Pete was one of the first people I met when I got into fantasy gaming, when Games Workshop opened it's doors in Sheffield in the early 1980s.
He was also the first GW figure painter and wrote the painting guide which appeared in the early Citadel and RAFM catalogues. He was an innovator back when the standard paint job was a simple block finish in enamels, and he was the inspiration for many of my generation. Pete was also I believe the last manager of the flagship Dalling Road Games Workshop store.
I emulated his style and made his life a living hell sometimes both in and out of Games Workshop. To get a grudging affirmative grunt from Pete when you showed him a figure, was high praise indeed.
I lost contact with Pete in the late 80s and the next time I saw him, I was the owner of Dungeons & Starships, when he walked through the door on a visit to his family in Sheffield. I never told him, but seeing him, seeing me owning a store which was greatly influenced by the old GW, meant a lot.
I would be a hypocrite if I said I always got on with Pete, because I didn't. We were abrasive with each other at times, because he was not the same egomaniac twenty-something and I was not that awe-struck teenager, and I don't think either of us adjusted too well for a while.
2017 was a horrible year for the old school gaming fraternity in Sheffield as we lost a total of 4 of our own, all much, much too young.
What's more a genuine hobby pioneer has been lost, and should be celebrated and mourned accordingly.
As befits Pete's renowned sense of humour, I'd like to leave you with a an excerpt from my 2011 book, which illustrates just how mad he could be.
'Sheffield used to have 3 main city centre cinemas, The ABC, and Gaumont were ‘respectable’ cinemas, but then there was Studio 5-6-7 a rundown pit even in the 70s and had only opened in 1968. The latter of the 3 specialised in porn films and the odd X rated splatter movie. By the time I was old enough to go there and sample the flea-ridden pleasures of the place it had gone the way of many of these old ‘bug pits’.
But, it was at the Gaumont that I spent the best part of an entire day watching all three - there were only three back then - Star Wars films back to back. It was I recall a Thursday in Summer and I had gone as part of a gang including Pete, and sundry other ‘gentlemen of the twilight’ all carrying 2 litre bottles of Quattro – the carbonated beverage of choice that year – and a bucket of weapons grade popcorn each.
I had dressed for the event, wearing a white cotton shirt with a mesh overlay on the shoulders. It was all very fashionable for the time – honestly – and had two vent pockets that ran vertically down each breast. This meant that I arm myself with my hairbrush and sundry other items that allowed me to keep my rapidly growing hair in tip-top condition.
We sat in two rows and I had the dubious pleasure of listening to Pete - who was sitting directly behind me - recite verbatim, the entire dialogue of the first two films.
As credits ran for the 2nd of the trilogy, Pete leaned forward and whispered in my ear, ‘Either you’ve got really big dandruff, or a f***ing great parrot’s crapped on your shoulders.’
Somewhat bemused, I craned to see what he was blabbering on about, patting gingerly at my shoulders and back. My hand touched row upon row of toffee- coated popcorn and discovered that my shirt had gained a layers of comestible rhinestones. Pete had managed to meticulously stick individual kernels to me as I sat watching the screen. I was once again the butt of a masterfully orchestrated wheeze.
Later as we stepped out into the late night air I bounced my empty Quattro bottle off the back of Pete's head as he walked out of the cinema. It was a petty revenge, but revenge nonetheless and it felt soooo good to have had the chance to exact it.'
Rest in peace Pete. You will be missed by many, forgotten by none.