When the Prince and Princess of Wales bought pizza for mountain rescue workers, they met a man selling pizza and wrote a touching funeral speech for him.
Father of two Peter Morris, who was 47 years old, died of cancer in May, not long after Kate was told she had it.
On notepaper from Kensington Palace, Prince William wrote his wife Tracey a letter of condolence. When he died, it was read.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what a huge hole he will leave in your life,” he wrote. “My heart goes out to you and your family.”
“Catherine and I had a great time meeting Pete.”
“We know Pete was a very dedicated and well-liked member of the community because of how people have responded to his death.”
“I wanted you to know that you and your family are thinking about you right now.”
In April of last year, Kate and Wills bought 12 pizzas from Peter’s converted VW van for £127.50. Peter is from Ebbw Vale in South Wales.
They gave the Central Beacons Mountain Rescue Team a choice of pizzas while they were at Dowlais Rugby Club in Merthyr Tydfil. The pizzas were margarita, pepperoni, BBQ chicken, and goats cheese.
At the time, Peter said, “They were really nice.” When I was setting up the business, I never would have thought that one day I would work for the young king.
In 2016, Pete opened Little Dragon Pizza Van.
He had beaten esophageal cancer, but doctors found it in his adrenal gland and liver four months after he became a royal. He died in less than a year, but the business keeps going.
The letter from William will be framed for Pete’s daughters, who are eight and five years old.
Tracey, who is 40 years old, told The Sun, “It was a huge surprise.” I have no idea how they learned that Pete had died. Because Kate is getting help, it may have struck a chord with them.
“He talked about how normal they were.”
“Many people wrote to tell us they loved Pete, but the letter from William and Kate was the most lovely.”
William wrote his wife Tracey a letter of condolence on paper from Kensington Palace.
I Came Home from Vacation to Find a Huge Hole Dug in My Backyard – I Wanted to Call the Cops until I Saw What Was at the Bottom
When I cut short our vacation due to Karen falling ill, the last thing I expected was to find a massive hole in our backyard upon returning home. Initially alarmed, I hesitated when I spotted a shovel inside, leading me into an unexpected adventure involving buried treasure, newfound friendship, and lessons in life’s true values.
Karen and I rushed back from the beach early after she fell ill. Exhausted but wary, I decided to check the house’s perimeter before settling in. That’s when I stumbled upon the gaping pit in our lawn.
“What’s this?” I muttered, approaching cautiously.
At the bottom, amid scattered debris, lay a shovel. My first instinct was to call the police, but then I considered the possibility that the digger might return, knowing we were supposed to be away.
Turning to Karen, who looked unwell, I suggested keeping the car hidden in the garage to maintain the appearance of absence.
As night descended, I kept vigil by a window, watching and waiting. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a shadow vaulting over our fence.
Heart pounding, I ventured out with my phone ready to call the authorities. Approaching the pit, I heard the clink of metal on earth.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, shining my phone’s light into the hole. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The figure looked up, squinting. My jaw dropped—it was George, the previous owner of our house.
“Frank?” he stammered, equally surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?” I retorted. “What are you doing in my yard in the middle of the night?”
George climbed out, looking sheepish. “I can explain. Just… please don’t involve the police.”
Arms folded, I demanded an explanation.
“My grandfather owned this place,” George began, “and I recently discovered he hid something valuable here. I thought I’d dig it up while you were away.”
“You broke into my yard to hunt for treasure?” I couldn’t believe it.
“I know how it sounds,” George pleaded, “but it’s true. Help me dig, and we’ll split whatever we find.”
Despite my better judgment, I agreed. Over hours of digging, we shared stories, George revealing his hardships—a lost job and his wife’s illness. His hope for this treasure to change their lives touched me.
As dawn approached, our optimism dwindled with each shovel of dirt revealing nothing but rocks and roots.
“I was so sure…” George’s disappointment was palpable.
Offering a ride home, we filled the pit and drove to his house, where his wife, Margaret, greeted us anxiously.
“George! Where have you been?” Margaret exclaimed, eyeing me curiously.
Explaining the situation, George’s dream of buried treasure was deflated by Margaret’s reality check.
“My grandfather’s tales were just that—stories,” she gently reminded him.
Apologizing, George and Margaret offered to repair our yard. I declined, suggesting they join us for dinner instead.
Driving home, I shared the night’s escapade with Karen, who teased me about my unusual night with a stranger. Reflecting on our conversation, I proposed inviting George and Margaret for dinner—an unexpected outcome from a night of digging for imaginary treasure.
As I assessed the yard in daylight, I realized life’s treasures aren’t always what we seek but the connections we forge along the way.
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