A Tale of two Peters

I have two friends called Peter.

Peter no.1 grew up in the same town as me (Walton-on-Thames), went to the same posh school and same university. Peter no. 2 went to the local school in Walton-on-Thames - called Rydens.

Peter no.1 did English as I did, with a young Richard Curtis in his tutorial group, and from there went straight into merchant banking.

The other Peter became a chef rather than a chief - but then, wanting more, bought his first café. When the next-door shop became available, he bought it, and in due course the flats above, and then a new café in Molesey near Hampton Court, not far from Hampton Court Palace.

My dear, sweet, intelligent, university pal (see below) died half a year ago after an accident kayaking near his retreat in Lamu. He was 68.

It was fairly cold that day in December when we reached Kingston from Hampton Court via the towpath. Peter cycling. Muggins running.

Peter no. 2 still goes to bed no later than 7 pm, and rises at 5 am - in all weathers and all seasons. He goes for a long walk in Home Park, the deer park behind the Palace, where Evgeniy Lebedev lives in a beautiful mansion behind old walls with his two Borzoi dogs and a tame Siberian yellow-eyed wolf. I once shook hands with him while out in the park to thank him for what he had done with The Independent.

My school friend Peter was supremely bright at school, but also a nice man and great soul mate. At the age of 17 we both followed in the footsteps of our adored English teacher (who later became a headmaster) and went to India where we were meant to teach in schools in the hills. I was too immature to be a teacher, so opted to work on a farm in the plains and bring in the wheat harvest. The year was 1975 – over fifty years ago.

The other Peter steadily built his business turning sandwiches and coffee into profit and buying an old Bentley and a nice flat in a conversion property in East Molesey. Today in his mid-60s he is never late for work, happy to open up the shop, make sure the staff are on the ball, meet and greet, and watch the pennies.

Peter no. 1 on the other hand did God’s work with a leading merchant bank. He was partner in the Far East during the great telecoms privatisation and at one point had the misfortune to be listed in the Sunday Times Rich List with an estimated wealth of £100 mln.

For a couple of decades my meetings with Peter no 1 were reduced. I ceased to suggest meetings when on occasions he simply did not turn up. Then surprisingly about three years ago he resurfaced, apologising for his lack of contact and suggested we got together. I was happy to agree on condition we did not have meals or go for a drink. I suggested meeting to go for a run, but he mentioned something about his knees. So, we came up with the plan that he would cycle, and I would run by his side.

So began three years of renewed friendship when neither of us could wait to get together. Either I would go up to London, and we would go around Hyde Park, or he would come to Hampton Court on the train, and we would run down to Kingston and back through Bushy Park. The only issue was that Peter tended to forget I was running and after about the 10^th mile I was hesitant to suggest a coffee so as not to break the spell. We had so much to reflect on. The world of business, yes, but also family, philosophy, and the latest episodes of Melvyn Bragg's ‘In our Time’ or Alan Yentob’s ‘Imagine’ or other programmes or books of that ilk. It was Peter for example who told me I had to read ‘Material World’ by Ed Conway (which I would highly recommend to all metal merchants in business or retired).

The two stories finally came together one day after a long run/ride when before expiring I suggested a coffee at Peter no. 2s café. Peter the cyclist was in reflective mood. He had never fully recovered from the year when he’d been voted off the merchant bank's partnership the year before the float, and his great mind was beginning to let him down. He was worried about everything and hankered after nothing more than the simple things in life. It seemed to me he would be happier out walking (as we had done in our youth) with a backpack and a tent, rather than any of the trappings of his former wealth. And trappings they had indeed become with – in his mind at least – financial worries real or imagined.

While I told the one Peter about the other and hinted at Peter no 1s former career but also how we came to be running and cycling together, my friend was transfixed by the owner-occupier that coffee-house Peter no. 2 was, and how he ran his modest but successful business. Only half-jokingly, Peter no. 2 (who took to Peter no 1) suggested - without reference to George Orwell - that my friend should join him as pot-washer. It seemed at that moment that Peter no. 1 would have wished for nothing more in the world.

Peter no. 2 since then told me his particular view of life.

Perhaps it is a common view, but I had not heard it. He said there are those of us in the jungle and those of us in the zoo. Those of us in the jungle (read metal merchanting) fight each day, either to eat or be eaten. Those of us in the Zoo (read corporate world) work all the days of our lives, are fed regularly, and towards the end the keeper opens the cage door after which the former occupant enters the jungle, shortly to be consumed.

The story is neither for or against one Peter or the other but a matter of our fates and destinies.

I feel lucky to have lived my life in the jungle.

By Anthony Lipmann 03.07.26

A version of this article was published on www.lord-copper.com