I just thought that anyone who might have known Peter Skinnard and was not able to make the Gathering last Sunday week would like to have a view of what went on.
Gathering to Remember Peter Skinnard at St Spiritos Church, Agios Stefanos. 24 July 2011
Enter Church: “RAF March Past”, Walford Davies.
Peter Willaim Skinnard was born on 5 January 1921 and died on 2 April 2011 aged 80. On 1 April Peter sat on his stool in the corner of the bar at the Weary Friar, the local Village Pub at Pillaton for the regular 6 o’clock Friday night get together. He was dressed rather more sombrely than usual for a Friday evening, in a dark pinstripe suit. He had just attended a funeral ‘next door’ at the Church of another resident in the village and Peter commented that the congregation was probably a record for a village funeral, such was her popularity. The next morning he travelled with Shelagh and Bethany to Plymouth to his favourite restaurant in Plymouth. It was a lovely spring day, driving along the high banked Cornish lanes full of spring flowers. After a good lunch he rested back at home, phoned up a handyman in the village to repair some plumbing in the house. Later that evening he, sadly, passed peacefully away. I think many may believe that is a great way to go, although it is never easy for those left behind. Ten days after Peter commented on the funeral attendance at the Parish church it was exceeded at Peters own funeral with crowds spilling out into the churchyard and in the road beyond. Such was Peter’s immense popularity through his many walks of life.
Bethany, in her words at Peters funeral, talked about the passion he had for life, and how right she was. At that 6 o’clock club meeting the evening before he died he spoke with sadness about the news that Plymouth Argyle Football club was in deep financial trouble and possibly going into extinction. For 20 years Peter was a Director and later Vice Chairman of Argyle, the Green Army, and often said how honoured and privileged he was to be asked to take this position having been a fan of the Pilgrims from a very early age. He took this job on with passion, which may have included a few wild nights along the way and hours talking tactics with past Manager such as Malcolm Allison and Bobby Moncur, probably over a glass of Champagne, but he did far more than Directors normally do for a club. Not least embracing pastoral care helping players who had earned a small fortune by their standards to save and spend wisely. What a pity that passion does not lie with the current board of directors when their main interest appears to be their own financial success.
Peters passion for life went right through his career, from his school years at Plymouth College through to service in the RAF where he gained the Sword of Honour for the best student in his year (hence the RAF march on the entry to the church). And then his period in politics. He served on the County Council and became Saltash’s youngest Mayor at the age of 32. Besides having a brilliant career in his chosen profession of law, he carried out numerous duties in and around Saltash,. Chairman of the Ferry crossing from Saltash to Plymouth, and senior posts for the Saltash Yatch and Football Clubs and Plymouth theatre among them.
He was a very good and active sportsman and represented Cornwall at Tennis and regularly played Cricket for Saltash.
Peter loved family life and adored, and was proud of, his three children Nick, Sally and Bethany: although not wanting to side I have a sneaking suspicion that Beth might have just been his favourite, merely because he was considered nearly Grandfather status when she was born and it gave him a new lease of life. The bond between Beth and Peter transcended the age gap and from an outsiders viewpoint they appeared soul mates.
And Shelagh, his wife of nearly 40 years. ( which, I have on good authority ran consecutively not concurrently with his first wife). Of course there were occasions, as in any marriage, when there may have been a small Cat and Dog ‘contra tom’ but he adored his wife and admired her many talents and the little extract that follows my bit exemplifies the love he had for her.
And then we have his passion for his faith, which he kept very much to himself and rarely imposed his beliefs on others – apart perhaps from chastising my wife Jan for not attending morning communion on some occasions. He was a Churchwarden for Pillaton for many years and became a lay Canon for the diocese of Truro. In fact in some ways I wonder if Peter should have been born 100 years earlier. For 50 years he lived in the Old Rectory at Pillaton and I imagined him as a learned Rector looking after his flock and spending many hours in his study sorting out his sermon for the next service. He worked hard for the Truro diocese and one Friday, after a mornings work at the office at Callington he drove down to Truro on diocese matters. He returned to the Weary Friar for his 6 o’clock meeting, a little late, and later collapsed with exhaustion on the pub carpet. Medics were brought in and a Police lady was leaning over him when he came around. On opening his eyes and seeing this lovely female with pouting lips six inches away from his face his first words were “Lord am I in Heaven”?!
Having lived at Pillaton for 50 years Peter was always assisting the locals. There are many residents who have spent hours in Peters study discussing their legal matters, perhaps over a glass of malt, and I don’t suppose he charged a good many the usual solicitors rate. Peter was a self confessed pub man, and it was opportune that the pub was just at the end of the Rectory drive; he loved chatting with the mix of class, creed, sex and age of those around him and embraced their interests.
And now the reason why we are in this lovely church today. ( and we are very grateful for the use of it). Perhaps above all of his passions in the past 30 odd years was that of Agios Stafanos. (I emphasise Agios as Peter abhorred the Thompson modernising of the word to San Stefanos). Peter first set eyes on the village following work he did for Ilios Island Holidays who were setting up a tourism service. He and Shelagh were invited by the owners, Nita and Eric, to visit Agios Stephanos in 1979 and entered the village down a very dusty, dirty and bumpy road that opened up from Avliotes on to the bay with sheep roaming over the sands. The Bay he came to love. They stayed at the newly built Nafsika Hotel and enjoyed frequenting the three Tavernas existing at the time, Golden Beach, Manthos and Waves. They later stayed at the apartments built by a young man returning from the Navy and with few exceptions since then returned to Anatoli with Michalis and Katie. He did miss out on 1983 when he thought he had better be at home for the birth of Bethany. Peter reckoned that he had totalled over two of his last 30 years in the village and in that time introduced a lot of friends and relatives to the village. In fact he commented that he ought to have been given the status of Honorary Mayor for services to tourism!
In the time here he had become friends of many locals and ex pats in and around the locality. On many occasions Peter would come over by himself, sometimes twice a year. At this point I need a bit of help filling in the details! Ostensibly Peter came over to study the Greek Orthodox church and indeed he was interested in this and loved Easters over here. However – rumour has it that there was more to his stays over here than he let on back home. The story goes that it was a time when he might enjoy an appetitive of Ouzo, followed by a glass of Retsina and a Metaxa ( 3 star) to end the meal before tucking himself up in bed by 11 o’clock with a good book! Perhaps I will be enlightened in the next hour when you are all welcome for a drink to Peter at the Kamini Bar!
However, I know, as a Notary Public, he helped many of his friends sort out legal matters between the UK and Greece. He felt at home chatting to locals, such as Michalis’ Dad, who didn’t speak a word of English and Peter hardly speaking fluent Greek. But they just understood one another. It is an example of his interest in life and people. To his dying day he would ask about life in Agios Stafanos and often phoned people such as Manthos, Julie, Shirley and Carolyn when she was with us, to hear how things were going. He loved hearing news about the village and regretted in his later years he was unable to visit quite as often as he would have liked. He was fond of local music and especially the impromptu musical evenings at Manthos Taverna. Peter liked Nana Mouskouri and the song that follows is not traditional Greek as some would wish, but the sentiment is there.
Peter Skinnard will be missed by so many for a host of different reasons. In Agios Stefanos he will be remembered as a kind gentleman in the true sense of the word and will be missed as much here as he will back in Cornwall. God Bless and RIP Peter.
Song: Nana Mouskouri “Amazing Grace”
Life in the Woods
Bethany: This extract from Bambi “A life in the Woods” by Felix Saltan–, was selected by Dad as a duologue with Mum. In Dad’s original draft he made notes on how it should be performed. Sadly that performance was never given but the words of Dad are said by Dick
Narrator: The leaves were falling from the great oak at the meadows edge. They were falling from all the trees. One branch of the oak reached high above the others and stretched far out over the meadow. Two leaves clung to its very tip.
Peter:It isn’t the way it used to be.
Shelagh: No. So many of us have fallen off tonight we’re almost the only ones left on our branch.
P: You never know who’s going next. Even when it was warm and the sun shone, a storm or cloudburst would sometimes come, and many leaves were torn off, though they were still young. You never know who’s going to be next.
S: The sun seldom shines now – and when it does it gives no warmth .
P: Can it be true – can it really be true, that others come to take our places when we’re gone and after them still others, and more and more?
S: It is really true. We can’t even begin to imagine it, it’s beyond our powers.
P: It makes me very sad. ……………….. Why must we fall?....
S: What happens to us when we have fallen?
P: We sink down…
S: What is under us?
P: I don’t know, some say one thing , some another, but nobody knows.
S: Do we feel anything, do we know anything about ourselves when we’re down there?
P: Who knows? Not one of all those down there has ever come back to tell us about it.
There is a pause
Don’t worry so much about it; you’re trembling.
S: That’s nothing. I tremble at the least thing now. I don’t feel so sure of my hold as I used to.
P: Let’s not talk any more about such things.
S: No, we’ll let be. But what else shall we talk about?
Another pause
S: Which of us will go first?
P: There’s still plenty of time to worry about that. Let’s remember how beautiful it was, how wonderful when the sun came out and shone so warmly that we thought we’d burst with life. Do you remember? And the morning dew and the mild and splendid nights…………………
S: Now the nights are dreadful; and there’s no end to them.
P: We shouldn’t complain. We’ve out-lived many, many others.
S: Have I changed much?
P: Not in the least. You only think so because I’ve got to be so yellow and ugly. But it’s different in your case.
S: You’re humouring me
P: No really; believe me, you’re as lovely as the day you were born. Here and there a little yellow spot but its hardly noticeable and only makes you more beautiful, believe me.
S: Thanks, I don’t believe you, not altogether, but I thank you because you’re so kind, you’ve always been so kind to me. I’m just beginning to understand how kind you are.
P: Hush
Narrator: She kept silent, for she was too troubled to talk any more. Then they were both silent. Hours passed………………
Music: Blondie. “Heart of Glass”
Poem: The Island, By Shelagh Skinnard circa 1995. Read by Shelagh
One day we will not go there any more
And run along the soft sea shore
Never to hear the cicadas plaintive sound
Pounding our senses in a ceaseless round
Parading our bodies
To the relentless sun
Kidding ourselves twill keep us young
Retsina the potent sensual swill
Listen to the classics
And take your fill
Never to see the whitewashed church
Nesting on the hill
Do the pink flowers surround it still
One day the time will come
And we shall not be returning
But every Summer we will remember how it was
And be filled with an aching yearning
Leave church to Elgars. “Enigma Variations”
Topic: Memories of an Octogenarian (Read 43135 times)