Patrick's story is one rooted in family. Founded by Eugène Bénéteau in 1892, and later shaped by his son, Patrice, who helped turn a small footwear factory into the Patrick name you know today. That sense of family, craft and continuity remains a vital part of our story today.
With that in mind, we travelled to Scarborough to spend time with John Fendley, better known as Fenners. While many will know him from Soccer AM and, more recently, as the founder of LIFEJACKET, our conversation wasn’t about football, music or fashion. We spoke about memories of his father, the impact of loss, and the things we carry with us from one generation to the next.
Fenners showed us the places that shaped his early years. His childhood home, the pitches where he spent his summers, and the places his dad worked. We also took in the town's iconic seafront, an unmistakable part of Scarborough's identity.
What are your earliest memories of your dad?
So, any picture in this room we're sitting in now (in our living room), any photograph that anyone has ever taken — my dad's feet were in the background. Literally, if you see any photograph that's taken in this house, in this room, my dad's feet are always in shot.
I think my earliest memories of him are going to work. He would do the same thing every day. He'd do his sandwiches, do his flask, and he had this beret on. He'd wear it sitting on the stairs waiting for the van to take him (to work). So that's visually the earliest memory of my dad. Him going to work & coming back, shaving, then changing into his ‘going out’ outfit to the pub, which was quite smart. Jacket & suit trousers, not a suit, separate, he'd always wear a tie as well. He would wear a tie pretty much every time he went out. So those are the early visuals that I've got of him.
Me and my dad shared a calmness on the outer surface. I think probably neither of us were as calm on the inside as we made out. Dad was quiet, he didn't talk much, he wasn't someone who would just ‘have a chat’, I don't really remember having a conversation with him, but that's more to do with the fact that I was young, you know.
He was so kind, warm, and he was funny. You know people use the term “funny bones”? I think he had funny bones. He was a bit silly. Didn't tell jokes but would do silly things, you know. While he'd be waiting to go to work in the morning, like kids would do, he'd draw on the window with his breath and then we'd get the blame for it — and other daft things, silly voices and stuff.
Just quiet, warm, kind, gentle, and as I say, outwardly calm.
How did losing him shape you?
Initially, I didn't deal with it at all. I felt fine, which was a strange feeling. I wasn't desperately upset. I didn't feel like I was grieving, and I just carried on as everyone else around me did.
When I look back now, I realise I'd probably gone into a bit of a survival mode, things around me became a little bit detached, numb, I suppose. Not like a dream, but you lose that sharpness about you. I don't know whether that was my body and brain going, “we just need to protect you.”
Looking back, it was a strange period. I don't recall much of it. Then a few years later, things kind of caught up. I was poorly for some time, and there was probably an element of the trauma — my dad taking his own life — that resurfaced for me down the line. That manifested itself in a lot of overthinking and anxiety, which I couldn't explain, really, because there was so much time between the two things that I didn't connect them. In hindsight, it should have been easy for a medical professional to say, “this is obviously related”, but no one ever said that. Maybe it wasn't related, but I reckon it probably was.
The problem was that because I'd never addressed it, the anxiety went on for far too long, until I went and spoke to someone. It's only recently that I've concluded that those things have all been connected. That helps me in some respects, but there's also frustration that I didn't work it out earlier, to get the right kind of help. So, I've probably suffered more than was necessary, really, in trying to deal with that.
The obvious thing to do would be to say “yeah, it made me into this person,” but I think I was always this person. Always sensitive, always warm, kind, and calm like my dad was. The older I get, I realise we really did share those traits. But I don't think I learned anything from that, or that it's stood me in good stead in that way.
My dad died at 53, so when I was 52, getting to 53 felt like a big deal. I still felt so young, and it is a very young age for a person to die. So, when I got to 53, I thought, “okay, I'm alright,” which is a very weird mindset. Then I realised I needed to crack on, get on with it, and seize the day a bit more, which I have tried to do. A lot of that's probably down to other parts of my life as well, which are all challenging in their own way.
Growing up, were there other people (or things) that stepped into the father figure role for you, whether consciously or not?
I think subconsciously I was always looking for that kind of figure in my life, and that might have been teachers, that might have been people that I worked with. I found, and I still do it to an extent, that if I'm looking for approval, I tend to look to older men, or people who are in positions of, maybe not authority, but bosses and things like that, to get that approval. Again, I might have always been like that, and that might just be who I am.
But no, it's not like I've sought that out in the same way with music and clothes and football and film and all those things that I love. I've found a lot of solace and comfort from all those things, but I don't see them as being the things that fill the space of my dad not being there.
Now that you're a father yourself, what do you do that you're proud of?
For me, the most powerful thing you can give your kids, the most valuable, is time. When they were young, I'd go and watch all the matches, wherever they were, I would drive them around, and I'd still do that now. Whether it's a football match, hockey, gymnastics, whatever it might be, I loved that. It's not like, “oh, I'm on the school run” or whatever. For me, it's spending that time with them, and now they're older, you don't have as much time with them, which is difficult.
I think I am a good dad, but it's not like you get up and go, “I'm going to be the best I can be.” You just look at your kids, you just love being with your kids, and you do what you need to do. It's like, until you have children, you don't realise that all that stuff you do for them, it's never a sacrifice, really. Because I'd rather be doing that. For me, if you said to me, “what would be your favourite thing to do, if you had a day left on this planet?” I'd be like, my favourite thing is to sit down and go out for dinner with my wife and the three kids, no one else, just us five, and we sit there and just have a lovely time. That's my safe place now. That's my ideal scenario.
Being at home and being with my three girls and Kate, that's kind of my centre. That's what I want to do, that's what I want everything to be about. My ultimate thing.
When your children look back, years from now, what do you hope they'll remember the most?
That I was kind, and they'll know I loved them unconditionally and would do absolutely anything for them.
That I tried to be present, which is tricky sometimes. Hopefully I'm getting better at that. Work can mess that up sometimes but ultimately, I need to work, to get to that situation where I can sit down and have that dinner I'm talking about. Sometimes it can get in the way of those conversations though, when your daughter's maybe in the middle of her A levels, for example, or going through a relationship issue or worrying about next steps. I really try to make sure I'm present enough for those things, to be there for them, not necessarily to give my advice. But just to listen and let them say how they're feeling, without coming back and saying “well, I think you should do this.” Sometimes you don't need to do that.
So yeah, hopefully that's it… and I paid for their iPhones, I thought that was a big one.
Any plans this Father's Day?
Well, it's up to them, really. Let's see if they step up! Honestly, it'll just be nice if they're all at home and make me a brew, hopefully they'll let me watch the World Cup as opposed to Love Island.
Is there anything you wish you could say to your dad today?
If I could go back, I'd love to sit and have a conversation with him, because I never did that.
I wish I'd been a bit older, if I'd been 18 instead of 16, I think I could have helped. I felt like I was too young, like my voice wouldn't be heard. It's not that I blame myself, I don't, I just think I could have sat there and said, “what can I do, what are we going to do?” Because at 16, you feel powerless, because you're the one being looked after, and maybe shielded from it.
I wish I could have said, “come on, we can sort this out, we can do something about it, we need to find a way.” It was different times then, but it's something I do think about.
And that's why it's important, if you can, to have those proper chats now. I try to have them.
Patrick — since 1892.