Mark was a unique man: A gigantic character, 6ft 3in, 23 stone, highly intelligent and nearly always, after retirement, found in shorts or jeans and a t-shirt. This was his usual leisure wear as well, through his adult life, he wasn’t fond of formality! He absolutely loved music and was always finding new artists to listen to. He had all sorts of unusual facts at his fingertips and often astonished me with his breadth of knowledge. He was the kindest, most wonderful husband who made me feel completely loved for his whole life. Immensely practical, he built all sorts of useful things – bunk beds for the girls, wardrobes, decks in the garden, fences.

I need to start at the beginning – he was born in Singapore; his father was a sergeant-major in the REME (Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers) and his mother a remarkable German/Danish woman Mark’s father had met at the end of WW2. As a child, another of his father’s postings took him to Libya, before the rise of Colonel Gaddafi. He remembers trying to do Scout ‘bob-a-jobs’ at the palaces of the Princesses, sisters of Prince Idris, and being shown away by men with rather large guns!

The most formative period of his life was undoubtedly his school, the Duke of York’s Royal Military School. One of the very few schools of its type, it began in 1801 in Chelsea as a boarding school for the sons of soldiers killed in the Napoleonic wars. Relocating in 1909 to Dover, it remained under the MoD until its fairly recent – beyond Mark’s time – move to take in girls and become an academy under the DfE. The school’s motto was  ‘Sons of the Brave’ and old boys are known as ‘Dukies’.

Mark had wanted to go ever since a friend told him about the school when he was eight, entranced by the idea of a place where he could play all sorts of sports, learn archery, swim, and do all sorts of wonderful things. He passed the entrance exam and ended up in Wellington house. His time there undoubtedly made him the man he was and he reminisced fondly about the school frequently. It was an exceptional establishment that produced an exceptional man. He made lifelong friends and is much missed by his old school mates.

Friends and colleagues have said of him that he was “a just and upright fair Man.”

Another close colleague said that although they “only knew him as a colleague I have treasured having shared time and space with such a decent soul”. Indeed, he was a most decent, very honest, incredibly kind and thoughtful man who lived his life on his own terms while also taking very great care of me (his wife), and his family.

He held an MSc from Newcastle University, which was where we met in 1975. His main degree was in civil engineering. We married young, very young – I was a few days off my 20th birthday and he was 20, and a few months later our older daughter Sarah came into our lives. Mark was absolutely thrilled to be a dad and took to his new job with great enthusiasm, even liquidising toast for Sarah to try once, I remember.

Work-wise, he started out at Essex County Council in 1979, where he ruffled more than a few feathers as a very plain-spoken man. Our second daughter Jenny was born in 1980, again very much to his delight.

Mark was never afraid to tell truth to power, put it that way… He moved on from Essex CC to work for the Department for Transport for a while but chafed under the restrictions of the very formal civil service, despite being very well regarded.

He moved on to a consultancy involved in the Docklands regeneration project, WA Fairhurst, where he was the Traffic Manager for the roads network for several years for the London Docklands Development Company – a job that he loved, which occasionally meant standing toe to toe with contractors determined to block the roads or leave large quantities of mud on them. They never won.

He then moved on to the job he’ll be best remembered for, Tunnel Manager for the London Docklands Limehouse Link tunnels, a job he undertook with great enthusiasm and flair. He was always totally committed to his jobs and ensuring they were done properly.

He was then offered a job out of the blue in North Wales working for a major consultant, Atkins, who were working as consultants to Gwynedd County Council and Conwy County Council on the A55 tunnels, undertaking repair and refurbishment works. We moved – after 27 happy years in Chignal St James, Essex – to a small village, Llanddoged, near Llanrwst in the Conwy Valley. He worked for other organisations over the years including Gwynedd County Council, Costain – a major contractor – and last, Jones Brothers, a local contractor, after which he retired.

He had huge integrity and always stood up for the small guy. He wasn’t the most patient person in the world, but he tried hard! He had many amusing anecdotes and made friends very easily. He was no pushover himself and wasn’t worried about offending people if he deemed it necessary. He had such strength of character.

I hope, somehow, he is now fly fishing on the Big Blackfoot River in Montana – we both loved the film A River Runs Through It, which features the sport and that location. I hope that he and his friends who have passed are spending their time fishing and recalling the good times.

At this point I would like to read the epilogue of the book, which reads:

“Like many fly fisherman in western Montana, where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters.”