One of the worst days of Peter Hunt’s life remains ‘crystal clear’ and ‘imprinted on his brain’, even though it happened 56 years ago.
It was a sunny Monday afternoon and he’d just returned home from school to a hug from his mother in the front yard when two cars pulled up in the driveway.
His father’s friend Ian and the family doctor got out. His mother initially looked confused when she saw them then started to scream.
‘I ran inside to my room and jumped on the bed. I must’ve realised my father was dead and started crying. I assumed he must’ve died in a car accident,’ Peter, now 69, tells me.
‘My dad’s friend Ian came up to comfort me and was quite awkward. He didn’t know how to react. He started stroking the back of my head as I was lying on my front crying and he repeatedly said, «You poor boy, you poor boy.»‘
The previous Friday, Peter’s father Ken had travelled from their home in Crawley, West Sussex, to London for the weekend to visit his sister but hadn’t returned home. Worried, his mother had started making calls.
It wasn’t until three weeks later that Peter learned his father hadn’t died in a car accident after all; he had taken his own life by overdosing at his sister’s home. His aunt had been the one to break the news.
‘As a child, being told your dad has taken his own life, it was like a thunderbolt shock. I couldn’t compute what had happened,’ he says.
Peter Hunt (pictured) lost his father to suicide when he was 13 in 1969
Peter described his father as a ‘caring man who always thought of others’ (Peter’s mother and father are pictured here in an undated photo from the 1960s)
While he was traumatised by the revelation, Peter put the needs of his grieving mother before his own, which meant he had to grow up quickly.
‘A 13-year-old shouldn’t have to worry about protecting his mother; it should be the other way around,’ he says.
Peter described his dad as a ‘caring man who always thought of others’ and was ‘devoted sports fan’ who enjoyed going to the pub after work for a quick pint before heading home.
He was also a Rotarian who taught him the value of always giving back to the community and helping others.
‘I have fond memories of collecting donations at Christmas time from the neighbourhood and a Rotarian would dress up as Santa with carols playing in the background. We’d get a beautiful reaction from the locals,’ Peter says.
Yet Ken was also a deeply private man who was fighting an internal battle none of his friends or family knew about.
‘He wasn’t very good at communicating his emotions,’ Peter tells me.
Ken owned a restaurant and a cake shop, but his family didn’t know those businesses were struggling and he was on the verge of bankruptcy.
Ken (pictured at age 35) was a deeply private man who was fighting an internal battle none of his friends or family knew about. Before ending his life, he revealed the depth of his financial problems in two letters, one to Peter’s mother and the other addressed to his friend Ian
‘The flow of customers wasn’t what he expected because another town centre was established shortly after he bought into the business,’ Peter says.
His father owned the business for more than a decade and borrowed money to keep it afloat, which neither Peter nor his mother knew at the time.
‘He ended up borrowing too much and got to the stage where he couldn’t see a way through his financial obligations,’ Peter says.
‘Part of the problem was he was a very proud man and he gave the family the impression everything was fine.’
The letters
The weekend before Ken took his own life, he told his family he was going to visit his sister in London. This was something he did fairly often, so it wasn’t suspicious.
But when he didn’t return home the following Monday, his wife became worried.
That weekend, Ken wrote two letters: one was to his friend Ian and the other was addressed to Peter’s mother.
While Peter can’t recall exactly when he first read the letters, he can remember their contents vividly. He still has the letters to his mother but only looks at them ‘once every ten years’.
‘By the time you read this, I’ll be dead,’ the letter to Ian began.
The ‘lucid’ six-page document explained why he was taking his life, what had happened to his business, the bankruptcy, and how terrible he felt about leaving his family behind.
He also included the number for the local police force at the bottom.
Peter’s father initially did not want to write a letter to his wife because it was ‘too painful’, but he did so just before he died.
‘The letter [to my mother] is only about three quarters of a page long,’ Peter says.
‘You could tell he was writing it as he was dying because you can read the first couple of sentences but as it progresses the words become completely unreadable.
‘He was expressing his love for my mother and I still have it in Sydney but rarely look at it.
‘My parents loved each other but my father just didn’t communicate well. In his mind, he thought my mother would be better off without him. He thought my mother would have a chance to build a new life.’
To cope with the death of his father, Peter buried his emotions for years.
‘Back in those days, there was no therapy. I never had anyone to talk to about it so I internalised the whole thing,’ Peter adds.
To cope with the death of his father, Peter buried his emotions for years. Nine months after his dad died, he and his mother relocated to Sydney for a fresh start
Moving to Australia
Peter’s mum ‘lost everything’ in the wake of his father’s death: her husband, her financial security, and their home.
‘In those days, if a man went bankrupt the only thing that his wife could be retained was the furniture. So my mother lost the house to the bank,’ Peter says.
Months later, Peter’s other aunt, who lived in Sydney, urged them to join her there for a fresh start, so they packed up their belongings and boarded a ship bound for Australia.
Peter and his mother became one of many ‘Ten Pound Poms’ – the name given to the 1.5 million Britons who migrated to Australia under the Assisted Passage Migration Scheme, which ran from 1945 to 1982.
‘My mother paid just £10 (about AU$20 at the time), and I came for free because I was under 16,’ he adds.
It was a six-week journey and the ship stopped in Italy to pick up other passengers. Awaiting for them Down Under was a land of possibility.
‘I remember the ship coming into Sydney Harbour on a beautiful, crisp winter’s morning with the mist rising from the water,’ he recounts.
‘I remember feeling excited by this new country where the light seemed so bright compared to the pastel colours of England and where the buildings in the city seemed so high.’
But disaster struck within three weeks of arriving in Sydney, Peter’s mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and needed a single mastectomy.
Thankfully, she recovered and Peter was put into a selective boys’ school. Over time he ‘built barriers around his heart’ and continued to avoid feeling the emotions connected to his father’s death.
Instead he focused on his education and quickly went from the bottom of the class to the top. He would study until 11pm and on weekends, often missing out on social events.
Peter worked tirelessly to succeed, which led him to study commerce and law at university. He would later land a job as a lawyer at a top law firm before starting a career in investment banking.
Peter went on to study commerce and law at university, then got a job as a lawyer at a top firm before starting a career in investment banking. He met his wife Tania (left) nearly 10 years ago
When he was 24, his mother’s cancer returned and she died, leaving Peter feeling completely broken, having lost both his parents before his 25th birthday.
Despite the loss of his parents, Peter continued to thrive in his career.
He became exceptionally good at reading other people, which helped him to become an expert negotiator. But he struggled with introspection and so his complex feelings about his father remained unresolved.
But over time he began to realise just how similar he was to his father. His dad had always stressed the importance of giving back, and Peter became involved heavily in the non-for-profit sector, joining the boards of charities and even founding new ones.
Despite everything, Peter considers himself ‘lucky’ today, and feels grateful for the opportunities presented to him since moving to Australia.
‘If you’ve done well in life, most of it is probably luck; I’m healthy, I’m intelligent, I’m 6’1, I had wonderful parents who loved me,’ Peter says.
‘I came to Australia and had fantastic opportunities, I’m very lucky.’
Together with his wife Tania, Peter has founded six not-for-profit organisations, including Mind Medicine Australia, which was established in 2018.
With support from Tania, he has been able to better understand the emotions arising from his father’s death, even if it took him decades to get there.
If his father were still alive today, Peter believes he’d be watching a football game with a beer in his hand – or somewhere out in the community, giving back.
If you need support or someone to talk to in a personal crisis, call Lifeline Australia anytime on 13 11 14
