Friend, Father, Uncle, Gangan – John Minns was known to people in different ways but everyone who met him would have recognised his zest for life and his sense of fun.  

I am honoured to speak at this celebration service. Today is about sharing memories of John, so let’s start off at the beginning.

Born in May 1937 he grew up in Barnstable, Devon, the son of Herbert and Doris Minns. He often told us stories of his time at West Buckland boarding school, where he joined his older brother Peter. One story was when as a 7 year old he met a group of US soldiers exercising on Dartmoor in preparation for the D-Day landings and was treated to sweets and chewing gum by the Americans.  As most schoolboys of the time he progressed from sweets on to tobacco and beer, combining these with excelling on the rugby field where he played as a scrum half for the school team. He continued to play rugby after his schooldays before golf eventually became his chosen sport.

As a young man he joined the army for National Service in the Royal Artillery regiment and was stationed in Germany. He said to me that his time in the service really taught him how to get on with comrades from different backgrounds.  

Then one fateful day in Basingstoke in 1958 he caught the eye of a beautiful young woman; Patricia Timbs. As their eyes first met across a crowded street John, captivated by her good looks, walked straight into a lamppost.  They fell in love, John sold his sports car and they married in 1963, starting a family and sharing life’s adventures together.

They bought their first house in Woolhampton, Berkshire where John began his love of gardening, and of filling sheds and garages with countless tools, boxes and random pieces of wood.  The young family undertook overseas postings in Libya and Yemen through John’s role as a food and drink supplies manager with NAAFI. 

In the 1960s when many people never ventured outside the UK for holidays, moving overseas may have been a daunting prospect but they rose to the challenge. John made a successful career in NAAFI and told me recently how he used to love visiting the British navy fleet in the ports at Tobruk and Aden. Maybe this planted the seed of a short story he later wrote for his grandchildren about the exploits of “Oliver the tug boat”.

Life in the sunshine was fantastic and John loved the adventure, becoming one of the last people to cross the Wadi Hadramawt desert valley before war broke out in the Yemen.

I think we can all agree that John was full of conversation, which gave him the perfect springboard for a career in the hospitality industry back in England.  His years as an area manager at Truman’s brewery and with Guest Trust spawned many stories. One of my favourites was when there was a call one morning from a rather distressed pub landlord in Kilburn. Apparently the landlord had barred a rowdy customer the night before, a local builder I understand, and woke up to find his pub doors had been bricked up overnight in revenge.

Above all I think we should remember John Minns as a special man. A gentleman and role model, a devoted husband, father, uncle, grandfather and latterly great grandfather. Someone who always tried to live life to the full irrespective of any health problems that came his way.  

Someone once told me that you never truly die until people stop mentioning you, in which case, John will live on for a very long time. I’d say that every one of us is a better person for having known him.