
Well, writing this and speaking at your funeral wasn’t on my bingo card for 2026.I’m pretty sure you’re as shocked as all of us here today. And can I say, I think you’d feel pretty special knowing how many people have shown up for your final journey today.
It was a sunny day back in the early 2000’s. I had been invited to have a drink down at the RAFA club and when I arrived, there you were, sitting in the car park on some old garden furniture with Suzette. I can’t lie, I thought you were a little bit odd initially and I can confirm from past conversations, you thought the same of me. However, we bonded over dogs and Guinness after about half an hour and our friendship was set.
We began walking together. You had your beloved Patch and we started to meet on Bidston Hill for sunny walks and chats. It was during these walks that I learned about all the things that made you, well, you.
And what did make you … you.
When I think about you, the overwhelming feeling I get, is love. The love you had for other people and four-legged people. You would talk about your parents, Mary and Jim, who adopted you and Sally and brought you home from down South. You grew up in a happy and loving household, where your love for dogs began, with many family pets surrounding you. You nursed your parents throughout their later years, finding it difficult to talk about them without tears, even up until your final days. Your Father’s work tools remain untouched in your house that you shared, a reminder of a hard-working man who brought you up to be just the same. Holding a very strong faith, their days ended in Nazareth House, a place I know you remained overwhelmingly grateful for.
After schooling, you worked as a Environmental Health Officer and dedicated years to that same career. Some stories from that time left me not wanting to eat out again, but I’ll refrain from mentioning specific places, unlike you!
You devoted time to joining the Territorial Army. I know exactly how proud you are of this time and how much you loved wearing your uniform with such pride. You have remained close to those you served with and enjoyed your T.A. dinners up until recently, absolutely rocking a Dinner Jacket and dickie bow. You used to smile like a proud little lad when you had that on.
You talked about past relationships. What they meant to you. Holidays in the Caribbean where you’d go diving. Your diving gear, from the 70’s, remains in full tact, just in case you ever got the opportunity to experience it again. You’d talk of old girlfriends, a fiancée at one point, only ever speaking of these ladies in the highest regard.
And that leads me on to say this. I never heard you speak ill of anyone. Nobody. Everyone deserved a chance and often you’d say that maybe someone just needed a bit of help and that’s why they weren’t very nice … always finding the good in people. And I mean everyone … it was only a month ago I had to tell you to stop worrying that Prince Andrew needed some help.
You retired from work in the early 2000’s and life had been a struggle for you. You’d lost your parents, your last romantic relationship had finished and your dog, at that time, was poorly. Life was a struggle for you. What did you do? You put your all into everything and everyone else.
You devoted so much of yourself to charity. “Where’ve you been this morning Pete”, I’d ask on a Saturday afternoon….” “Oh, outside Tesco with a charity jar, raising money for Heswall Animal Welfare”. You’d attend every charity coffee morning, stand in all weathers collecting change, attending all the admin meetings associated. I wish I could name them all, but I simply don’t know Pete…there were so many. He also spent many an evening at the Little Theatre in Birkenhead, giving his time for free, front of house.
He gave every morning to Tam O Shanter’s farm, for years, on toilet duty … cleaning the public loos ready for the day’s visitors. There at 6am, toilet brush in hand. It wasn’t a huge job, but it was needed and when nobody else wanted to do it, there you were.
Bidston Hill hey. What didn’t you know about that place. It was wonderful walking up there with you and I know how many of you here today would agree with that. You devoted so much of your time to it, that even the local wildlife became your best friends. I’m sure many of us here know exactly where Crow Alley is. The crows that followed you and dove bombed most other people, have become affectionately known as Cheryl and Russell. They’ll be wondering where you are. So many friendships have been made on that hill, John, Jane, Debbie, Doreen … the list is endless. Please excuse me if I hadn’t mentioned your names individually – there’s too many for my brain to remember. But know this, walking on that hill, taking people to show them the windmill, having countless dogs running up to him, because it was “that man Pete, with the treats” gave him LIFE. He LOVED that hill, he LOVED those dogs and he LOVED those people. You’ve asked for your final resting place to be on that very special ridge up at the top and we promise you, Pete, we will do that for you. Dogs, people, crows, we will all be there.
In 2011, your greatest friend, Suzette, Suzi, moved to continue her nursing career in Jersey, from the Wirral. I know, personally, how devastated you were when she made the move. However, what it did give you was the opportunity to spend many, many, many weekends out there with her and in the more recent years, with her and Angela. You’d want your boarding passes printed out and in your hands weeks before you were due to fly. Your face would be full of joy knowing you would be going and when your returned and had gotten over the hangover, you’d tell us how wonderful it had been and how wonderful Suzette was. A true and real friendship that we all know meant absolutely everything to you. It’s up there with your most treasured possessions.
Peter. What an honour it was to spend your final days, nights and hours with you. As much as we tried, we asked you again and again, to see all those friends who were desperate to see you, your privacy and dignity remained at the forefront. Those final hours, as Jackie and I sat there, holding your hand, will remain with me for the rest of my life. I’d look at you, not really believing that this was happening. You gave your life to others. When you were in your darkest times, other people STILL came first. You were the kindest, most generous TO A FAULT man most of us will ever meet. And that’s what we should take from this. Peter was happy, not all the time, but happy — happy because he thought of others more than himself. First to do anything for anyone and I don’t say that lightly. I guarantee there is hardly anyone here today who Peter hasn’t personally helped and perhaps those are the stories we talk about later today.
Pete. My friend, our friend. Thank you. We miss you. We just know you’re up there, with your Mum and Dad, Ollie, Patch, Candy Floss … to name but a few. Our hearts a little bit broken just now but I just know you’re looking down and saying, “Sorry Dear”
Goodnight Godbless Peter V xx
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