Peter Richard Holloway (1959-1964)
Died on 2nd May 2023, aged 76
Peter Holloway (1959–1964) passed away peacefully in his sleep at hospital in Beziers, in the Hérault department of Southern France. He had moved to nearby Villespassans with his wife, Rita (née Barthès), after he retired from a fulfilling career in stockbroking, first in the City, then with Brewin Dolphin in Cheltenham. Sadly, Rita had died in 2018 leaving Peter to manage their delightful house with its far distant views of the Pyrenees without, initially, much grasp of the local language, although it was improving rapidly in a Churchillian fashion with no trace of the liaison or any French nasal tones. In certain forms on the Science Side at school, one did not have the benefit of Dennis Ogan’s teaching in this respect. Nonetheless, Peter had become part of the village and loved by Rita’s family members who lived nearby. In his latter years great support was given to him by his son and daughters, and Alexia had moved to France to be with him.
Peter and I were in the same year at school but, more than that, once off the premises, we enjoyed a lively "social" life together as teenagers. Cycling home would often involve “tea” with the Holloways, Mosessons or Aaronsons; as we grew older, it was not just tea that we drank together. School work was sometimes low on our priorities but, despite this - or because of it - we managed to earn a living! One of my earliest escapades with Peter was a summer trip to the Costa Brava – Peter drove there in a van with four others, including two OMTs, Peter Beckett (1959-65) and Tony Williams (1958-64) and I joined them on a motorbike. It was an introduction to the nightlife of Tibidabo prior to our leaving MTS.
A few years after school, we moved quite close to Peter’s flat in West Hampstead. It was here that, in the Black Cat café, he met Rita, who was living in London as an au-pair. The step up from there to their wedding in Les Invalides in Paris was remarkable. Not many OMTs have been married alongside Napoleon’s tomb with the many captured British regimental flags hanging down from high in the nave of that great cathedral. I am still not sure whether Peter knew, before proposing, that Rita’s father was a general of the French Air Force and therefore obliged to give his daughter away in the highest military setting that the Republic could offer!
Despite the distance to Cheltenham (and to France!) Peter remained in regular contact with his friends in London and those of us who had not ventured far from the MTS neighbourhood. He was a man who lived life to the full and kept all our spirits high whatever the circumstances when we visited or he called on us. He had a passion for vintage motor cars, which I only shared out of need rather than choice, and he travelled often to the Le Mans Classic. He would have loved to have been there this year with his two great friends, Roger Giles and Graham Weir, who have, they tell me, obtained tickets to this sold-out event. His vintage Jag is now parked outside his house in Villespassans and had been used before Covid to visit English friends in France, despite his deteriorating health.
Peter’s funeral blessing (la Bénédiction) took place in the church of Notre-Dame-de-l’Assomption in Villepassans at the very same moment that King Charles III received the crown upon his head in Westminster Abbey. Coronation and cremation were almost as one. All of Peter’s and Rita’s children were present: Deborah, Alexia, Johanna and Andrew plus their two grandchildren, Evie and Mina, Adam was with Alexia. James, Head of Music at Westminster Abbey School, had chosen to be in Villespassans rather than the other place – it was a day off he said! Barry, a former colleague from work, was there despite being in a wheelchair. On the French side, Rita’s sister, Françoise, and brothers, Jean-Louis, Pierre and Jacques, had come with many friends, family and well-wishers. Peter’s French teacher (and close family friend) and Peter’s and Rita’s hairdresser were there, their house keeper too, and various in-laws and children of all ages were in abundance. (A small dog, which belonged to one of them, had to be left outside the church, but joined in the service with the occasional yap en français.) To have so many people at his funeral, deep in the French countryside, is testimony indeed.
Peter would have smiled at the choice of music; his coffin came in to the very British strains of Elgar’s Nimrod and left to the tune of Parry’s Jerusalem; I was singing “In England’s green and pleasant land” as he went past. The priest – “I’officiant” - gave “l’accueil”, apologising that he could not speak English, but clearly giving a warm welcome to all. Andrew and Deborah gave eulogies in English and in French, showing that they still could speak their “langue maternelle”. The retired Mother Superior, Marie-Jean (Rita’s aunt, who is a mere 99 years old) recited a poem by André Sève: “Peter, tu ne parle plus, mais tu est vivant…” Jacques read the Lesson from John 1 chap. 4 “Bien-aimés, aimons-nous les uns les autres, puisque l’amour vient de Dieu… » It was a sombre occasion, but with French “je ne sais quoi”.
Peter may not have been MTS Head Boy (he wasn’t) or a glowing academic (“non plus”), but his charisma and friendship are not forgotten.
Andy Connor (1958-65)
Peter’s daughters, Deborah, Alexia and Johanna and son, Andrew, have combined to add:
After moving from London to a small village in Wiltshire (Sherston), Mum and Dad finally settled in Cheltenham (Gloucestershire). We had a happy childhood with a father who was always fun and good humoured, especially when we tested the boundaries of what we could get away with. One particular phrase that was Dad’s favourite was “My word is my bond” and that instilled in us a way of life for all the family.
We did get up to quite a few antics with Dad – we do remember him taking a boat out on a very windy day when the French advised him not to, as well as going out windsurfing and having to be rescued by the lifeguards! We miss him dearly.