Dad was born on Highfield Road, Ilfracombe, in 1942, the first child of Kath and Les Wills. Born during wartime, his father, Leslie, had already been called up to serve in the RAF as a wireless operator. His mother, Kath, had returned to her own mother’s home in Ilfracombe to give birth. Two years later, his sister Linda arrived, and after the war, in 1948, their younger brother Graham was born.
After the war, Dad's father bought a gentleman’s outfitter shop—Wills Outfitters—on Fore Street in Ilfracombe. The family lived above the shop, where Dad spent his early childhood. He attended The Hermitage Primary School and filled his days with imagination and play.
In 1950, the family moved to Greylands on Furse Hill Road—a big house with two staircases and endless places for hide and seek. It was a warm, lively home. Dad’s mother ran a guest house that hosted up to fourteen people in summer. To make room, the family all squeezed into one bedroom—a small sacrifice that just added to the sense of closeness. Their home was full of life: extended family, guests, music, laughter, and love.
Dad had an endless enthusiasm for life and a deep curiosity. He said he could never be bored—there were too many hobbies to enjoy. He built balsawood planes, crafted his first guitar, and made intricate marquetry. He collected stamps and animal skulls, and loved exploring caves and mine shafts. Napp’s Cave in Berrynarbor and the Mendips were particular favourites.
Music was part of Dad’s soul. As a child he had singing and piano lessons, and as he got older, he played in a skiffle group with Linda and a group of great friends. He had a beautiful singing voice, played the guitar, and loved discovering new records.
Dad was brought up a Methodist and attended Sunday School, Junior Church, and Youth Club. One unforgettable episode involved a mishap at the church. Late for the evening service, he waited downstairs in the church rooms for Youth Club to start. But with so few young people turning up that evening, the meeting was quietly cancelled, and the church was locked up—with Dad still inside, completely unaware! His frantic parents, not knowing where he was, called the police and coastguard. They searched all night across his favourite haunts on the Torrs and beaches. A lifeboat search was even planned for daybreak. In the early morning, someone noticed a church light flashing—Dad had found a switch—and finally, the tired and hungry castaway was found.
After disappointing A-level results, Dad left home at eighteen and began working as a lab technician at the Glaxo research labs in Slough. Never one to give up, he attended night school, retook his exams, and eventually went on to earn his degree and teaching qualifications. He became a science teacher at The Park School in Barnstaple.
It was there that he met his lifelong friend Derek and his wife Shirley. He and Derek worked together for many years, first in the science department, and later as Dad pioneered the new IT department. In those days, when teachers had an hour for lunch, he and Derek would often head to the Chichester Arms pub or over to Derek’s mum’s for a proper meal. Their friendship was deep and lasting—they helped each other through life’s tough times, stayed close, and even later in life would meet up for Chinese food and long conversations.
Mum and Dad met on the day of the first moon landing in 1969 and married in 1970. They lived in a house full of colour and what you could call creative decoration on Westbourne Grove, and then moved to Mortehoe with their beautiful dog, Dusty. I arrived in 1973, with Martin and Jo following in the years that came. We then lived on Furse Hill Road in Ilfracombe before moving just a stone’s throw down to Fairlawn—directly opposite Dad’s mum and dad at Greylands. Family meant everything to Dad. Every Saturday morning without fail was spent at Nanny and Grandad’s, enjoying scones, jam and cream. The weekend would end just the same—with afternoon tea back at Greylands, surrounded by sponge cake, sweet treats, and plenty of chatter. Dad absolutely loved those times. There always seemed to be cousins visiting, uncles dropping by, or family friends popping in—and Dad made sure we were part of it all.
In March 1985, the most tragic event of Dad’s life took place. His beautiful son — our brother — Martin passed away peacefully in his sleep, aged nearly ten. Throughout what must have been a despair deeper than anything we can imagine, both Mum and Dad continued to give us a wonderful childhood. They somehow carried on, never once letting their own grief overshadow the happiness and security they gave us. For the rest of his life, whenever Dad was asked how many children he had, he always replied, without hesitation: “Three.” If people asked further, Dad would love to talk about Martin — about what amazing boy he was, so bright and so smart. Although shy beyond belief, Dad never shied away from difficult conversations. Somehow, this openness often brought out the best in other people too. People would respond with warmth, with kindness, and with stories of their own, drawn to Dad’s honesty and compassion.
He was such a brilliant Dad, and had a way of making everything fun and interesting for us as kids, encouraging us to make or try anything we wanted to - from cooking to crafts, music to orienteering. He would take us walking on Exmoor and Dartmoor (in the middle of winter or summer), play games for hours, and show us all he knew about nature. He loved camping trips in remote locations, which were perfect for long walks and stargazing. Also keen for new adventures, he signed up for a parachute jump which he loved (watched by a very nervous Jo!) - for a while after that he would jokingly tell people he had taken off in a plane twice, but only landed in one, once!
Whenever I walk around Ilfracombe seafront — especially Wildersmouth Beach and the harbour — I love thinking about all the hilarious, adventurous (and if I’m being honest, downright dangerous) antics we got up to as kids. Every escapade was inspired by stories of Dad’s own childhood — and some from his adulthood too. I used to love scrambling up the side of Capstone, leaping from ridiculous heights off the rocks, and regularly getting soaked after misjudging the tide and getting marooned. Dad showed me everything.
High Ilfracombe tides were a real event in our family — Dad made them absolutely fascinating. Whenever there was a chance of spectacular tides, we were there, learning, watching, and, occasionally, getting a bit too close for comfort. Mum never let him forget the time a wave swept me down the side of Lantern Hill and over the wall during a particularly high tide — and Dad somehow missed the fact that I’d broken my arm in two places!
Dad was also years ahead of his time when it came to technology. I’ll never forget the day he made the computer speak through some new bit of software — and the chaos that followed when we discovered all the rude words we could make it say! There were even dodgy playground deals with pupils from Dad’s school — swapping and copying games onto floppy disks — with Dad very much helping to set up the exchanges! He was talking about modems and computers ‘communicating with each other’ long before anyone had ever heard of the internet.
The top rooms at our old house, Fairlawn, were like stepping into another world. One was crammed with every exotic creature Dad was fascinated by — axolotls, snakes, scorpions, gerbils — and, most memorably, tarantulas. The tarantulas would moult, shedding an exact replica of themselves in one perfect piece — and we had endless fun terrifying our friends by leaving the moults on the stairs pretending to look horrified at the escaped spiders!
To his nieces and nephews, Dad was the "Interesting Uncle"—the one who knew everything and had the most curious treasures. He had a tortoise, strange plants, and even backwards taps. He could do tricks with matchsticks and beermats, and his handmade Christmas CDs, complete with computer-generated covers, were a family highlight for years – very cutting edge at the time!
In Jan’s words, Dad had a gift for making people feel special. He was brilliant, generous, and funny. He was Graham’s best man and organized the family’s journey from Ilfracombe to Yorkshire. His speech was hilarious, filled with affection and gentle teasing. He looked effortlessly cool in a bright blue suit. He and Graham each confessed they wished they were more like the other. But Graham always saw Dad as his hero… except, maybe, the time when Dad and Linda tied him to a tree!
Even after Mum and Dad divorced, they remained great friends. They shared many more lovely family times together, including memorable skiing trips. Mum was especially invaluable during one trip in Italy when Dad took a massive tumble and broke his neck! Two weeks in an Italian hospital followed…with terrible food! On his return he, rather too quickly, donned a neck brace—and was soon back behind the wheel. How he managed to check at junctions, we’ll never know! But sitting still was never really an option for him!
In 1998 Dad moved to Peters Marland and started Fernwood Nursery after the sempervivums outgrew the garden at Fairlawn. It became not just a business but a passion. Not long after the move, I asked him how it felt not to be teaching anymore. He replied that, “Every day felt like a dream.” He poured everything into Fernwood, cultivating these beautiful, intricate plants that became his trademark. Known across the country—and even internationally—Dad built a reputation among gardening enthusiasts who loved his creations. Every sempervivum he displayed was a tiny work of art, crafted with care and the most astonishing attention to detail. He won many accolades, but the crowning moment was his Gold Medal at the Chelsea Flower Show—an incredible achievement, and one he absolutely deserved.
Dad was actually incredibly modest about all of his achievements. We only discovered he’d appeared on Gardeners’ World when someone else mentioned it! https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/p07lfs4p?fbclid=IwdGRleAOJQJdleHRuA2FlbQIxMQBzcnRjBmFwcF9pZAo2NjI4NTY4Mzc5AAEe_0xDUXmQjtaiJSVgyoU0wlqGd6XRvUOh1QtUyhwy84G8BhqxJ6qvh-IgruQ_aem_dviulYU32NCreFUahhmyUQ A particularly lovely moment came when we sat our daughters, Shannon and Georgia down to watch the episode without telling them he was in it. The look on their faces when Grandad suddenly appeared on the screen!
He was a brilliant grandad too. Shannon, Georgia, Willow and Hannah all loved spending time with him—especially visiting Fernwood. For them, it was like entering a magical garden full of wonder. They’d play games, make music with guitars and drums, build geo-mag creations, fold origami, and take on more craft projects than we could count. He shared it all with such joy.
In 2014, on an organized hiking trip to the southwest America national parks, Dad met Catherine. Both of them were starting new chapters in their lives, ready to explore the world—and they did, together, for the next ten years. They split their time between Devon and Vancouver, both living in idyllic places, and filled their days with travel, laughter, and discovery.
They saw the world’s largest flower in Borneo, explored caves in Vietnam, Iceland, Hawaii, and Yorkshire. They climbed volcanoes and mountains, kayaked in Vietnam, skied in Canada, and walked hundreds of miles of coast path through the UK and Ireland. They saw wild animals everywhere—from bears and moose to pygmy elephants, giraffe beetles, and turtles who swam beside them.
They also enjoyed the simple pleasures: trying street food, discovering fruits (even durian, which Dad loved!), and although Covid slowed them down they laughed together through the trends of lockdown—like sourdough bread, air fryers, and their failed attempts to protect strawberries from birds and squirrels.
Throughout it all, Dad never stopped learning or sharing his passions. He continued to run his Sempervivum nursery, give gardening talks in the UK and Canada, and connect with people through his love of plants and nature.
This past year, Dad and Catherine made it official and got married in a small ceremony in Canada—simple and special, full of love and tears.
When he was ready, Dad sold Fernwood to a lovely young couple, and returned to Ilfracombe. He was buying the perfect house with a greenhouse, an established garden, and a patch of grass for his giant tortoise.
He often said how lucky he was with the life he’d had. His path had its ups and downs, but it was full of love, family, and adventure. He got to see his son Rob and daughter Joanna, grow into happy, loving people. In the end, he was where it all began —his beloved Ilfracombe—close to loving family and the sea.
Catherine and Dad loved each other very much, and she will miss him dearly.
We cannot ever express how much Dad loved Catherine, what she gave him over the past 10 years and how wonderful his life was because of their time together.
Although we are all still completely at a loss, one amazing thing happened when Dad passed. We were each given letters he had written several years earlier. In the letter Jo and I received, one particular quote stood out. In a small but meaningful way, it has made this time slightly easier. Dad wrote, “I have had a wonderful life and much more than my fair share of happiness.”
Knowing this—and being with Dad in his final hours, surrounded by those who loved him most, at total peace as he drifted off quietly—means more to us than words can say.
We will miss him beyond words, but take comfort in knowing he lived a life full of love, joy, and contentment — and that he left this world just as he hoped: peacefully, and surrounded by love.