James Jennings (4 May 1950 - 11 Jun 2026)

In loving memory of our dear Jim.

Jim had a true passion for driving and boating; there wasn't a car or a boat he couldn't fix with his own two hands. He was a man of immense strength and independence, always relying on his own resilience and capability.

Beneath his strong exterior, he held the deepest, most unconditional love for Mum and me. With his strong hands and quiet devotion, he protected our family and provided us with a safe harbor.

Thank you, Jim, for the love and strength you brought into our lives. May you drive freely and sail smoothly on your next great journey. You will be forever loved and missed.

Love you always!xxx -Kelly&William

I worked with Jim at the club and we became friends immediately. He was the best, He will be greatly missed. R.I.P. My friend.

Dear Jim - we will miss you more than you know. Over the last 18 years you have been so much more than a father in law to me - you have been a rock solid friend who I have been able to rely on for support on so many occasions - I would say more like a second Dad. I have lost count of the times you have dropped everything and come to help with one of my DIY disasters - always with good humour.

Most of all though I will miss the good times sharing breakfast with you down at the seafront.

Bon voyage my friend,
Rich X

Jim will be sadly missed by all that knew him, fair winds and calm seas my friend,

Always a no fuss Gentleman ,who had time for everyone ,will miss our talks on cars ,engines, boats
RIP Jim you will be missed mate

Jim was such a lovely man who was liked by everyone x

No longer in pain anymore Dad, you are with your angel Pippa now, rest in peace sleep tight.
Til we meet again.
I love you.
Katie xxx

Dad used to say,
“It is what it is.”

Not because he didn’t care.
Because he understood.

No fuss, no pretending,
no dressing life up
as something it wasn’t.
He met things as they came,
honestly, fairly,
and with that calm of his
that made everything feel
a little less heavy.

He was a doer.
First one down the boat club,
kettle on,
Old Holborn in the air,
already busy,
already helping,
already exactly
where he belonged.

The boatyard was his happy place.
His extended family.
His bit of the world.
The oldest member,
the project manager,
still making pontoons
right up until his last weeks.

That was Dad.
Useful.
Needed.
Loved.
And still getting on with it.

He loved the road as well.
The music, the stories,
touring with Terry Reid,
driving to new places,
meeting new people,
always ready
for the next adventure.

But however far he went,
and however much he loved the journey,
he always came home.

And when life got too much,
I called Dad.

I’d rant.
He’d listen.
Then somehow,
without making a drama of it,
he’d bring me back
to what was right,
what was fair,
and what I already knew
deep down.

I’m going to miss those chats
more than I can say.

Dad meant different things
to different people.
A friend.
A storyteller.
A steady hand.
A bit of mischief.
A wise word.
A kettle on.

But to me,
he meant home.

And I can hear him now,
steady as ever,
telling us,
“It is what it is.”

And what it is,
is goodbye.

What it was,
was a life well lived.

And what it will always be,
is love.