WELL known Westcountry journalist and painter Peter Hesp has died at the age of 88.

Born in Hull, Peter turned his back on Yorkshire at an early age and spent most of his life living in his beloved West Somerset where he wrote countless newspaper articles about the countryside and its characters, often focussing on Exmoor and the Quantock Hills. 

After he retired from a lifelong career in newspapers, Peter took up painting and for the past 23 years his pastel landscapes have been highly sought after. 

He leaves a wife, Charmian, four sons (the oldest of which is editor-at-large of this newspaper), and six grandchildren. 

Peter began working in newspapers at the Hull Daily Mail, but was soon conscripted into the army where a clerical error muddled his job title of “reporter” and listed him as a “porter” instead - with the result that he spent the first three months of service carrying officers’ luggage.

The mistake amused Peter, as so much amused him in life - he spent years vaguely wondering if he’d been born into the right world when he may have been destined for some other. 

This feeling of amused disconnection was soon realised again in the army when he was selected for officer training at Sandhurst.  Peter could not bear bossing people about, so deliberately marched his men through the regimental flowerbeds - much to the horror of his superiors who had difficulty in believing anyone would shun a chance of rising through the ranks.

After his brief military service, Peter’s mild mannered nature saw him gaining employment at various newspapers both weekly and daily in London and the Midlands. He was eventually given an important editorial posting at the Central Office of Information, though once again felt very much a fish-out-of-water as the role centred on industry and economics, neither of which interested him in the least.

It was in 1954 that Peter finally discovered the Westcountry and was given a job as West Somerset and Exmoor correspondent of the Somerset County Gazette - and so realised he had found a place where he could really feel grounded and at home. 

On the first day in the job, the newspaper loaned him a motorbike and, riding out towards the coast to survey his new patch, Peter ascended the Quantock ridge. There, the great vista of West Somerset rolled out before him towards the sea, and the displaced Yorkshireman knew for the first time there was a heaven upon earth. At that moment the only whirlwind he ever saw in his life came up the hill and nearly blew him off his motorcycle. 

Later, he spied an interesting building which he recognised as being truly ancient. On calling in at Cleeve Abbey - which in those days was a private farm - and on the spot was offered lodgings there by the lady owner, and so became the last male person to live in the building before it was turned into a national monument.

Not long afterwards Peter was to meet the love of his life, Charmian, at the local chapel where he later took up lay-preaching for a few years. 

In the meantime he was busy about his journalistic duties, not only doing the normal reporting duties but also writing the first feature articles ever to appear in the Gazette newspaper. So new was the concept, that the editor didn’t know what to do with the non-news material - so he gave Peter his own weekly column called West Somerset Notebook, which became hugely popular and appeared each week for decades.

Also new to papers at the time was the concept of illustrating articles - and for the first year or two Peter would often draw sketches in pen and ink to accompany his work.

Soon after, though, he met and befriended a local photographer called Randolph Priddy and the two became inseparable as they had very similar views on life. Neither could bear pomp, ceremony or any form of self-importance. Indeed, both regularly admitted they were ill-equipped for the kind of work which regularly brought them face to face with the overly-august and dignified. 

However, despite all his modesty and self deprecating humour, Peter was a superb journalist and an even better writer. He never once had a single complaint about anything he’d written - instead, he was in receipt of regular messages from admirers far and wide. 

His columns and feature articles touched people’s lives - as did the essays he wrote and presented for a decade or more on the BBC Home Service radio. 

Peter was never a person to seek such a high profile, but it continued after his retirement when he set up an artist’s studio in his Selworthy home and proceeded to paint countless landscapes depicting his beloved Exmoor and West Somerset and areas of the Westcountry coast which he and Charmian loved to walk along so much. 

That Peter Hesp was well known and well-loved says as much about his quiet, non-assuming, equable manner as it does about the many talents he possessed. He will be sorely missed.       

Written by Martin Hesp