To Peter -

Sadly you are gone but the memories we all have of you will never disappear. We are dreadfully sorry that we didn’t know

the depth of your pain. We hope that in some way, somewhere, your energy is still able to perceive the love we have for you,

enjoy the memories we hold of you, laugh along with us at the silly things we did together and recognise the strong threads

that made us a family.

The following are some of the “I remembers” - simple memories that linger and things that were relevant to me as one of his

little sisters (or perhaps, not so little).

* The little blue glass squirrel that he brought all the way from Venice for me. I have kept it close all this time.

* His technique of briskly stirring sugar into ideal milk to make a frothy coffee

* His encouraging and helping me to come down Table Mtn when I was about 10 and he, Mum and I were caught up there in

the mist. It was a time when I was lacking confidence in my physical abilities – they believed that I could do it and I did!

* All the ridiculous nicknames he gave us – scrimvincent, mater, cart, phlorps, caz, crab. I know there are plenty more.

* His personally signed birthday cards to me, something I childishly felt very strongly about.

* His astonishment one year, at my failing to send him his card in time, a slip up that he voiced very loudly.

* His and Bruce’s pique when I told them that I had successfully canoed part of the Breede River before them.

* The night he took me aside and very seriously said ”Cart, your big brother is getting married tomorrow”. I felt so grown up

that he had considered it important to tell me on a one to one basis.

* The speed at which he used to snorkel dive, perhaps it was just that I was little and couldn’t flipper as hard as they did. His

ability to vanquish all and sundry with the rapiers we had above the fireplace at Clevedon and his kindness in letting us “win”

occasionally.

* His scary rendition of the alien in the Mark Saxon radio series, the thought of that hissing intake of breath and almond smell

still gives me the heebie geebies.

* The last SMS he sent me, wishing Tammy and I luck for the Argus and woefully blaming his bike’s bad brakes for not joining

us. (Ha-ha)

More thoughts about you and life, Peter Pete...

Peter was a decade older than me – when I was a tot that was a vast difference so I hero worshipped him (them in fact). He

was a kind, caring brother and as I grew older and was allowed to join him, it was very exciting to be able to peek into his

adventures in my own baby way.

As I entered my teens the gap widened as he had become a man and his adventures were no longer privy to me. I

remember feeling a bit sulky about having lost my brother to the other delights of his life.

There was a subtle change as I exited my teens, I was considered responsible and grown up enough to baby sit his

precious girls, to even take them on excursions with me. When I became an adult I was conscious of there no longer being a

gap, of being considered an equal, of being able to do the things he did.

As time moved along, humour filled discussions about wrinkles, of failing eyesight, ambitions unfilled and about children

passed between us. Sadly, that time now stands still...

" That best portion of a good man’s life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love."

William Wordsworth

The Peter we knew, to a T!

Patricia ‘Scrimvincent, mater, cart, phlorps, caz, crab’ Demmers, KZN, May 2007

IN YOUR WORDS